#Especially as I picked them all up at random | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

revengeghoulette · 3 days

Text

Matcha Latte w/Rose

Part 2: The Date

They go on their date!!

A/N: Bit of a time skip. It's not like the best thing I've written, but it'll do :) It gets a little steamy but not enough to be considered Spicy. Mostly edited.

WC: 3k

Sorry in advanced, you'll see. -Rev.

Playlist: The Rosy Crown

tagging: @obsidianghoul (ily, sorry I banned you), @sovaghoul @gottagho-st @clouds-bitch @crystalameoba @cheerycherrycandy-resurrected @foxybouquet @ghostlylivres @hypnoneghoul

It’s been almost 3 weeks since Swiss asked Mountain out on a date, and preparations for the midterm rush at The Rosy Crown are in full swing. Mist, Sunny and Swiss have been organizing the schedule to ensure that last year's snafu doesn’t occur again. They accidentally left The Rosy Crown with no staff for about 3 hours in the middle of the night, and they also ran out of flour and butter. They promised that moving forward reparations would begin several weeks before exam weeks to avoid any issues the week of.

Mountain has been busy with office hours, lectures, and a garden club he offered to be an advising faculty member for. He tries his hardest to make sure to be at the cafe before Swiss’ shift ends so they can walk home together, but there’s been a handful of nights where he doesn’t make it. He regrets assigning so much homework. He makes a mental note to adjust the workload for next semester, especially since he’ll be teaching two additional courses.

On the nights Mountain can’t make it to the cafe, he shoots Swiss a message to let him know so he doesn’t worry. If it's truly a rough day, he forgets all together.

Swiss will do anything to spend time with his favorite person. He happily walks to campus with some snacks and a warm drink, to find him buried in stacks of papers gripping a red pen. He takes a seat on one of the comfy chairs Mountain has in his office, and reads the random magazines he has lying around.

“Is gardening like your favorite thing to do, or what? You’ve got so many magazines here about greenhouses and what not, and you’ve got a little gardening gang now,” Swiss questions, laughing at the end, referring to the gardening club.

“It's… yeah. You know how we, ghouls, have an element attached to us? I’m an earth ghoul, hence the name Mountain. I have a special connection with the earth, so, yeah, gardening, and all things nature,” Mountain informs him.

“Oh, I guess I never really thought about it. I know we have ties to elements, but my parents weren’t very into that, I guess? They tried to assimilate more to the human culture, so we didn’t lean into it.”

After a moment, Swiss began getting a little antsy, distracting Mountain, “Honey, what is it? You're getting fidgety.”

Swiss blushes at hearing the earth ghoul call him honey. “Would you… help me connect with my elements? According to my parents, I have a mix of them. It's where my name came from, actually.”

Mountain sets down his pen and removes his glasses. “Wait. Swiss… Like, Swissarmy knife? Because you’re a multi ghoul.”

Swiss nods slowly.

Mountain lets out a hearty chuckle, “That’s very cute, but absolutely, it would be my pleasure. I’m done here though. Why don’t we pick up some food and go home?”

Standing up from his chair, Swiss grabs Mountain’s coat and helps him put it on before walking out the door hand in hand.

Swiss and Mountain have only been going out for a few short weeks, but their connection is so much more than typical crush. They have routines, they call each other during downtime just to say hello, Mountain continues to stop by The Rosy Crown every morning, and Swiss helps Mountain with grading or understanding typical young adult behavior. It seems like neither of them can spend the night alone anymore. There’s something tugging them together.

They haven’t had their first official date, but all the hang outs are everything and more.

‐

With midterms week upon them, Swiss, Mist and Sunny have been living at The Rosy Crown filling in for their student staff. Mountain has been at the shop every single day volunteering to help bus tables, or go around and restock supplies and books.

Mist has gotten on his case multiple times about it before, claiming that it's not his job, that he’s probably breaking some sort of labor law by helping them. Mountain assures her it falls under volunteer work and she doesn't need to worry. Swiss admires that Mountain puts up with Mist’s fighting spirit and constantly thanks him for helping, but reassures him he doesn’t have to.

“I do it because I want to. No one’s forcing me to be here.” Mountain reassures him back. With a quick kiss on the forehead, they go back to their duties.

Ever the creep, Sunny watches them interact. She’s never seen Swiss be so enthralled by another being before. He’s putty in Mountain’s hands. The forehead kiss sent her over the edge.

He walks past her, and she takes this opportunity to corner him, “Dude. What the fuck. Where did you find him? He’s amazing! And he’s been so much help! Please tell me you’re gonna dick him down soon! Omg, does he have a sister?”

Swiss grabs Sunny by the arms and shakes her playfully. “Sunny, breathe. Calm down! He’s pretty amazing, huh?”

“Who knew the playboy would settle down,” she teased, earning a glare from Swiss. “I'd snatch him from you, but I like the ladies. They're not as stinky.” Sunny makes a disgusted face before cackling and running away from Swiss’ reach He grins, rolling his eyes at her antics. Who knew the calm quiet child would grow up to be anything but calm and quiet.

After a rough week of long nights, The Rosy Crown closes the weekend after midterms. Students are mostly gone on spring break, and the staff is exhausted. Swiss gives everyone a long weekend to recover and start fresh on the following Wednesday.

Mountain wakes up with Swiss’ arms around him. He takes a moment to admire the features on Swiss’ face, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, and the horns protruding from his head. He was perfection incarnate. The gold flakes in his horns match the gold flakes in his eyes, his muscles defined by all the manual work he puts into baking, his tail wrapped around his own leg as if cuddling with him, there is no other ghoul that could match his beauty.

He gets up quietly, placing the blanket over Swiss body, and goes to the living room. He knows Swiss isn’t waking up anytime soon, especially after the week they just had. Mountain brews a fresh pot of coffee and takes a seat on the couch, wrapping a blanket over himself. The air is getting crisper with the approaching winter, he can feel it in his bones, and see it in his hair. He's luckily able to glamour that. He picks up a random book Swiss has lying about, and begins to read it while he waits for sleeping beauty to wake up.

In the other room, Swiss wakes up alone. He feels around for Mountain, but he doesn’t find him. Groggy, he gets up and sees he's reading the book Mist said was good, but truth is… It’s trash. The writing is terrible, but the smut is hot.

He wanted to stare at Mountain forever, but he was getting chilly and he looked so warm. Swiss quietly makes his way over before crawling on top of Mount, startling him.

“Good morning sweetheart,” Mountain sets the book down, rubbing his hands up and down Swiss’ back while his face was smushed against him lower belly. He mumbled something in response, but Mountain couldn’t make it out.

They adjusted themselves so that Swiss was underneath the blanket, cuddling Mountain on the couch. Sleeping beauty dozed off, and Mountain picked up the book again. After a little while, Swiss started to wake up again. Mount felt movement under him, so he set the book down and started rubbing the back of his finger up and down Swiss cheek gently.

“You’re warm,” Swiss gets out in a groggy voice, snuggling further into Mountain.

“Mm I know honey. I’m also hungry, and need more coffee. This book is lulling me back to sleep,” Swiss hums in agreement, “I’m gonna make us some breakfast, sweetheart.”

After they get up, Swiss warms up the coffee and starts to make breakfast for the both of them. Mountain complains because he was supposed to make breakfast, not the other way around, especially since he had a long week at the shop, but Swiss wasn’t having it. They argue back and forth for a little bit.

“I’m taking you on that date today. I’m picking you at 6,” Swiss announces as he places pancakes on a plate for Mountain.

“Oh, thank you,” Mountain takes the plate. “Are you gonna tell me what we’re doing?”

“Nope, it’s a surprise. A little something I’ve been cooking up for a while,” Swiss says before taking a seat and cutting up his pancakes. “Wear something comfortable, and something you wouldn’t mind getting a little… dirty.”

“Are you going to explain?” the earth ghoul questions.

“Nope,” Swiss says with a wink.

Swiss knocks on Mountain's door right at 6pm, not a minute early, not a minute late, exactly at 6.

Mountain opens the door wearing a dark green Henley and black jeans. “Is this okay?” Mountain asks.

Swiss is stunned, He just stared at Mountain for a little bit before stuttering out, “Oh, definitely. You look fantastic.”

Swiss hands Mountain some flowers he picked up earlier that day. Placing them inside, Mountain locks up and walks down the steps, taking Swiss hand.

“Where are we going?” The tall ghoul inquires.

“Somewhere. Don’t worry about it sweetheart.”

After walking a few minutes down the road, they reach their destination: The Rosy Crown Cafe & Bookshop. Swiss lets go of Mountain’s hand and opens the door.

“Swiss, what are we doing here?”

“We are on a date, my good sir. Come on.”

Swiss opens the doors and walks Mountain inside. It takes a moment for Mountain to take everything in. The blinds are all down, and there’s total privacy. Looking around, he sees strings of light are hung up, there’s a table with candles lit in the center and on either side there's a table placement and two dishes served. Soft music is playing in the background, creating a romantic, intimate space for them.

“Swiss… how?”

“The ladies might have helped.” He smiles almost sheepishly up at the taller ghoul. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Swiss guides Mountain to the table, pulls out the chair for him before taking a seat himself. On the plate there is a serving of roasted potatoes, a kale asian salad, and a plate of creamy mushroom risotto with a fresh baked dinner roll on the side.

They dive into the meal prepared by Mist and Sunny. The earth ghoul talked about his uni work, biodegradable research projects amongst other things. Swiss cracked some jokes and delved more about his parents and his childhood. He grew up surrounded by humans and had very few interactions with ghouls. He met Sunny and Mist in elementary school and have been inseparable since then. They’re family, a pack, if you will. Mountain sips on his wine while watching Swiss enthusiastically tell stories from his childhood.

As they finish their food, Swiss gathers their plates and sets them to the side, mentally noting to take care of them later.

“I have something special planned for dessert, follow me,” Swiss stands up, and offers a hand to Mountain. He takes him to the kitchen, and ties an apron around him.

“I want to ask what we're doing, but you’re not gonna tell me.”

“You know me so well, but fine, I’ll tell you. We’re making cinnamon rolls.”

Swiss had pre-measured out the flour, cinnamon, butter, and the rest of the ingredients and placed them on the counter.

“Oh, by 'we're making them' you mean I'm making them?!”

“Yes, but don’t worry, I’ll help.”

Swiss dumps the flour on the counter, forming a well in the center. “First, you’re going to incorporate a few things into the flour. Here,” Swiss hands Mountain a few things and he dumps them into the well. “Now mix them up using the fork, then make the well again.”

Mountain does as he’s told. Swiss works on mixing the wet ingredients for him. “I’m going to slowly mix this in. First use the fork,” Swiss pours a small amount of the wet ingredients, making sure everything is incorporated before adding more. “Great, now use your fingers. Make your hand into a claw and mix it in. As it gets stickier, start to knead. It’s going to get pretty sticky, but keep kneading. I still need to add in some more flour.”

Swiss stands back, watching Mountain mix the ingredients so gently, “You’re going to have to be a little rougher baby,” he states after dumping in a few more cups of flour.

Mountain starts to get tired from kneading since he’s been going at it for a few minutes.

“Swiss, this is hard. I’m getting tired,” he complains.

That's not the only thing that's hard, Swiss mumbles under his breath.

Swiss stands behind him, slightly pushing his hips against Mountain’s back, and helps him knead. Mountain turns his head back, they stare into each other's eyes for a second, and lean in, lips meeting at a feverish pace.

“Let me take over Mount.” Swiss mumbles into the kiss. He quickly finished kneading the dough while Mountain stands behind him, kissing his neck, hands roaming his body, leaving a trail of flour and dried dough on his clothes, especially his ass.

Swiss sets the bowl with the dough aside, Mountain takes this as an opportunity to grab him and press him against the counter. He leans into Swiss, his ass pressing against the counter, he towers over Swiss for a moment before kissing him with all his might.

Swiss’ arms immediately go to the back of the Mountain’s head, pressing him closer to his mouth, fingers playing with his hair. Swiss pulls on his hair to see what kind of reaction he would get, and he got the best reaction possible. A moan escaped Mountain’s lips as his head was pulled back, foreheads joining after Mountain lets out a whine from Swiss still pulling his hair back. Mountain wanted nothing more to get Swiss naked right then and there.

“Mount…” Swiss whispers, fearing that if he spoke any louder, the moment would be ruined.

“I'm gonna kiss you again.” Mountain announces in the same quiet tone.

Mountain goes for Swiss neck, inhaling his scent before lightly kissing him in that little patch near his ear. He wants to bite, he knows and recognizes what this attraction is but Swiss doesn’t. He can't jump the gun and do something that could probably destroy their souls.

Without realizing, he shakes his head, shaking the thoughts away, Swiss is too high on the love right now to catch Mountain's head shake. Instead, he moans when Mountain begins to kiss down the front of his neck to his collarbones. Tracing the outline of those delicate, sensitive bones. Swiss throws his head back, opening himself more for Mountain. His hands still tangled in his hair, tugging lightly every now and then. He leaves a few hickeys on Swiss collarbones before returning to his lips. Swiss feels Mountain's fangs when he slides his tongue into his mouth, both of them fighting for dominance. Mountain’s hands are gripping Swiss hips so tightly there's bound to be bruising tomorrow.

They hear a distant beeping that’s becoming louder and louder, then they realize it was the timer letting them know the dough was done proofing. Swiss pushes Mountain away softly.

“Give me a second, and then we can continue, we should get these into the oven,” Swiss pants.

Mountain, panting equally as hard, nods, but he doesn’t let go of him. He holds Swiss by the waist, continuing to kiss his neck while he rolls out the dough and spreads the cinnamon sugar butter on the dough before rolling and cutting them.

Placing the rolls into the oven, Swiss turns and continues to make out with Mountain. Without clearing out the counter, Mountain hoists Swiss up to the counter. The slightly shorter ghoul now towering over him. His hands start to roam underneath Swiss’ shirt, claws scratching lightly into his skin, enough to leave a faint raised line.

“Mount… more,” is all Swiss is able to get out. Mountain unbuttons part of Swiss shirt to give him access to his torso where he licks his V-line, tempted to go below his belt, but he stops himself. Maybe the coffee shop is not the place to suck his soul out through his dick.

The timer goes off again letting them know the cinnamon rolls were done baking.

Mountain looks up at Swiss’ face, pleading with his eyes to not get off the counter. Swiss laughs and hops off, heading straight to the oven.

“Would you mind grabbing the frosting from the fridge?”

Mountain nods and hands it to Swiss, who smears it on the warm cinnamon rolls, melting the frosting.

Mountain discreetly adjusts himself and fixes his clothes before sitting on the bar. He can’t help but stare at the reminder of what occurred just moments ago. Hair messy, lips swollen, cheeks stained red, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked, a few scattered small hickies, little red lines peeking through his opened shirt.

Mountain swallows hard. He tries to contain himself and let Swiss finish setting up dessert.

“A cinnamon roll for you, but before you eat it, I have a special drink I’d to make you”

Swiss brings out a jar with green powder, and a bamboo whisk. Pouring a little bit of hot water over the green powder he put in a mug and whisked it until slightly frothy. He goes to the steamer with some oat milk in a cup, steams it then pours it into the mug and pumps some flavoring into it.

Mountain’s eyes follow him from one station to the next, until the drink is presented in front of him.

“I present a matcha latte with oat milk and a hint of rose. Try it,” Swiss encourages.

Mountain takes a sip and it's like tasting a garden. The rose flavor bring out the flavor of the matcha.

“Swiss, this is delicious. It's amazing. It’s comforting. It makes me feel all warm and safe. It tastes like… home, in a way.”

“I call it the Mountain Special. I was hoping you'd like it.”

“I love it so much,” Mountain smiles so big. He lets out a moan as he bites into the warm roll, “so good.”

Swiss chuckles. Before him there’s a big ghoul with frosting dripping from the corners of his mouth. Using his thumb, Swiss cleans off the frosting before sucking it clean.

“And I love you, Mountain.”

After cleaning up the kitchen, Swiss walks Mountain back to his apartment, hoping to stay the night and finish what they started in the cafe.

“Thank you for the wonderful date, Swiss. I loved every moment of it. I adore you so much. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, Mounty.”

“Um, I know you probably want to stay, but I… uh kinda need time to process tonight, if that’s okay,” he explains, twisting his fingers, obviously nervous of some sort of negative reaction.

Swiss is unsure of what to say. “Yeah, no, yeah, that’s okay! I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some rest.” He leans in to give him a kiss, but Mountain turns, his lips landing on his cheek.

“Thanks. Have a goodnight, Swiss, get home safely.” Mountain enters his apartment leaving Swiss confused outside.

Staring into the darkness of his apartment, he closes his eyes, leans his back against the door.

“Fuck.”

He exhales as tears roll down his face.

Part 3, soon, sorry

#revenge works #Matcha Latte #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost #ghost the band #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #swissalps #mist ghoulette #sunny ghoulette #steamy make out session #angst?#barista swiss #professor mountain #coffee shop au #my fic #idk if that was a good dinner to serve but whatever #i dont go on dates

71 notes · View notes

slugtranslation-hypmic · 3 days

Text

I Think Hypmic's Portrayal of Gender Roles is Kinda Refreshing: An Essay A.K.A. I'm Procrastinating on a Weekend Deadline :)

Hypmic's talking points on gender are hamfisted, corny, and melodramatic. "Maybe...we shouldn't have a wage gap," is not the hottest of takes. However, like most things in Hypmic, the writers have a lot more to say about gender and gender roles in the framing of the story itself that's much more nuanced. And honestly? It's kinda refreshing.

It's also something that went way over my head when I first became a Hypmic fan. Sure, I read manga and played Japanese video games--usually translated into English first--but I didn't have enough exposure to hundreds or thousands of pieces of untranslated Japanese media. I'm going to guess that most Hypmic fans don't either, which is totally fine and normal. We all exist within our respective cultural communities wherein we're bombarded with messages constantly telling us how to act, think, and speak. We tend to absorb these messages on subconscious levels and reflect them in the art we create and stories we tell, either by reinforcing them or challenging them. Thus, our stories don't exist in a vacuum, and divorcing stories from their cultural backgrounds can suggest the artist is the original thinker of a larger concept or hide their specific point of criticism. That is, if I wrote a story about a man who chooses to not catch fish, drink beer, and drive a Dodge Ram pick-up truck, we should be aware that I'm not the person who conceptualized the stereotype of dudes who catch fish, drink beer, and drive pick-ups. I wouldn't deserve the credit for dreaming up that exact image, and at the same time, it would be incorrect to read that as me targeting those three things randomly. The choice to not drive a Dodge Ram pick-up is not a commentary on Fiat Chrysler Automobiles. It's a stand-in for the notion of masculinity.

Thing is, we're hit with messages about masculinity, femininity, and other gender-related concepts on a daily basis. No matter where you live or what language you speak, every person on Earth is inundated with messages saying, "This is what you are, and consequently, this is how you should act." Our relation to these messages is complicated, and this complexity is compounded by different cultural communities preaching different messages in their stories, marketing, and human interactions. For instance, the US's massive global cultural influence means that those outside the US can still easily recognize what I mean by catching fish, drinking beer, and driving enormous American pick-up trucks. But the location and cultural differences may add or subtract nuances. A person living in, say, Munich is unlikely to have Dodge pick-ups advertised to them the way a person in rural Texas would. Our fictional Munich person does not feel the same social pressures to buy a Dodge and represent their masculinity with a Dodge the way our imaginary Texan would. In turn, the Munich person likely sees a Dodge with an element of absurdity--who the hell needs such a big truck in a European city?--and foreign Americanness. The Texan wouldn't have that concern--why worry about navigating your enormous truck down narrow streets when you live in the countryside?--and sees Americanness as their local default, thus removing any element of foreignness.

That is to say, gendered messages aimed at people (especially women) who live in Japan don't affect me the same way as they impact those who do live in Japan. Like, it's not my dog in the fight, and there are plenty of people who are directly affected who write their own stories and commentaries on gender roles in Japan. Japanese women don't need a random guy in the US to stand up and say, "Damn, your gender roles are fucked!" 1) They already know. 2) They're already saying it. So I come at this from an angle of someone who already has deep, primary frustration with the gendered messaging in my culture and secondary frustrations when similar messages appear in other cultures. I don't have a bone to pick with Japanese media in particular. Plain and simple, reading and working on hundreds of pieces of Japanese media is what I do for a living. It's in my face constantly, and as a result, I am also perpetually bombarded by messages about gender roles in Japanese media.

It's not a hot take to say that Japanese media, like the media of every single other culture around the globe, has a lot to say about gender. There's a lot of slotting people into boxes and telling people what to do. It's chafing, as we see all across history in art produced in reaction to gender roles. In the past couple of decades, global shifts in gender roles have caused media to shift the messages they're pushing, but it's not controversial to say that Japan has lagged behind other countries like the US.

Many, many stories push arbitrary notions of how to be a girl or how to be a boy that don't necessarily come from the author themselves. The authors probably aren't even fully conscious that they're making these choices. If an author writes a story about a library and makes every female character a romance fan and every male character an action fan, it's likely a reflection of endless messaging that says action is for boys, romance is for girls. In turn, this story becomes yet another reinforcing message. If no fictional girls like action, and no fictional boys like romance, it becomes alienating for real girls and boys who don't follow these same rules. These rules are everywhere and have so much to say about gender that it's hard to know where to begin. Girls must like cute things. Boys can't like sweet food. Women must not express sexual desire. Men can't be shy. On and on and on.

Which is why, when there's a relative lack of this in Hypmic, it's kind of a breath of fresh air.

Wrong Ways to Be a Man

Actually, Hypmic does have a few moments where characters claim there are certain things men or women should do, but the writing always frames these messages as incorrect.

Take Samatoki, for instance. After Kuukou and Sasara leave MCD, Samatoki tells Ichirou, "Men shouldn't cry when they lose their friends. Men should only cry when they lose a family member."

(TDD chapter 10)

This line usually appears via Ichirou's perspective. In the stage play, it's told during a song Ichirou narrates, and as shown above in panel 3, the manga frames the line from the angle at which Ichirou sees it. In such moments, the audience is meant to read this as a cool line from a strong mentor figure to Ichirou. That's how Ichirou sees it, and he's a seventeen-year-old with too much on his shoulders who idolizes Samatoki. He is incapable of seeing how much pain Samatoki struggles with.

However, when the manga focuses on more intimate moments of Samatoki's life, we see that Samatoki does struggle quite a lot.

(BB/MTC+ chapter 6)

This isn't a cool, attractive figure meant to be idolized. While Samatoki's cigarette usage and aggressiveness are often framed as sexy or enticing, the juxtaposition with dirty laundry, overflowing ashtrays, and empty bottles make him a sympathetic and struggling figure. Therefore, we should understand that his notion that men don't cry is flawed. It's a means to distract himself from emotions he doesn't want to feel.

Later, as Samatoki begins to process his emotions and open up to his teammates, the unhealthy coping mechanisms recede. Samatoki is more confident, mature, and happier as a result of being more emotionally vulnerable.

We see a similar transformation with Kuukou. As a teen, Kuukou is reluctant to accept help or truly let anyone in. In a conversation with Hitoya, he says (and I am still completely unable to take this seriously), "A man's got to wipe his own ass."

(DH/BAT chapter 4)

However, over the course of his character arc, Kuukou learns that he cannot exist as a good leader or individual without the teamwork of his newfound "family." Only rejecting this classical and toxic notion of masculinity brings Kuukou joy.

In fact, most of the first-line characters have very similar arcs. At the start of the story, Ichirou is insistent on doing everything himself. He has to learn to be able to rely on other people (Kuukou, Samatoki, Ichirou and Jirou) to be happier and unlock his true strength. See below, his final attack and Ability use in the 2nd DRB, which is only possible when his brothers figuratively and literally support him through it.

(BB/MTC+ chapter 25)

Sasara struggles with emotional honesty and trust in favor of using humor to gloss over discomfort. It takes multiple heart-to-hearts with Roshou before he can let humor take a backseat and say how he really feels. Ramuda has difficulty trusting other people and being honest with his emotions when faced with stressful scenarios. Only through Fling Posse is he able to open up and ask for help instead of driving people away when the problems are too big for him to face alone. Jakurai struggles to connect with other people, work through and acknowledge his complicated feelings, and not place himself on a pedestal. Through Matenrou, Jakurai is able to ask for help, be more open, and ultimately be less hard on himself.

The second- and third-line characters follow similar arcs, and this repetition creates a core message for Hypmic: Trust and rely other people. Be open with your feelings. There's a wrong way to be a man, and that's to hurt yourself and other people.

Right Ways to Be a Man...Are Infinite!

But with that being said, there is a surprising lack of commentary on how else to be a man. Hypmic as a whole doesn't do much to constrain the male characters in terms of gender roles.

Sure, some characters do fit into more traditionally masculine roles--Ichirou, Samatoki, Riou, etc. The messaging makes it clear that it isn't wrong to play into masculinity provided it doesn't become toxic. (See above.)

Even then, however, these especially masculine characters are associated with less masculine traits that are either portrayed positively or not portrayed as a joke. Riou is an avid cook, but the joke is never that he wears an apron and knows his way around an outdoor kitchen (tee-hee, men don't cook!). It's that he cooks with horrifying ingredients. Samatoki is a fashionista, but the joke is framed as a counterpart to Ichirou's nerdiness.

(DoD chapter 1)

Here, it's funny that neither of them can shut up (the ペラペラ/blah blah SFX, the long bubbles filled with lots of text that's cut to indicate they kept going for longer), but the object of their attention--a model toy and a pair of jeans--are treated in the same neutral light. It's very common for stories to touch on, even defensively, the social taboo of men being into clothes. Hypmic doesn't even acknowledge that such a taboo could exist.

This is subtle but extraordinarily effective in giving characters the same consideration and weight. The more feminine characters are always treated just as sincerely (or, if there's a joke to be made, irreverently) as the more masculine characters. Take Ramuda, for instance. In Japanese media, a love of sweets is often characterized as feminine and will often be remarked upon, even in LGBT+ media, as atypical for men. Again, there's zero acknowledgement of such a thing in Hypmic. Whenever other characters talk about Ramuda's food intake, it's always framed as a concern about the lack of nutrition.

(FP/M chapter 11... I don't have the source lying around on my computer, so here's the old-ass scanlation lol)

It's also given the exact same weight as anyone else's junk food habits. Here, MCD goes out for burgers (a neutral to masculine-coded food due to the meat and high calorie count) while Ramuda opts to try a sugary Starbucks-esque drink. The parallelism in the comic's framing suggests that the two objects are functionally the same, and there is no comment that a sugary drink is feminine and therefore "inappropriate" for Ramuda. There's also no indication that MCD's preferences are in any way better. They simply happen to be the characters' personal preferences. The punchline is two groups splitting up, only to awkwardly run into each other again moments later.

(DoD volume 4 bonus comic)

Similarly, Ramuda's interest in clothes or fashion is never treated negatively--in fact, the discussions of clothes as a means to find identity and happiness make it a positive!

In ARB cards and promotional materials, Ramuda sometimes wears dresses. It's, again, portrayed in parallel to other characters wearing more masculine clothes and is never commented on as something "unusual." It's just who Ramuda is.

Hifumi is another interesting case. Like Ramuda, his playful personality often doesn't as stereotypically masculine. (To be clear, I read much of this as "gender neutral with a strong emphasis on youth" versus "feminine" in a way that I'm not sure has a good US equivalent...metrosexual/yuppie men's fashion, maybe? In the sense that it's a youth subculture that defies some masculine gender roles but is still focused mainly on men. I wish I was more well-versed in Japanese men's fashion and could give an exact term, but I'm what I'm thinking of is definitely an established thing--young, trendy dudes whose styles focus on poppiness vs. the rugged manly man or "idk, I'm just some guy" subcultures. It's a thing that pisses off old Japanese conservative men in the same fashion as people getting up in arms about "the gayz!!!1!" and their androgynous clothing lol.) Their personalities are often the butt of jokes, but only in the same way that Dice or Doppo are--that is, that they're exaggerated and over the top. There's no commentary on masculinity or lack thereof.

There are also moments when Hifumi, Gentarou, or other characters play feminine characters in roleplay moments, which is usually (but not always) not the sole joke. The audience is supposed to find it funny, but the humor is almost always centered on the absurdity of the scene as a whole. For instance, in a moment where Hifumi and Doppo are pretending to be two drunk karaoke-goers, the humor comes from the composite set-up of Hifumi's hair twirl, Doppo's untucked shirt and tie, Doppo and Hifumi's exaggeratedly flirtatious poses, the spotlights and sparkles, and the same font as used on classic karaoke machines.

(FP/M+ September 2022 oneshot)

Hifumi and Doppo do not perform traditional gender roles in their homelife, and while it's easy to see and often commented on in the English-speaking fanbase when it comes to Hifumi, I find it just as prevalent on Doppo. It's true that Hifumi is taking a feminine role by doing the majority of the household's cooking and cleaning, but if we were to assume Doppo has the masculine role in the household, he would have the breadwinner duty. However, he isn't the main source of income for their household, and he's just as unassertive in finding a (female) romantic partner as Hifumi is. Japanese men are bombarded with media messages stressing the importance of taking an active role in career and romance. That Doppo does not would, in many stories, make him the butt of a joke for not living up to masculine gender roles. But he isn't; instead, Hypmic portrays him as a sympathetic character. It's tough, Hypmic says, for people to get good jobs and maintain friendships/relationships as an adult.

Similarly, it's noteworthy that Hifumi's self-appointed term "Gigolo" is consistently portrayed as a good thing in Hypmic. The meaning of the English term aside, the Japanese word ジゴロ (jigoro) is almost always used as an insult for a man who is financially dependent on one or multiple women. In the strictest sense of the term, Hifumi is a jigoro in that his income derives from his female clients. However, there is never any shame associated with that, and as a whole, Hifumi's career as a host is shown to be a positive thing. I can't express enough how rare that is in any sort of semi-serious media. Certainly, Hypmic acknowledges that his job requires too much drinking (Doppo's verse in Hoodstar), but the overall portrayal is overwhelmingly positive. Hifumi and his coworkers are never treated as uneducated, boorish, or pathetic for "failing" to find other work that does not require flirting with and entertaining women. (This is partially due to the overlapping judgment with sex work.)

All the various harmless preferences and personality traits of the male characters are treated equally with no judgement over what's masculine or non-masculine. Within the broader context of Japanese media, this absence of judgment stands out and reinforces one of Hypmic's core themes: Differences make us better, not worse. In the end, Hypmic suggests, there's no one right way to be a man.

Right Ways to Be a Woman...Are Just as Infinite!

But what about women? This series is, after all, marketed mainly towards women, and while female audience members can no doubt extrapolate the lessons learned from the male characters, it's worth taking a look at the female characters too.

The female characters do receive much less screen time than the men and are not the focus in the series; I'd argue that's less an issue of overt sexism and more that they fall out of focus in the story the writers want to tell. (There's a broader discussion to be had about inherent sexism in the writers' focus which goes hand-in-hand with rap industries across the globe favoring men and rap being an example of exaggerated masculinity, but that's a topic for another day.)

Even so, the framing of the female characters is interesting in a couple key respects. The individual character arcs and motivations of the main female characters are, in my opinion, some of the weakest parts of Hypmic--many times, Otome and Ichijiku do things because the plot demands them to, making them look incompetent or needlessly cruel for characters we're supposed to sympathize with. Nemu's story seems to be handled with more care and takes an interesting twist, wherein she openly acknowledges that she's disenfranchised as a woman in modern Japan but rejects the notion that she needs to find strength on either Ichirou or Samatoki's (male) terms. By choosing to be strong in "her own way" (whatever that means...it's not well-defined), the authors are using Nemu to reject the notion that strength and power are inherently masculine.

What I find to be far more interesting is the character design for the Chuuouku women, both in what is said and what is not said.

To begin with, the characters and their portrayals run the gambit from highly sexualized to completely non-sexual. Some characters (especially Ichijku and Honobono) have conventionally attractive, curvy body types and are often drawn in ways that highlight their bodies.

(FP/M+ chapter 4)

(FP/M+ chapter 14)

In some cases, especially Honobono's, the enticing nature of the illustrations is framed as the character's choice; in the above, her words indicate that she wants to seduce the off-screen listeners. The images included above are largely representative of these characters' raps, regardless of illustrator.

But on the flip side, other characters with large breasts or hips are never drawn in a sexual fashion. By way of comparison, here are two shots of Nemu rapping.

(BB/MTC+ chapter 12)

Even in shots with dynamic poses, no attention is drawn to Nemu's figure in any sort of provocative sense. Nemu touches her chest, drawing the reader's eye there, but the artist does not emphasize the size of her chest--they're allowing a chest touch to be no more than an emphasis of the self. At the same time, Nemu's body isn't downplayed. We can see in panel 2 on page 2 that Nemu has a small waist and wider hips, but once again, she isn't being sexualized. The action lines draw the reader's eye to Samatoki and thus put the action first and foremost. This creates the idea that not only can characters portray themselves sexually, but they can just as easily choose not to.

We see similar with Otome, who does not wear any sort of revealing clothing and is never shown in a sexual fashion. However, Hypmic doesn't equate revealing clothing to sexual portrayals either! While I wouldn't call Tsumabira's outfit revealing, she does have more visible cleavage than most Chuuouku figures. However, her bare chest is never sexualized like Ichijiku's.

(BB/MTC+ chapter 4)

Compare the non-emphasis on the chest and the power stance to any of the many shots of Ichijuku where her breasts are front and center in the camera. Speaking of power stance, Tsumabira remains confident in her power stance without being sexy--that is, no stepping on the camera and showing her whole leg.

Which isn't to say that Tsumabira is a sexless character. She's drawn visibly turned on by the male characters in such a way that is cartoonish but not, in turn, overly sexual. Were this supposed to be titillating to the reader, I would have expected to see a larger close-up on her face and tongue. However, the artist (who is no stranger to focusing on tongues!) devotes the majority of the panel to Tsumabira's body language (which, again, doesn't absurdly exaggerate any of her proportions or focus on her chest) and covers part of the mouth with text bubbles. Tsumabira is drawn as engaging in sexual behavior without being sexualized for reader entertainment.

(FP/M+ chapter 4)

The juxtaposition of such different views with little to no judgement attached to any of them suggests that it's perfectly okay to want to be sexy or not, to wear revealing clothing or not, to be involved in sexual situations without being the object of sexual interest, or to simply exist with an attractive body type without sex ever coming into the equation. Just as some characters choose to tie bodies to sexiness, some don't whatsoever--and either is perfectly fine!

The former idea ("I can choose to be sexy") may not sound especially revolutionary to US audiences, where sexuality is thrust upon women willingly or otherwise, but I find it fascinating because it lets the main characters embrace this idea without associated slut shaming. So much of Japanese media insists that women should be sexy but are also wrong for wanting to indulge in their own sexuality. Therefore, having characters who run virtually every iteration of take on the topic (I want to engage in sexuality and be sexualized, I want to engage in sexuality without being sexualized, I don't want to engage in either) with multiple body types (ie, Tsumabira isn't automatically not sexualized because she has a smaller chest; Nemu isn't automatically sexualized because she has a bigger chest) and no judgement involved feels like another breath of fresh air to me.

As a whole, I find the diversity of the Chuuouku uniforms and character appearances quite interesting. They're undeniably all feminine and relatively militaristic, but different characters wear entirely different wardrobes. Skirts vs pants, blouses vs dresses, high heels vs boots... Since every character has her own take on the common theme, it once again feeds into the idea that each character is her own individual and perfectly valid for defining femininity in her own way.

Haircuts, too, range from longer and more feminine hairstyles to pixie cut-esque looks.

(BB/MTC+ chapter 16)

Again, nothing of the framing suggests this short-haired woman is in any way different from her longer-haired counterparts on the edges of this screenshot.

Finally, while most Chuuouku women are conventionally attractive, I find it extremely compelling that Haebaru is a stereotype of an unattractive Japanese woman. To be extremely clear, I do not think these stereotypes should have weight, but the combination of chubby and/or muscular build, freckles, rounded nose, and non-glossy hair is often used as a visual shorthand for unattractive or otherwise undesirable women.

Sure, it's not fantastic that Haebaru is a scheming, two-bit villain. However, so is virtually every other female character in the series, and in particular, Haebaru is (the conventionally attractive) Tsumabira's counterpart. Both are treated with the same respect or lack thereof, suggesting that one's appearance has nothing to do with your ability to be a no-good baddie. Ha ha ha.

It would be lovely if the female characters were fleshed out further and given intelligent choices and diversity outside of the realms of physical appearance. However, I do think the writers' choices are limited by virtue of all women automatically being antagonistic side characters (which, again, is another discussion altogether). What the writers can and have accomplished is further reinforcing a celebration of differences. Just as there's no one right way to be a man, there's an infinite number of ways to be a scheming snake of a woman HAHA.

Intersection with LGBT+ Topics

Unfortunately, this is a very binary look at gender and gender roles, which, while largely representative of the current state of Japanese media, can be disappointing.

Hypmic appears to want to steer shy of LGBT+ topics as a whole, which is a bit of a shame. In a story so focused on gender and acceptance of diversity, it seems the natural next step to explore the notion of those who experiences don't align with a strict gender binary. Such stories are growing in popularity in Japanese media but have yet to be anywhere near the mainstream acceptance in US media (which is still in a fledgling stage at best). I would imagine Hypmic's writers are unable or unwilling to take a definite stance on these topics in the work due to fears of financial or career backlash. If nothing else, the sexuality of the main characters needs to remain in a limbo in order to have plausible deniability for both self-shipping and shipping with other characters. (Some deniability may be more plausible than others.)

The few instances in which Hypmic does wander into this territory are usually clumsy. I am no fan of the handful of scenes where male/male attraction is supposed to be funny purely by virtue of being male/male.

The inclusion of Urumi, the one minor character explicitly LGBT+, is not stellar either. I am hesitant to apply any definite label to her, as the real-life people her stereotype portrays self-identify as everything from trans women to cis men--or refuse to use these English labels at all! Still, we know from her profession (proprietor of a bar heavily implied to be a gay bar by the neighborhood it's in), appearance (poofy permed hair, exaggerated make-up), and demeanor (feminine speech style, a bit flirtatious) that she's AMAB and choosing to present herself in a feminine fashion. By writing Jirou to ask, "Aren't you a man?" in an exasperated fashion, the writers have put her gender presentation in a boke role--suggesting she's over-the-top, exaggerated, comedic. It's not great. I completely understand why readers find it offensive (and it is) even while I don't think the writers intended it that way. Ultimately, it would have been great to see other explicitly LGBT+ characters portrayed without the joking angle.

With that said, I'm not entirely unhappy with her character. She is a stereotype, but the authors have chosen to take only the visual elements of the stereotype and leave the rest on the cutting room floor. In other works of fiction, characters like Urumi are often hypersexual to the point of being in-universe creepy, especially towards underage boys. Other times, characters like her may be eccentric or off-putting in other ways. However, that's not at all the case here. Urumi seems to play a helpful big sister/aunt role in Jirou's life, and he's clearly comfortable enough with her to spend the night at her bar.

(BB/MTC+ chapter 17. "Sorry, but can I shack up here again tonight?" "Of course you can.")

While she seems to engage in some sort of a bohemian lifestyle, as evidenced by the alcohol and smoking, it isn't anything outside of what many of the other characters do. Additionally, while she isn't drawn in a flattering fashion in scenes where she's playing up her persona (which is par for the course with any character in this series, regardless of gender), there are plenty of neutral shots of her being serious. Finally, the art is never outright rude--that is, she isn't drawn exaggeratedly masculine or flamboyantly...snakey? I don't know how to describe this to anyone who's lucky enough to have never seen this--clearly LGBT+ AMAB characters drawn with noodly limbs and huge, overblown lips winding around male characters.

Maybe because I see so much worse continuing to be produced in this day and age, I feel like Hypmic could have done a much, much worse job with this character. She overall plays a positive role and is treated with much the same care as other side characters. It's unfortunate, then, that the writers have chosen to make her gender presentation the subject of a joke.

In other frustrations, I heavily dislike the unnecessary gender divide in background characters. All punks and other background baddies are male, whereas all adoring fans are female. (But Rhyme Anima has done an interesting job of subverting this!) The vast majority of other background figures fall into strict gender roles, which is likewise disappointing. It appears that diversity may be an accepted trait for none but a lucky few that form the main Hypmic cast.

All in all, I don't think Hypmic's portrayal of gender roles is groundbreaking, nor do I think it's fair to suggest that all Japanese pop culture plays into strict gender roles. There are certainly many Japanese works, popular or otherwise, with much more interesting things to say about gender. However, when compared to the vast majority of the titles that cross my desk on a regular basis, I notice and appreciate the level of care put in to Hypmic's commentary on gender roles. The work consistently reinforces the notion that it's okay to be your own individual, no matter how that plays into your gender, and I find that freeing. That's a message we could all do to hear more often, regardless of culture and language.

TL;DR: Oh no, my rapidly approaching deadline. :)

#not a translation #analysis asks

127 notes · View notes

wexhappyxfew · 3 days

Note

24. whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin

For Annie and Brady please!!! I adore them and your writing!

HI ANON!!!! thank you so much for stopping by the askbox!! greatly appreciated, especially when it is annie and brady!! :) these two have my heart and deserve all the best things life has to offer. please enjoy this take on the prompt and these two just being so soft on each other (and brady well....brady being BOLD). lmao! ENJOYYYY!!! thank you for all the love on them! :D

you in my A-2

(a/n): partially inspired by the prompt, partially by an ask i got earlier. just....annie x brady getting more and more comfortable and slowly realizing things about this war that they didn't realize earlier. them. them them them. i need them to be the happiest they can be when this is all done :')

Ever since that first night in the Stalag that she'd crawled into the bunk with Brady, it had become a nightly thing that she'd evacuate by the time morning came, but yearned for with each passing day.

Where it was just the two of them, side by side, curled into one another's bodies, their eyes the only innocent thing held between one another in this horrid place.

Sometimes they'd talk, whispering quietly between another about random things, about some of the sad things of the world, about their lives back home that would be entirely different if they ever got out of here. Sometimes they'd just stare at each other, with what little light there was from the moon outside or the lights from the guard huts outside.

And by that point, Brady would usually thread his fingers into her somewhat tangled hair and she'd apologize for something she could hardly control and he'd whisper all the sweet things that it was fine, he just wanted to be there with her. And that usually lent to her fingertips brushing against his stubbled cheeks, her pointer finger tracing all those stress lines that popped out when it was just them, or she'd let her hands dip into his hair and brush it back in a calming motion that usually got him right to sleep.

And so by morning, when she was back in her bunk, curled in her blanket, looking across the way as people would start moving about, waking up, rubbing their eyes, yawning and stretching, she'd meet Brady's gaze from across the room and they'd share that silent look that meant more than whatever words either of them would manage to find.

It never went past that - the longing looks, the occasional forehead kiss. Maybe they were both scared to go over that line they'd drawn. That maybe if there was anything more, they'd lose it just as quick.

As Annie slid out of her bunk and crossed the small room towards where Brady was, she couldn't help but feel her heart bit a little faster just at the sight of him asleep there - his face scrunched up in a way that made her heart ache. The visible stress on his face even in his sleep made her want to pull him right into her arms and tell him over and over that everything would be okay, that they'd make it out, that she was okay beyond anything. Because he cared so much, that he stopped taking care of himself sometimes. And she always would pick up what pieces were lost and stitch them back together again and hold him in the darkness.

As she approached, she softly bit back her lip and reached out to prod him awake, which always made her feel guilty for doing such a thing, but he welcomed it and told her it was fine, despite her want to make sure he got a full nights sleep. Brady woke with a shake awake and turned to look towards her and smiled softly in the darkness.

"Hey," he whispered, before opening up the blanket, "hop in." Annie watched him for a moment, before her cheeks warmed - they always did when he looked at her like that - and she slid in beside him and let him engulf her in a mixture of his arms and blanket.

The second she felt her body pressed against his in the cocoon of blankets and warmth, her worries were stripped away, as they normally always were. She curled herself against the heat from his neck, her body begging for some sort of comfort in all of this, as he pressed a kiss against her temple, something he'd grown more akin to recently it seemed. It's not that they didn't want people to see them, it was more of the fact that they finally were back with each other and trying to keep things like they had been back at Thorpe Abbotts - friendly, maybe dancing the line of flirting but not nothing more. But here at the Stalag, they were anything but. And they both seemed to recognize that.

"You doing okay?" he whispered softly against her ear as she cuddled further into him the best she could and sighed, "That cold finally going away?" She nodded against him.

"Yeah," she whispered, "just a little bit of a stuffy nose, but can't complain. How about you?" She leaned back from him, from his warmth and smiled at him as she leaned a hand up against her head. Reaching forward, she ran her hands through his hair and watched a sense of calm wash over his form for a minute as she did so. And it did settle Annie's own nerves and worry for Brady that she constantly endured day in and day out. She always worried about him and seemed, but it was always mutual for the two of them.

"Okay," he said quietly, before the corner of his lip turned upward, "better now that you're here, I gotta admit." Her cheeks warmed and she shook her head before holding his gaze in her own.

"You're too sweet on me, John Brady." she whispered softly to him, cupping his cheek for a minute and brushing her thumb across his cheek as she grinned at him with her rosy cheeks. Brady watched her, that slightly far-off look in his eyes, a hint of a smile. He grinned.

"You deserve it, Annie," he whispered back to her, reaching up his own hand and brushing his fingers against her warm cheek and grinning, "that and you blush red like a tomato."

"You a fan of that?" she whispered back quickly with a laugh and she watched him bit his lip and smirk.

"I'd say I'm a big fan of that," he whispered back, "'specially when you look like this." Annie watched him - she could probably be covered in mud and he'd be staring at the way he currently was. And now, stuck in a Stalag camp, looking slightly malnourished and sickly, with slightly matted hair and sunken in eyes and he still looked at her like that and said things like that.

"I could say much of the same," she whispered back to him, turning her head slightly to nuzzle into his hand against her cheek, "you look cute when you blush." John Brady did in fact blush when she said that, even though she couldn't even really see much of his face in that darkness of the room. She grinned and then leaned forward and cuddled into his neck again, Brady chuckling the slightest bit as he curled into her as well.

"You're so warm." Annie whispered against his neck as the rumble from his throat echoed in her ear and made her grin like a loon, "You're like a personal blanket." That got him to chuckle quietly again as her lips danced near her ear and she could practically hear each and every breath that left his lips - a mixture of knowing he was alive and right there next to her - and even more so; knowing that all they were in that moment right now were two people dying for an ounce of comfort in this world.

"Consider me your personal blanket," he whispered back as his lips continued to ghost over her ears, "I was thinking….." Annie listened to him trail off and gulped for a moment as his breath trembled and his heart pounded.

"I'd give anything if it was me and you back at Thorpe Abbotts, just you in my A-2 jacket and nothing else." he whispered and her body grew hot - whether from his soft, husky voice in her ear or the way his hands had found their way underneath her clothes, fingertips grazing her bare back, traversing her battered and hot skin, her thoughts were suddenly in a blunder and all she could think about well was….that. Annie pulled back from her spot curled against his neck and met his gaze.

"Just your A-2?" she whispered softly, looking at him shyly from underneath her eyelashes, a small smile growing on her face as a look dawned on his features that almost seemed like he hadn't meant to let that slip from his lips, but it had, "What does that mean for you?" Brady watched her, the look in his eyes matching the touch of his fingertips on her skin and she suddenly couldn't focus on anything else but that gentle touch of his fingertips. He leaned closer and brushed his lips against her forehead again with that tender touch.

"You can have me anyway you want me." he whispered against her forehead and her eyes instinctively shut as he pressed up against her and she overwhelmed with him. His presence, his touch, the way he held her so gently and close to him, but with a level of protectiveness and care that made her know that this was safe, that she was safe, just like this.

Annie reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, slowly running her fingers up into his hair as his head fell to the inside of her neck and he pulled her close, like a warm, tender hug that you never wanted to pull away from. Gleefully his hands raced along her bare back as she curled against him, feeling the way his hands explored underneath her coat and wooly top, dancing across her skin and making her feel things she hadn't quite felt in some time.

"Can I tell you something?" Annie whispered softly to him, rubbing slowly again through his hair as he sighed against her.

"What is it?" Annie listened to his heartbeat for a moment before blinking.

"This is the safest I've felt in years." And to even say a statement like that, in a place like this was ironic even in it of itself. She hadn't even felt the safest at home, a place that was supposed to be safe. No, no, she felt safest in the arms and embrace of someone she had only met a couple of months ago and had proved himself to be more of a home to her beyond anything.

"With me?" Annie nodded against him.

"Right here." she whispered back to him, "You and me." His grip didn't loosen, he only held her tighter and it seemed in that moment, the realization and the weight of whatever was going on between them seemed to hit. Her truth spilling from her lips quietly into his body, his grip tightening, their bodies pressed against one another in a way that should've felt foreign. Brady seemed to want to say something, she could tell, but when he stayed quiet and instead pressed another soft kiss to her forehead, she didn't question it. Because whatever they had here was okay for right now.

"I feel safe with you too, Annie." he whispered back and Annie was convinced even she wasn't so comfy, that she wasn't sure what she would've done if they'd been looking right at each other, inches apart. For now, she cuddled closer to him, enjoying his hands on her stomach and his lips near her ear, their soft breaths, mixing into deep slumber as they laid in each other's embraces until the world went quiet.

#masters of the air #mota #mota writings #silver bullets #THEMMMM #holy heck #annie bradshaw #john brady #john brady x oc #HE IS GETTING BOLD LADIES AND GENTS #HELLA BOLD #i had this line as an idea and RAN with it #in your a-2 like damn ok brady #SCREAMMINGGGG

40 notes · View notes

jujutsukgojo · 3 days

Text

My gifts to you

feitan portor x reader

Summary: You knew him for years for only moments at a time. Yet, you take it upon yourself to love and mourn him anyway, even when the world won't. tw: light smut, slight yandere feitan, spoilers, mentions of murder, light angst, fluff(?), injuries, cheating, time skips an: didn't mean for it to be this long. Feitan is a bit tricky for me but oh well :) kind of inspired by criminal minds 'no way out'. 10.8k

“If you tie it like this, it should stay, okay?” You tap the boy’s foot. Although he is smaller than you in height, his feet are bigger. It’s quite comical but you don’t dare laugh. In this blasted city, you’d be bound to die for such a thing. Especially if you laugh at someone with crazy hair and carries a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.

He says something in a foreign language that you can’t understand. If you are correct, it may be inverted Japanese. In the books that one kid collects, there is a country, Japan, where the common language originates. Since the common language isn’t his mother tongue, it makes you wonder where he’s from and why he’s here.

The boy stands up to his full, but short, height. You sit on random rubble and look up at him, waiting for what he’ll do next. Will he call over Phinks or even bring Uvogin? He hangs out with Phinks mainly but who knows these days.

Instead of swinging the bat at you or calling over his friends, he pats your head awkwardly. You don’t make any sudden movements or noises. The boy leaves right after. A sigh escapes your lips after he leaves you behind.

What's his name again? Feitain?

__________

In your hut, you slightly stir the food that sizzles in the pan you found. It’s rare to come across tomatoes and eggs but you managed this time. The smell is mouth watering. You hope no one else can smell it.

As much as you want to live elsewhere, this is what you settle for at the moment. In another world, you’d be out of this city and somewhere clean and safe. Like the church or something. No, even better than the church. You’ve heard of the outside where there are bright flashing lights and diamonds and pearls on people’s necks. There are flowers of all colors out there. Different shapes, smells, and meanings, they’re all beautiful. You hear that food isn’t scavenged but bought or given to people without a price.

People said they’ve seen the safety of children your age that play without a care. There are parents for the lost kids and doctors for the injured. Clean clothes and showers on the regular. You can even see the sun clearly and the big, round moon that doesn't bring out the wolves in men.

There are pastors and priests that don’t turn people away, either. Hell, you have even wondered if there were schools there that allow everyone to get in. You're sure that you are reading and doing math wrong. How embarrassing.

Finally done, you place the food on a plastic plate you found. You made sure to wipe the grime off the plate and rinsed it with clean water before using it. Even though you can just eat out of the pan, you want to seem sophisticated like the outside. They don't eat out of pans or use dirty plates.

The food steams and is welcoming. Without a lot of utensils, you pick at it with your hands. It burns at first but you’re too hungry. The flavor bursts in your mouth. Even without the proper seasonings, it’s still heaven. You haven’t eaten in a while so you’ll take what you can get.

Suddenly, the boy, Feitan, enters your hut. You gasp and protectively cover your food. He brings his foot out. His shoe, which he stole, is untied again. You swallow the substance and point out, “I taught you how to tie them.”

“Tie.”

“I taught you.” You set your plate down.

“Tie.” You roll your eyes and pat your thighs. He walks over to you and places his dirt caked shoe on your lap. Slowly, you tie them.

“There, see? Come on now, you need to learn. A little boy can’t grow without tying his shoes.”

“I’m not little boy.” You give a breathy chuckle. “Of course you are, honey.”

He leans in close to your face. “I’m older than you.”

...He does hang out with Phinks, who is a couple years older than you. In fact, it is rare to see them apart. Is it possible that it’s true? Is Phinks the type to be friends with someone who is younger?

Curious, you ask, “Then why are you so short?” His eyes widened in shock. Then, strangely, he laughs while patting your head harshly. Studying his face revealed what looks like the beginning of a sinister smile.

He looks at your plate and sits down in front of you. You’re both on the dirt floor.

“Give me.” You scoff and snap at him. “No! Find your own!”

The little beast decided that the two of you should ‘share’. He smacks on his food, making you want to punch him repeatedly. He’s gaunt and bony, but not really bad like last time. His face has a tiny bit of roundness to it.

“Stop staring.” He inhales a tomato. “You look better than last time.”

“Better?” He cocks his head to the side. The remnants of the tomato smeared a little on his cheek.

“Yeah, healthier.” He stares at you for a second. “Thanks.” His accent is thick, and you still can’t place it. Nevertheless, you understand. Afterwards, much to your surprise, he sleeps in your hut now that his belly is full. Satisfied and strangely not afraid, you follow suit. It’s nice to have a friend, however strange.

You are barely awake, sleep still heavy in your eyes, when you see him pop up. Drool is crusted on his cheek, and he rubs his eyes. He yawns and then spots you next to him. Feitan eyes the entry of the hut then back at you. He puts the only cover you have on you then pets your head.

Before he leaves, he places his bat in your hand. Feitan secures the entry as he exits the hut.

_____________

It’s been years since you and Feitan have talked. You've gotten familiar with him but when Sarasa had died in such a disrespectful and gruesome way, he withdrew. In the meantime, you waited for him and studied a power you discovered. No matter the eyes that were always on you, you didn’t care about the mysterious and hidden audience.

You don’t know what it’s called but it started when you witnessed some kid about to get her ass handed to her by some thugs. The man had moved a pair of scissors without using his hands. They aimed right towards her and in a moment of instinct, you rushed to push her out of the way. Unfortunately, the scissors stabbed you in the shoulder.

It was then did you feel the rush of a force so strong, that it knocked everyone away from you. A faint white light that glowed from your skin that only your eyes could see. As you looked around in shock, you saw that same glow coming from that man and his friends.

You were gasping when you fell to your knees. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t be here!” The girl your age ran for her life and left you behind. In a moment of fear, you call out to her to help you. You were so afraid; you couldn't tell if the screams were hers or yours. Given the situation, you were too rattled, terrified and hurt, to focus.

The men shook for a second then got up to face you. The blood from your shoulder wasn’t stopping its flow. Crimson red stained your clothes and the ground. It was all so strange, such an unusual feeling of adrenaline that you couldn’t help but memorize. Almost as if the world had finally made sense. Every single thing became so much clearer to your dismay.

The men came towards you with malicious intent. While putting pressure on your injury, you managed to kick one of their legs, causing them to buckle and hurt his knee. He screamed in agony.

“G-get away!” You try to stand. The press of your hand on the wound isn’t helping. Is it supposed to bleed this much? It hit your shoulder, but did it nick something?

You need to stop it, to heal and get away from them. In this city, people like you are in danger from men like them. If you don’t get away, you’ll end up like Sarasa. She was never really close to you. She was a nice girl who always looked for video tapes, so you'd help her from time to time. Yet, her death scarred everyone since it was so close to home. And now, you no doubt are facing the exact same situation. Wrong place, wrong time.

Same fate.

You fell back on the ground and looked at the sky. It has always been so dirty, just like the city due to pollution. Still so young, you know you won’t see what it really looks like. In the corner of your eye, you spot something green. A small clover with four leaves.

One time, an old man told a story of how four-leaf clovers are a sign of good luck. By the intense feeling and pressure of your eyes, you know it’s not true. Pain in all ways makes tears fall from your eyes. Lips wobbling at how unfair everything is and that you will never see the sun. The outside must really be heaven, and for someone so young who hasn’t committed a sin, you are wondering if you can go.

Suddenly, flowers that you never knew blossomed around you. The soft petals touched your filthy skin and got rid of the aches. The blood on your shoulder faded from view as well as the pain. A soft and beautiful hum whispered in your ear. You truly believed it to be in your head, an imagination of paradise as you leave. Heaven, they call it. You must be close to the outside world then.

This must be it, you thought. There was no pain from a strike or fear. Just closed eyes and peace. Something you know you couldn’t get in the atrocious city.

It ends. You were shocked as the beautiful flowers disappeared. Heaven, would you reject someone?

The men didn’t hurt you. The one whose knee was broken was able to move his leg. His red hair kind of glowed in the sun, and brown eyes were wide. He muttered a soft ‘thank you’ and walked away without a limp. His friends followed.

After that, you had realized that your ability wasn’t anything like scissors or something scary. It was to heal and be healed.

Although after immediately learning this, you didn't go out of your way to find the source of the screams in the direction the people went. First was the girl, then the group of men. After what you went through, it didn't seem like a good idea.

Feitan, somehow, got wind of it. Now in his later teen years you both estimate, he sits still and points to his arm. There’s a gnarly gash oozing blood. You wonder how he’s not feeling this and if he is, how he isn’t even fazed.

You gently pick up his arm and inspect it. He's thin but has clear definition in his arms. You haven’t seen him in so long that you are surprised by his growth. Hell, he’s taller now. Still short, but at least he grew.

In a jar, you take a premade petal. This is a way for you to save energy and reach people when you physically can’t tend to. Acting as a pill, you make sure that people can get infections out. For some reason, illnesses and infections are particularly tricky and tiring for you.

“Eat this, Feitan.” He frowns. “No.” You sigh. “It’s infected. You need to eat this so I can heal it right.”

“It’s not.”

Rolling your eyes you bring his wound to his face. “This, this is infected. It's literally oozing pus.” How long did this go on? Was he really that hesitant to just come and see you?

He growls and takes the delicate petal and places it in his mouth. “Stop pouting.”

“Not pouting. It’s nasty.” He’s not wrong. It has a bitter taste and when chewed, a slimy texture. The color of the disintegrating petal leaves a stain in the mouth as well. If not for the benefits, no one would even bother. They'd be just as offended as Feitan.

The pus stops and clears up. “Alright, this’ll leave a scar.”

You blow on your hand so that flowing blossoms surround him. Beautiful shades of pink and white go through his hair. With a gentle caress, you see the flurries touch his wound. It starts to encourage his own healing.

As much as you want to do the full thing, you’re tired. All day you’ve been working and collecting payments. Not to mention facing the disappointment of them being useless. You want to kick yourself for not getting paid first. But the sight of those grateful people and healed kids softens your heart.

Soon, it stops once the injury becomes manageable. You’re about to wrap it when a hand stops you. “What’s this?”

“Feitan, I'm tired. You caught me at a bad time.” You try to move your hand but he stops you. He's a lot stronger than you remember. “Heal.”

His fluency isn’t the greatest still.

“I’m tired! Just let it heal the rest of the way.” No matter how much you try to yank your hand away, his grip is too strong. “Please, Feitan...”

Surprisingly, he lets go and from what you can see, the subtle white glow appears and heals him the rest of the way, leaving small flames. “Feitan...what was that?”

He rolls his eyes and plops down on a chair. He says nothing and just relaxes, or at least that’s what he’s trying to make it seem like. It has been a while since you’ve seen him, but that doesn’t make you blind to his behaviors…sometimes.

“As a transmuter, I can heal a little by using enhancer,” He looks at you suspiciously. “You know nothing about nen?”

“Nen?” You put the gauze and other items in a black bag. It was found in the safe zone by the church. Apparently, it belonged to a doctor from the outside. The bag had all kinds of necessities. Gauze, medicine, some syringes, disinfectant, a thermometer, all kinds of stuff that you’ve had to use sparingly. What you save in the bag, you make up for with your ability.

He smacks his lips and calls you a ‘dumb brat’. “You use nen but don’t know it?”

Sighing, you ask, “What is nen, Feitan?”

“What you do. Use your aura and stuff.” His arms are crossed, and he looks at you expectantly. You gather that he likes knowing things you don’t. It’s like a weak power trip.

But it is nice to finally have a name and explanation for it. And that’s what he did this time. Visiting you for a moment just to pick with you while teaching you something you should have known.

“Wait, if you could do that, why’d you come here?” He just shrugs.

------

When you see him again, he brings his friends along. You immediately recognize some of them. Phinks, who ran with Feitan, the boy who always collected books, and Uvogin, the giant who was always claiming territory and beating people up.

Feitan should be twenty now. It’s hard to tell since he looks youthful. He points to his friend, the boy with the books, and orders, “Heal.”

“You can do it, Feitan, remember?” You were in the middle of cleaning when he and the rest of his posse pop up. They look flustered and a little worse for wear.

“Heal.” He always does crap like this. You roll your eyes at first. The body they carry tugs on your strings a bit.

“Fine. Put him on the table.” Thankfully, it’s cleaned, and a new wrapping has been placed on it. Gently, the man is put on it. You spot the cross tattoo on his forehead. Ah, that’s where Feitan has been. Lately, there’s been whispers of the Phantom Troupe. Merciless killers and thieves from Meteor City that have been gaining respect over the years. Your opinion of them isn’t the greatest but it also isn’t the worst. You appreciate them for standing up for Meteor City, but their methods are questionable.

You sigh and begin to undress the boy with the cross. “Is that necessary?”

You continue to pull off his clothes, not bothering to answer the question the girl asked. If she can’t understand why you need to remove his clothes, then that’s on her. She scoffs after another female voice answers her question.

You finally see his wound. Feitan can heal himself to a degree, but you don’t think this guy can. The gash is deep and sewed with makeshift stitches. There’s no nen involved, surprisingly. Given that Feitan is an avid user, you thought his friends would be keen on it too.

“He’s a specialist. Enhancer techniques are harder for him.” Phinks spoke. He must've understood your confusion.

“And the stitches?” You gently investigate the area. It’s an angry red around it and, like you suspected, infected. It wasn’t properly taken care of. You begin to remove the stitches. You wonder what the thread is made of and how long this has been going on.

“He,” Phinks points to Uvogin. “And him,” He then points to another large man with long ears. “Thought they could do it. Normally, Machi heals us but they were away from her. Her stitches would have helped him but not any infections.”

“Ah, well this requires more than I thought.” You touch the ground and out comes a beautiful swirl of flowers. Underneath the moving petals is a blooming sunflower. It picks the guy up so he rests on it. The bed of the flower glows softly and becomes warm. His once wincing face is now peaceful. His injury is slowly closing and the red is beginning to turn pink.

“The downside of this is that it takes a while. It’ll be all healed up in about an hour or so.”

“ An hour?” Uvogin, who has abandoned his afro and traded it for long standing hair. “Feitan, I thought you said she was good? We could’ve gone to that one guy and got it done right then and there.”

“She’s the best. Wait.” His hands are in his pockets and he moves. Feitan looks around and touches whatever he pleases. You try not to focus on his compliment. You wonder if the reason he moved from your line of sight is because he got embarrassed. If so, you won’t tease him. The Troupe are killers, afterall.

You start to feel the weight of your nen. This technique requires more effort than the others. Feitan explained it to you but you never did get the hang of it. You just know what to do instinctively. You were proud that you could do any of this without a teacher.

What you’re sure of is that this man, whatever his name is, is giving you a crap ton of money after this or there’ll be hell to pay.

You feel something tickling the side of your face. The wrapper is red and unopened. You take the energy bard gratefully. “Thank you, Feitan.”

A couple of the Troupe members complain about the time. Machi or Mochi or whatever, the pink haired one, especially complains and criticizes for some reason. You have never seen this person before in your life yet here she is pouting.

“You okay?” You see the blond boy with big blue eyes study you closely. He moves closer to your face. A smile never leaves his face. Before you can answer, Feitan, who hasn’t left your side since you ate the bar, answers for you.

“She’s fine. I’m watching her.”

You hear a couple of snickers. Feitan glares daggers at the offenders. You take a deep breath and ignore the friends who decided to crowd inside your hut. The boy with the forehead tattoo lies peacefully. Although you are running out of steam, his wound is healing nicely. One of the women, you believe it’s Pakunoda, comes to you and bends down.

“Can I get you anything?” You discover that your throat is absolutely parched. “Some water, please.”

If you remember correctly, the last you saw of her was when her head was shaved and some outsider kid did it. She had always kept it short. And now, it’s on her shoulders and very sleek. Over the years she’s drastically changed.

You drink the water, which to your surprise, is clean. “Hey, how did this happen anyway?”

“Don’t ask questions.” Feitan quickly shuts you down. Before you can ask anything more, you notice the entire group of friends are quiet.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?” You nod at the blonde boy with blue eyes and a permanent smile. Completing the hour, the tattoo guy is up. He’s immediately impressed. “My name’s Chrollo Lucilfer. Yours?” He puts out his hand for you to shake.

“Yeah, the book collector-theater nerd-kid, right? My name’s-” Before you can even answer, Feitan does it for you.

He gives your name and how your Nen works. He’s quick with it, too. You side eye Feitan for a second. “Thanks, Feitan. I, uh, really needed a spokesperson.”

“Ah, I guess it can’t be helped then, Feitan?” There’s tension in the air. It’s thick and heavy. By the looks of it, neither one is backing down. “Um, it’s not a big deal that he answered for me, you do know that, right?”

Seconds pass through this. You look around for anyone to intervene with this. Whatever the hell is going on, it’s deep. “Since Fei explained it, why not have her join?”

“Positions are filled.” Chrollo still stares directly into Feitan’s eyes. Phinks nervously chuckles, once again trying to defuse the situation. “Fei, come on. No fighting. Right boss?”

Suddenly, it’s lifted. Chrollo has what looks like a practiced smile on his face. “That’s true. That’s a rule.”

Chrollo takes a glance at you. “She obviously means a lot to you. Clearly, she’s an asset, too.”

“I’m right here, jackass.” Feitan smacks you on the head. “I’ll handle her.”

The others sigh in relief. Momentarily, you’re a little offended. “It was nice meeting you.”

They exit your hut right after, leaving Feitan behind. “So. those were your friends, huh?”

“Watch tongue.” You smack your lips and roll your eyes. There is blood on the floor and on the table. The furniture is in disarray due to all of his friends having no home training. “I haven’t seen you in forever and this is how you greet me?”

He frowns. “I say hello all the time.” You turn to him. “When? I didn’t see you.”

Feitan huffs and kicks the ground lightly. You get up to move the furniture back to place. Your movements are slow and everything seems so much heavier. Everything is swirling right before your eyes. Your head hurts and yet feels so light. Before you meet the ground, Feitan takes you to the couch and lays you down.

“I haven’t seen you in so long, little boy…” Those were the last words you say before you drift to sleep.

Hours later, you wake up at the sound of birds. There is a beautiful blue blanket on you with golden yellow designs. It’s thick and so warm you could stay forever. You’ve never owned anything like this.

Slowly you get up and search for Feitan. He’s nowhere to be found much to your dismay. Last night’s conversation still stays with you. He insisted that he says hello all the time. That he sees you regularly, yet, you haven’t seen him at all.

The blanket, the wind chime, the medical supplies, the various decorations with stones, paint and if you weren’t smart, you’d say gold. Could Feitan have been the one to give you gifts? Silently watching over you and in his own way, saying hello? You have felt like you were being watched for years.

____________

“Do you understand why I didn’t welcome you?”

“No, and I never will. Now please, leave me alone.” You feel convicted by turning a man of God away, but can he truly be one when he left a child to suffer? You were in the cold, wind, and rain, alone in one of the worst parts of the city. All you had was Feitan, and he was there once in a blue moon. After the rejection from the church, you took it upon yourself to care for others as no one had ever cared for you. Although hurt and afraid, you chose not to spread that toxicity. You decided that no matter the size of change, it still works.

However, you will not fall prey to the same people. For instance, that girl you saved and this priest. How can he expect your services with no repentance or atonement? You forgive, but like hell will you forget.

Damn…you were so sure you were over the pain of your past. That the change you made within yourself and how you treat people so no one else suffers like you, would stick. Alas, all it takes is one person to bring it down. You want to kick yourself because of the regression. Then again, the hostility isn’t your fault.

You walk into the hallway with small statues, stone walls, and large windows. The sun shines brightly through them, making the church seem prettier than it is.

“Please-”

“She said no.” Feitan stands with his hands in his pockets, the sun shining on his pale skin. It has been a few months since the incident with Chrollo. You haven’t seen any of them but have felt eyes on you, which you have deduced was Feitan. However, you learned the truth of the blanket. The name stitched on it belonged to an old clan, the Kurta, that was mutilated, tortured, and murdered by the Phantom Troupe. It disgusts you. The blanket is comfortable but still.

Feitan, the boy who you taught to tie his shoes, gave you a trophy of his crime. You wanted to burn it, or bury it in the memory of the Kurta, yet you couldn’t. It’s a gift from the one consistent person in your life. Your protector and giver. So, you folded it and put it in a box.

Now, here he is like he’s done nothing wrong. Defending you and putting the man that’s been with the city for ages in his place. You’re shocked at his behavior.

“Feitan, surely you must understand!”

“Shut up.” Father Rizole took a step back in surprise. Feitan was one of his regulars, if you remember correctly. This must be a surprise for the aging priest.

You hum at the scene. Even though the rumors of what the Troupe has done bothers you, it doesn’t mean you aren’t opposed to the benefits. The priest backs up and sighs.

“If you ever reconsider, please, let me know. We could use your help.”

“I could’ve used it too.” You end the conversation there and leave. Feitan soon follows you. He’s silent on his feet and very fast. Feitan was behind you but his quick feet caught up in less than a second. Now, he walks right at your side.

“So, you just decide when you want to see me?”

Feitan shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Sighing, you turn to him and ask, “What do you need this time?” The lower half of his face is hiding under a plain cowl now. His eyes show all of the emotion needed. “I just hang out.”

The sun is too hot for this nonsense. Sweat trickles down your face and back, becoming sticky. “So that’s why you’re here, right? I’m shocked.”

Before he can say your name, you continue. “Oh! And let's not forget the little massacre that took place, huh? Yeah, being used to heal your friend from that was really fun.”

“I didn’t.”

You roll your eyes. “No, just that one guy. That’s who to you, again?”

“Boss.” You scoff at his short answer. Then, you think about the possibility. “Your boss? Then…doing that to the Kurta, wasn’t your idea, was it?”

“No, not mine.” His hands remain in his pockets. His hair blows in the wind slightly. You realize he hasn’t gotten a haircut in a while.

“If you could, you know, go back in time…would you still do it?”

“Yes.” No hesitation, no thought put into the answer. Just a plain as day answer and a tone that leaves no room for an explanation.

“So whatever he wants he just gets? As long as it aligns with your twisted mind, right?”

His eyes grow darker. “I save you.”

You point to the church. “No, no you didn’t. That guy wasn’t going to do anything to me. I had it handled.”

Shaking your head, you go to leave until a hand wraps around your wrist. “Boss takes nen. I didn’t let him.”

Was that what that was? That tension that day that was suffocating? Remembering that day, you start to form pieces. “Would he hurt you if you didn’t go along with his schemes?”

“No.”

Well there goes that idea. “Nevermind.”

You try to yank your wrist from his grip, but it’s iron tight. “Let me go!”

“I protect you, always. Bad people here, everywhere. I get dirty for you.” His face is indifferent but his words give it away. The plea for you to understand and realize, dare you say, his devotion to his friends. Does this include you?

Is that what it is? What friendship, this connection is? You are aware of the deeds the Troupe do. You understand why they thought it would be a good idea (somewhat anyway).

“Thank you, then.” He lets go of your wrist which was grabbed painfully tight. He trades that in for holding your hand instead. You are shocked at first, but if you make it a big deal, he’ll stop. You don’t want him to right now.

Not when you feel safe. You still want to kick yourself… and maybe throw in a punch.

_____

Apparently, the Troupe have gone their separate ways for now. They don’t cling onto each other for a long period of time after a job. It’s better that way since it has a lesser chance of them getting caught. They still hang out from time to time, though.

For you, you managed to get out of Meteor City after the argument with the priest. Feitan had gone to do another heist with Phinks, if you remember right. You took that moment to skip town. You never wanted to stay in the trash, anyway.

And you were right to! Everything you thought of as a child about the world outside was true! Sure, people can be rude and things can be corrupt, but you’re fed and resting. There are bright lights and kind people. It can be clean and the soap smells so good. Just the other day you got to experience a nail salon. Rather than stealing from you, the lady next to you, Jade, talked about her family. Her daughter is Ruby and her wife is Scarlet. Jade and Scarlet want another child. You offered the name Emerald.

In Meteor City, you would’ve had to fight. Now, you are making friends and offering beautiful names. It’s a stark contrast that is fully welcomed.

The sun is bright and the moon is sometimes round. It doesn’t always attract evil and can sometimes sing such a beautiful melody. There are pearls and diamonds. There are seasonings that make the food taste unbelievably good. It’s all expensive, but infinitely better than Meteor.

And Nen is a secret here. In the city, many knew about it and used it without discretion. Here it’s different. Like a secret identity for a hero. Your nen in particular isn’t used as much as it was before. Your ability was so tiring. Pretty and incredibly useful, but exhausting nonetheless.

It has been a few years since you saw him, but he’s seen you. He found you quickly, too. When you came home from your office job (which you are still ecstatic about, by the way) you noticed a new painting in your house. It was dull and in black and white. The painting is of a few plants that take the center stage. Actually, they’re your nen plants. In the background is what looks like your old city. Piles of rubbish and polluted air in black swirls. There are clouds above and a dark sun barely poking out.

It’s sad. Beautiful, but sad. You have wondered what he meant by it. You open the door to your apartment. It’s not much and one day you want to get a house.

The keys make a jingle when you set them on the countertop. The apartment is still dark, so you scramble to flip the switch. “Why you leave?”

You scream at the top of your lungs. Standing there nonchalantly is Feitan, who you haven’t had contact with in a hot minute. His hair is even longer than before. He wears a new cowl that has a skull on it over his face. His trench coat looks a little too big for him but he wears it well anyway.

“Uh, because I live here? What are you doing here?” You set your bag down and take off your short heels. Although he’s a murderer, you still feel safe with him.

He takes slow strides towards you. “ Why? I looked for you and you weren’t there.”

“You knew where I was. I got your presents,” You point to the painting. He hides his face a little in the fabric. “I like it by the way. Did you do it?”

“Shut up.” You sigh and walk into your kitchen. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

You begin to wash the rice. Your eyes switch from looking down to taking obvious glances at him. Right about now, he should be in his mid twenties. It’s amazing how long you’ve known each other. You remember him as that kid who didn’t know how to tie his shoes and him teaching you about Nen. Time flies so fast when you least expect it.

You crack the eggs and whisk them. The sound of the utensil against the bowl and the sizzle of the tomatoes in the pan is all that is heard. Feitan doesn’t make one sound. He opts to stare at you working and even has a glint in his eye which you think could be satisfaction.

“Do you still like this, by the way? I remember you snatching it.” You try not to smile at the memory.

“I do.” He hovers in your kitchen, just waiting, watching you do all of the work. Stingy bastard. After adding the seasonings, you could have never gotten in Meteor City, you fix him a plate. He happily accepts it and sits down on the floor.

“I have a tab-” Oh, the memory. Allowing yourself to smile, you sit with him and eat off of his plate. “We’re sharing. ”

He gives a slight growl but doesn’t do anything. “So, what brings you by?”

“I say hello.” You hum with a mouth full of food. “Well, hello to you too, little boy.”

He gives you a light kick. The two of you finish the plate. Both full, you just lay back and talk.

“How long are you staying?”

“Not long.” You’ll miss him. “Running from the cops again?”

“Need to hide out for a bit.” You nod, accepting his answer and that your connection will probably always be sweet moments. “It’s nice to have you here, even only for a moment.”

Feitan taps you again with his foot. “I’m always here. I say hello all the time.” You know and are fully aware of what he means. His odd little gifts decorate your house. To bones, to rugs, even a china set he stole. It’s routine for him to give you something, even when you don’t see him.

“Even though you run.” He kicks you again. The more you watch him, the more your chest tightens. He’s the only consistent thing in your life. Everything is fleeting. Your job is new as well as your relationship with your coworkers. But there is a line with them. Feitan is different.

“How long are we going to do this dance?”

“I don’t dance.” You roll your eyes and laugh. “I mean you coming by once in a blue moon.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.” You nod. “Figures.”

He frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, that this whole thing is tiring. You come and go like some kind of feral cat.”

“So?”

You sputter, “ So I don’t appreciate it.” He takes off his long coat and reveals his chest, next goes his shoes. “I sleep here.”

“You can’t use me!” He gets up and goes in the direction of your room. “Feitan!” You pick up his clothes and set them aside. “Do you hear me? I wasn’t done talking!”

On your bed is a sprawled out Feitan. He looks at you with squinted eyes. “Shut up, I’m trying to sleep.”

Like always, he makes himself at home. You sigh, giving up on trying to talk to him. “Move over.”

He scoffs and reluctantly moves out of your way. You feel him tense up as you lay down. “This is my bed. I can sleep here.”

You face each other as you lay down. Neither of you say anything about how close you are. This is probably the closest you’ve ever been since you helped him tie his shoes the second time. You feel his eyes on you, making you nervous. “Stop staring at me.”

“Never sleep with someone in a while.” You know. The last time was with you, no doubt. At the time, you didn't think about it, if you remember correctly. It's hard to tell since it's been so long.

“The couch is that way.” He smacks his lips. “No, you go.” You open your eyes.

“Like I said, this is my bed.” Feitan doesn’t say anything about your ownership. Instead, he’s honest with you. “I’m tired.”

Instantly, you start to feel a little bad. In the city, no child was ever able to fully sleep. It was too dangerous, especially in the more dangerous districts. Him being honest about his state, you take it as a step.

“If you want to, I’ll be on the lookout.” His hands are next to yours. You grab them, just like he did those few years ago. “You can sleep now, Feitan.”

You don’t know when, don’t know how either, but you two do end up sleeping. His eyes are closed and his breath even. Your eyes flutter open and see that he’s got slight dark under eyes and his mouth leaking drool. Feitan looks peaceful, sleepy, like he hasn’t done this in a while.

The next morning, he’s gone with no evidence he was even there.

_________________

You watch on the tv screen above the bank about the attack on York New, a city not too far from you. The attack happened a few days ago but it’s still in the headlines. You don’t blame them, to be honest. It was an insane event that over two thousand people died!

You cling onto your boyfriend’s arm. He touches your hand reassuringly. His watch gleams in the moonlight and his suit is perfectly pressed. He's the entire package, he’s perfect. A good job, good manners, an honest man, and treats you well, too. He always holds the chair out for you and gets up when you leave the room. Just like a true gentleman.

When you first met, it was a classic coffee shop romance. Then it blossomed into a romantic and expensive dinner, the movies, a nighttime walk in the park, all of the classic dates. In every single one of them he was the perfect gentleman, the perfect man. You like him and how he treats you. How consistent he is. He's the type of man you can rely on.

Nevertheless, there is a bothersome voice in the back of your head that reminds you of someone he just isn’t. He’s not Feitan Portor. You don’t feel the contentment Feitan gives when the two of you sleep. You don’t study your boyfriend’s features like you did Feitan.

Dammit, why are you thinking of him? He’s not around and you haven’t seen him in what? Two or three years? So why think of him now. Plus, you haven’t received a gift or a ‘hello’ from him. For all you know, he could be dead.

“Are you alright?” You wake from your thoughts and look at your boyfriend. His hair is dark, blending in with the night. Eyes kind and green, a Grecian nose, and average sized lips revealing a dazzling smile. Not only is the very essence of him suave, but his looks are also perfect. Tall and handsome, well dressed and a smooth voice.

It's just that one five foot one pest that won’t get out of your head.

“Y-yeah just…it’s all so shocking. York New is literally over there.” You point past the river where more tall buildings reside in the distance.

“I know, I know.” He brings you in close to him. He places a kiss on your head. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you.”

Suddenly, the newscaster stops mid sentence and gasps. Before you know it, the Phantom Troupe have been named the offenders that caused all of this. Two thousand people. Feitan, did you really kill that many people?

“I would like to go home. I don’t feel the greatest.” He rubs your arm, you still being tucked into his side. Your excuse was a lie to cover the gnawing feeling towards Feitan and his deeds. Although the Phantom Troupe’s original intentions were from a decent stand point, it seems they’ve lost their way. Feitan has lost his way.

The gifts have stopped coming, him no longer saying hello. After the last time, when you made him familiar food and sat in a comfortable silence, he disappeared. This time, there was something about it that hurt. Like he didn’t want to come around. He didn’t want to say hello anymore. Or perhaps, he died which if confirmed, you would ache beyond help.

“The Phantom Troupe is dead.” The newscaster said. The crowd gasped, shocked that the most feared criminals in the world are gone. Did you jinx it? Curse the little boy who needed you to tie his shoes. The boy who liked your cooking and made sure you rested. Had strong faith in you, never doubting. Protected you from the shadows and held your hand.

Is he really gone?

You hide your face in your boyfriend’s jacket. Tears stream from your eyes at the thought of his grave. With the Troupe, his friends dead, you’d be the only one to truly mourn him. To remember his name beyond his violence.

You clutch your chest. “Are you okay? Does your chest hurt?” He grabs you by your shoulders, making you face him. He’s such a kind, decent man. But he’s not Feitan Portor.

“I just need to rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.” You give him a chaste kiss goodbye. Once he leaves, your chest hurts even more. You slide down as you look around at all the menace’s little gifts. The painting, the skull, the windchimes, everything he’s given you. Why, oh why, couldn’t you stay here long enough for your gift, Feitan?

Wait, what could you have given him anyway? He’s a thief that takes what he pleases and has nothing to wish for.

You lay on your couch and put your arm over your face. The tears refuse to stop for even just a second. You don’t know what you’re crying harder for. Feitan or the confusing feelings for him. Now that he’s gone, you can’t properly tell him. How can you explain it?

It’s heavy on your chest and tightens it. You want to feel his body heat no matter how hot the day is. There are no small flutters in your stomach at the thought of him. No, it's something in your heart. You want to stare at him, to memorize every feature he has. To hear his soft voice that is just a centimeter away from a whisper. Just melt in his touch, his presence. Wait, why is this happening? You barely knew him! Does that fact even matter though?

You slip your hand in your underwear, still staring at the ceiling, sniffling at the news of his death. You imagine the future. Seeing him walk into your house and setting his belongings on the table. Wrapping his arms around you and kissing your back. No matter how long you’ve known him, his stature never fails to amuse you. He’d paw at your body, tearing off your clothes. Feitan wouldn’t hesitate to use his hands for your pleasure.

You trace your fingers in the direction you think he’d go. Curling your fingers inside, thrusting them in harshly, knowing that he can only be gentle in his own way. Your back arches from the couch. You swear you can smell him and the faint metallic scent that he holds. The feeling of his ragged breath on your cheek you could swear is real.

You moan as you take that jump you’ve searched for. Thinking of how good Feitan would make you feel. You're relentless on yourself, still going as strong as he’d be. Adding another finger, going faster and faster on your clit. Your moaning gets louder as the indiscernible amount of time goes on.

‘ The Phantom Troupe is dead.’

You crash on the couch with one last gasp. The dream of the two of you ends in flames. The house, the passion, the years that go by in that home. Maybe even a child or two. Seeing him in the morning with a groggy voice is gone. Rubbing his eyes and saying he wants more eggs and tomatoes is no longer there.

What would your gift be to Feitan? Memories? Sex? Food? Nothing fits. He can have those with anyone.

You slip yourself out from your underwear. It didn’t distract you. Perhaps if you thought of your boyfriend, it would have. But the feelings you have towards Feitan went beyond physical. What is this? What do you call this?

Love? Time stops at the realization. It has to be that. That would have been your gift to him. Love. You cover your mouth as you admit it to yourself.

'I love you Feitan Portor. I won’t forget you. I love your messed up hair and soft voice. For how you didn’t reject me when the world did. I will do the same for you. I’ll look past your torturous ways and miss you anyway. Maybe the world will curse you, but I’ll mourn you. Bury you so no one can spit on you anymore. I love you Feitan.

I’m in love with you Feitan Portor. This is my gift to you. For you to know that you will not be forgotten even though I never got to tell you, to thank you for everything. For leaving the baseball bat with me to protect myself. For painting that picture for me. All of the little gifts you thought I’d like, too. Thank you for protecting me from the priest and the wolves that hunted me every day when we were young.'

You stare at the ceiling till the earliest of mornings. It’s still dark, still heavy with the night sky. There’s some rumbling in the distance, a flash of light in the sky. You don’t bother to confirm anything.

Just as you close your eyes, the window opens with a creak. You move your eyes to see the figure before you. The darkness covers it, only leaving the silhouette. “Why cry?”

You squint, trying to make out the features. “Are you real?”

“Very.” It must be a lie. A cruel humor the world has. “Stop crying.”

“I can’t. Not when you sound like him.” The figure cocks his head, that much you can see with the flash of lightning behind him. “Him?”

“Someone who can’t tie his shoes.” Your lip wobbles again. “I can tie them now.” The moon glows enough to show his face now as he steps up to you. Feitan’s delicate features peek out from his cowl.

You shake your head in denial. “It’s not real. It can’t be. You’re dead, Fei.” Your voice is hoarse from your sobs.

He looks shocked at your words. The man who looks like Feitan smacks your feet off the end of the couch so he can sit.

“I’ll miss you Feitan Portor.” The longer you stare at the imaginary man, the more you hurt. “Well, stop.”

He roughly wipes away the tears. “Ugly when you cry.” His face is close to yours. Since he’ll be gone by the time you come to your senses, you grab his face and kiss him. He sharply inhales, not expecting your sudden decision.

He growls against your lips, “Stupid brat.”

He feels real. He smells real, familiar too. You tell him such and with furrowed brows and a strong grip of his hand, he grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. “I’m real, you idiot.”

“They said you died…” You comb his hair through your fingers. It’s real, he's real . So, what’s going on? Before you can ask him, he cradles you. “Stop crying or I’ll go.”

Your lips wobble at his threat. Rather than listening to it, you hug him. He nestles on top of you, hips placed between yours. He’s light, lighter than you thought so it isn’t a bother.

“You’re so ugly when you cry. Don’t cry.” He holds you closer and kisses your head. Against your ear, you feel his lips move. You can’t tell what he’s mouthing. When the two of you comfortably slept those years ago, that was the closest you’ve been. Now, this beats that record. Face to face, body to body, and sharing breaths.

After a few moments of thunder and lightning, he kisses you gently. Not at all like the desperate one like before. Realistically, you know these feelings you have for him seem fake. You’ve only had a few moments with him. So, why are they so significant? Are they with him too? Is it possible that love can blossom quickly?

Gentle kisses turn passionate, never wanting to separate. Little nibbles on the right places and sucks on all of the best ones. Clothes leave, not wanting to get between the two friends, those who dance around each other. For the first time, they meet.

His hands reach your throat as he kisses you, making sure to give it a light squeeze. His weight is still on you, not hurting in the slightest. Feitan makes sure his hand reaches below and swirls his thumb on your bud. You gasp, surprised you were right about how he’d do it. Every ministration he does is exactly how it was pictured. Your hands don’t compare to it. Not by a long shot.

Despite his size, his hands are still bigger than yours. They reach deeper than you and are thicker too. In no time, you come, the bliss lasting a good minute before he sheathes himself inside. His thickness is more than you thought. It’s a bit of a stretch, but in a good way.

His gasps quicken with every thrust. You can tell that you're being loud, way louder than when you touched yourself. Feeling the rush and strength of his movements has you claw his back in ecstasy. He groans at the sensation. Finally, after this time of passion and intimacy, you both hold each other as you fall off of that cliff.

Feitan looks into your eyes. With a softness that no one in the world could’ve predicted the torturer of the Phantom Troupe to have, kisses you. “Don’t cry anymore. Don’t cry.”

“It’s hard not to when I know you’ll leave.” Silently, Feitan removes himself from inside you. It’s become routine, so you expect him to walk out. He lays back down, his head on your stomach. You run your fingers through his hair. He needs a haircut.

You wake up, not realizing that you went asleep in the first place. Before you can get up, you feel pressure on your stomach. Feitan rests on you still, eyes completely closed and his face peaceful. The two of you are naked and the only source of heat is each other. As much as you want to wrap your arms around him, you know he’ll react negatively or at least flinch.

Soon after, he stretches and rubs his face against your stomach. Like before, he drooled in his sleep. “Good morning.”

He grunts in response and sits up on his heels. It takes him a moment to remember the night before. His eyes widen as he looks you up and down, making you highly aware of your current state. You cover yourself with a blanket draped over the couch.

“I have to go.” Ah, right. He’s a cat.

He gets dressed. Once he has his boots on, you see him tie them the way you taught him. “Proud of you. You finally learned huh?”

“Brat.” You laugh a little at him. Once he’s done you ask, “Will I ever see you again?"

He cradles your face. “I come back.” You nod, holding back tears. He studies your face and settles on your eyes. He must have realized that you were trying not to cry. His hands still remain on your face as he kisses you. He lingers there for a minute. A parting kiss, a meaningful one.

Something tells you that this feral cat isn’t going away anytime soon. That he’ll always be constant and you won’t be totally alone. A companion you won’t see everyday and only for a night.

This is the gift you’ll give him. You’ll be home for him.

___________________

Months later, news about the Chimera Ants came out. You had already broken up with your boyfriend and heard he had left town to avoid them. Of course, you followed suit and got the hell out of there.

Without any plan, you moved back to Meteor City, where you thought that they wouldn’t be. Alas, that was stupid. You made a home base in the residential area. Not knowing that Meteor City was plagued by the wretched beasts.

By God’s grace, you managed to avoid them due to you being in the residential district. News that the Phantom Troupe were home to fight them ran rampant. The thought of Feitan made you nervous and you don’t know why.

Suddenly, right as you put away your dishes, the door opened. You grabbed a knife and faced the intruder. Standing there was the Phantom Troupe, who once again, barged into your home like they owned the place.

“What the hell?” You shout. The first one is Phinks with a wide smile. “There she is! Fei, I found her!”

You put your hand on your hip. “Seriously, what are you doing her-you’re dragging in mud, take off your shoes!”

“It’s only a little.” Phinks pouts. “I don’t care! You don’t live here.”

Phinks and his friends grumble as they do as they’re told. The last one to enter the house is Feitan, who is notably holding his left arm. Without being told, he removes his shoes.

“Feitan…” He hasn’t faced you yet. “What happened to your arm?”

“I’m injured too, (Y/n)!” The smiling boy with round eyes whines. You have no idea what his name is. Only that he and the rest are in Feitan’s gang.

“Alright, let me see.” He lays down on your clean table and says, “It’s all over. I need the full treatment!”

“Ugh, fine.” You grumble under your breath about the disrespect and your poor table. Finally, Feitan sits on one of the pushed aside chairs. He says, “I need it too.”

“Big babies.”

You heal the biggest cry baby completely. The blond, whose name you now know as Shalnark, stretches. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve been hurting all day!”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to Feitan who has been silent. He holds out his arm for you. You take the limb and inspect it.

“Completely shattered.” He grunts in agreement. He stares into your eyes and gives you a familiar slight smile. You notice that his friends are quiet, not a sound or word among them.

“You guys alright?” You ask. The girl shakes her head yes and ‘whispers’ to the rest. “Should we leave them alone?”

“Probably.” A mummy with boxing gloves answers. You’ve never seen him before in your life.

“Uh, we’ll check the place out. Y’know, make sure it’s safe.” Shalnark shoos the little kid out and into a separate room, your bedroom. “We’ll clear this out in case you guys need it!”

You huff and roll your eyes. Feitan’s cheeks are red and he’s glaring daggers at his friends. The girl goes outside with the remaining three to check the area. You and your feral cat are alone.

“What are they checking for? I’m in a residential area.”

“Ants.”

“They’re here? In the safe zone?” You begin to panic until he grabs your hand. “You’re safe now. They’re not in the city anymore.”

“Wha-how? What’s going on?”

He pinches you lightly, encouraging you to heal his wounds. “Oh, right, right.” Flowers of all colors circle around. They begin to smooth over Feitan’s wounds. You take a second to wipe the blood off of his lip, letting there be some room for the petals to go.

“How’s the other guy look?”

“She's toasted.” You smile. “Atta boy.”

He’s healed, the petals and flowers disappear. You lick your lips at the sight of his bare chest. You didn’t notice before due to the audacity of these heathens barging in.

His heart rate quickens. “You leave again.”

You nod. “Yeah, yeah I did. I had to, Fei. the Chimera Ants invaded. I had to run.”

“With your boyfriend?”

You let out a small gasp. “ No. How do you know that?” He crosses his arms and leans back in the chair. “You lie.”

“I didn’t lie to you. I just never said anything.”

“Words of a liar.” You scoff at him. “I did not lie to you. I lied to him. You don’t have any business with our relationship.”

At first, he was looking at his lap. Those grey eyes of his immediately found a new target to glare at. “You’re not with him anymore. ”

“No. Why does that matter?” He begins to tap his foot lightly. “Why did you break up?”

“You hungry?” You start to get up until you’re tugged down. “Why?”

When you don’t answer, he whispers in your ear. “Because I fucked you?” Your face is so warm.

“If we run, we can still make it out.”

“Why are we running?” A small voice asks.

“Because I think they need the room.”

“Will you two shut up?!” You are two seconds away from running out of your own damn house. You stand and his hands hold you by your hips. “Tell me why you leave him?”

“Because of you.” It’s embarrassing to tell him your feelings. Hopefully, he can read your mind or something and shut up. He sighs and stands, walking over to you without a hitch. He kisses you.

“That’s what you get for lying.” He’s not remorseful or even boastful. Feitan takes your answer in stride. “No more leaving. Stay so I can find you.”

“You’ll always find me, remember?”

______________

Time after that, you were stuck in charge of Chrollo’s lover or something. She’s not too bad but clearly traumatized. Anytime you’d tell her to go with you, she’d look shocked. Like she was surprised she could leave. You were suspicious of her relationship with Chrollo. Something didn’t sit right with you whenever he or Feitan came up. She’d tense up. She never talked about it either. From what you understand with the little information you have, is that she was a former member that raised an orphan and that Chrollo loved her immensely. Perhaps too much.

From what you know, there was a big showdown on the Dark Continent and the boat that was taking a voyage to the fake one. The Phantom Troupe were on that one at first, fighting Hisoka Marrow. He was a sore loser that got humbled and decided to attack again.

Amazingly, only a few died. You didn’t want to know the details or anything. You can’t go through that again. So, after that news, you and Chrollo’s lover parted ways. She went on to find a kid she raised. You, on the other hand, decided to settle out of Meteor City. This was almost a year ago.

You have an apartment now in the town where you and your boyfriend lived, right next to York New. It’s basic, not fitting any aesthetic or anything. The good thing about it is that it’s bigger than your first one. It’s two bedroom and has a good price.

Feitan hasn’t reappeared. It tore you to shreds. You’ve managed to piece yourself together bit by bit, but you are a hollow version of yourself. Surviving and not enjoying the little things you used to. You even saw Jade, Scarlet, Ruby, and the new child, Emerald. Even that heartwarming moment didn’t fulfill you. However, it was the first time you smiled in a while.

You stir the food in the pot. Since it’s a little chilly, you made soup. You put the lid over the pot, letting it cook. There’s a knock on the door. You open it and see the man you’ve waited for.

Feitan is in dark clothing and has a large scar on his face. There’s no cowl over him, or a large trench coat. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks at you expectantly. You realize that you’ve just been standing there, you move to let him in. Once again, he makes himself at home.

“How’ve you been?”

“You leave again.” He states bluntly. His eyebrows are furrowed and has a frown on his face.

“Bold of you, very bold.” You move around him. “Why did you go?”

“Because I’d never stay in that city forever. The Ants were gone, the world settled. So why couldn’t I? That place is gross anyway.”

He sits on the barstool and cracks his neck. You ask a question right after he sits. “How long you here for?”

You don’t know why you asked that. He’ll only be here for a moment. A while ago, you had made the decision to accept it as your gift to him. To love and mourn him when the world won’t. When news about the Phantom Troupe hit, you couldn’t bear to hear it. Their trip to the fake Dark Continent, then their corrected course to the right one, ended in a battle with them facing Hisoka and Illumi and everything else over there.

It was too hard for you to think about. That doesn’t mean you didn’t mourn and that you’ve snapped out of it.

“For good.”

You look up into his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he’s smiling with soft eyes. You see that he has a dimple on his left cheek. “W-what about-”

“Done for a while. Maybe forever. I know I’m staying.”

“But your friends, where are they?” He shrugs even though you see the tension. “Separate. We split for a bit.”

He rubs his shoulders nervously. “Can I stay with you?”

“Wow, you’re asking? Shocked.” You tap on the counter. The weight you’ve been carrying is lightened. “Feitan?”

“Yes?” He gets off of the stool and makes his way around the counter. “You know how you give me all those gifts?”

He nods his head. “Well, this is my gift to you, Feitan Portor. You can stay as long as you like.”

He wraps his arms around you. He’s hugging you. This time, you aren’t afraid to hold him back and squeeze. Maybe, just maybe, this is what home is?

If the Phantom Troupe resurrects, at least you know he’ll always come home. That you two will be a constant force for each other. No matter if it does or doesn't, you two aren't dancing but admitting things you couldn't. This is home, a gift for each other.

#feitan portor #feitan x reader #feitan porter x reader #hxh #hxh fanfic #slight yandere #q #phantom troupe #hunter x hunter #hxh feitan #idk what to put here rn

53 notes · View notes

stusbunker · 2 days

Text

Spotless: Dolce

Chapter Twenty One

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Word Count: 1787

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, minor backstory, they're idiots your honor, unbeta'd

A/N: Thank you all for your patience. Apart from being sick, I second and third and quintuple guessed myself on this chapter and then thoroughly ignored the difficult parts and just let them have a conversation on their own. That's it, it's just a phone call. xoxo Stu

Forgive me @lastactiontricia <3

Series Masterlist

You stood in your kitchen staring at the food in the fridge. It wasn’t much, but you had options.You just hated them all at that moment. You closed the door and slogged over to the pantry. It was the Friday night after Dean’s birthday and you wanted nothing to do with your phone or work or anything social media related.

So you had turned off your ringer and left it to charge.

You grabbed a bag of microwave popcorn out of the box and ripped off the plastic wrap. It was a poor excuse for dinner, but it at least would tide you over while you decided what you actually wanted to eat. Then you poured yourself a glass of wine, a sweet white because you were not a snob about it. No matter how many trips to Napa people took you on, you really weren’t going to spend an arm and a leg on a bottle that you only half-heartedly appreciated.

Once it was ready, you took the puffed up bag of popcorn with you to the living room because what was the point of making another dish? And decidedly resorted to turning on the tv.

The thing about streaming shows is that even though your attention wavered, the consistency of the characters on the screen made you feel less alone. You got through six episodes before you realized you never made anything for dinner. And at that point, it was too late to start. You stomped around trying to remember where you left your phone only to find a missed call from Dean and a dozen random texts from other people.

You double checked you didn’t have any voicemails and scrolled down to order delivery. Once dinner was finally sorted, you poured yourself the last of the bottle of wine and called Dean back.

The phone rang in your ear as you sat in the corner of your couch, criss-cross applesauce while turning on the next episode on mute. He answered on the fourth ring.

“Trouble, hey!”

“You rang?” You took a sip. Wherever he was was loud, but you could hear him moving through the buzz of passing conversation and cutlery.

“Yeah, you got a minute?”

“The night is my oyster, what’s up?” You leaned forward and set your glass on the coffee table, stretching back and settling in for whatever fire you were going to have to put out next.

The sounds surrounding Dean ended abruptly and he exhaled. “Not much, just grabbing drinks with some people from the label with Bela. You know, schmoozing the uppity ups.”

“Oh— good luck with that.” You shifted onto one hip and hugged your knee. “Tell her she has to pick where we’re getting brunch because the place I wanted is closed for remodeling—- and that she’s paying.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “I’ll fucking cover it, okay? Anything else you need me to tell her? Cuz I could go back in there and just hand her the phone if you want—”

“Nope— no, sorry. It’s fine. You okay?” Something in his voice was setting off a proximity alarm in your head, not full blown panic mode, but enough to let you know something had appeared on the horizon.

“Yeah, ‘m good. It’s just not my kind of thing—- Bela’s great at these things— I just stand there wishing I could be anywhere else.”

“I’m surprised you even showed up— especially with rehearsals starting Monday.” You grabbed your wine again, waiting Dean out.

“Gotta play nice— you said so,” Dean teased, you could hear the soft hum of his smugness before he shifted gears. “Listen— that whole thing with Cas and the birthday bus— and the whole day actually—”

“Are you really gonna start bitching about that now? Dean, it is so not the time— don’t you have someone’s ass to kiss?”

“What?! I’m not— would you let me finish?! Jesus. I was trying to thank you!--- Don’t know why, now, but yeah.”

You bit your lips and perked up, straightening your back and wagging your head a little back and forth. “Oh? By all means— continue.”

“Yeah, okay, smart ass.”

You cackled and let him stew a bit.

“It was seriously the best, okay? Like, top five of all time.” Dean switched ears and you tried not to squee with the idea of making him so happy he’d been thinking about it for days. That he had to call you to tell you— even as an excuse to escape a less than stellar social situation. Everything seemed to sparkle on your skin, but that could have been the Reisling. “And about dragging Cas out— that was an unexpected gift. So, yeah, thank you— for all your trouble.”

You groaned.

“Oh come on! That one wasn’t that bad.” Dean pretended to be affronted and you pretended to be annoyed.

“Sure.”

He sniggered. “It was good to see him. It’d been too damn long.”

“Seriously. We had lunch and just getting to hang out with him made everything better.”

“Yeah.” Dean was thinking and you let him.

The television was frozen on the prompt screen, judging you for still watching, but you ignored it. You finished your wine and looked at the last drops through the curved glass, distracted by the reflection of your empty living room.

“You think he’s doing alright? I mean— he’s got a freakin’ kid. That’s got to have been a total mindfuck— you know?”

Naturally, Dean was worried about how Cas was, not about harboring grudges or blaming him for the rift between them. At least not out loud.

“I cannot imagine— and luckily we don’t have to worry about anyone trying to pull that again.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Fuckin’ Lisa, I almost forgot about that. That was like the first big thing you had to bury when you started.”

You sat up and climbed onto your knees, like getting taller would help make your point. “Oh, I know! God that was such an uphill battle, even when she pretended to play nice. I still get the heebie jeebies when I pass her yoga studio on the way to Charlie’s.”

Dean chuckled. “Man— the things we do for fame. We are paying you, right?”

“Last time I checked.”

“Okay, good, probably should be more though, especially with all the Bela stuff.”

“Dean— I make well over the industry standard percentage with you guys. Plus, you barely even charge me rent. I’m doing fine.”

“Whatever—- still, want you to know your hard work is appreciated.”

You settled back down and picked at the seam of your leggings. “That is the weirdest way you could have said thank you, I hope you know.”

“Fuck off— Thank you, okay? THANK YOU. Should I spell it out? Maybe say it in Spanish?”

“Claro.”

“Como se dice ‘bite me’, huh?”

“Muérdeme.”

“Uhhh—- yeah, not gonna try that one while I’m standing in an alley alone.”

You rolled your eyes. “You should probably go back inside. People are waiting on you.”

“They barely even looked up when I stepped away— Bela’d message me if it was a problem.”

“Deeeeeean.”

“Trouuubbbllllle,” the way his voice rumbled with your nickname made it hard to remember you were even wearing clothes.

You climbed off the couch and decided to put your glass in the dishwasher for something to do. He wasn’t going back into the restaurant, but he wasn’t exactly keeping you from anything either.

“Why’d you call if you were out anyway?”

“Heh— I called you to talk me into going through with it.”

Oops. “Well good job on getting there on your own.”

“I was already halfway to Bela’s anyway. Paps perked up real fast when we rolled up. Gonna have to switch out Baby for a rental one of these days. Don't like the way they hone in on her.”

You rolled your eyes. “Probably a good idea, especially if you need privacy.”

“Not really the point of this little arrangement is it?”

“Okay, but still, be safe.”

“With my car? Always.”

You smiled to yourself when there was a knock at your door.

“Somebody there?” You hadn’t realized he could hear it over the line.

“Just dinner.” You beelined through the living room, suddenly starving. You pinched your phone between your shoulder and your cheek as you unlocked the front door.

“So, what? Just another night in for you? Lemme guess, messy bun and no bra, maybe some leggings?”

You made sure everything was in the bag where the driver left it and dragged it back to the kitchen for a plate. “Is this you asking me what I’m wearing?”

“Maybe.”

You stopped short, and had to lift the bag up onto the counter a second time to keep it from becoming one with the floor. “Ha, ha.”

“Come on, it’s not like I’m gonna do anything here. Just making conversation.”

You ground your teeth, anger spiking from this sudden turn into teasing. “Yeah, well, when it’s the closest thing to a come on I’ve had in months— it feels a little bit more than that.”

You feel the penny drop.

“Dry spell, huh? I was wondering about that.”

“Oh shut it. You’ve got a fairytale fake girlfriend and I’ve got a band to keep relevant, neither of us is really out there mingling.”

Dean cleared his throat. “You can take time off—- if you need, you know that right? Hell, find somebody’s discarded boyfriend backstage and burn off some steam or something. ‘S one of the perks of a tour.---- But take care of yourself first, alright?”

You look up at the ceiling at the rows of spotlights Dean installed, once upon a time, that framed the island and sighed. “I’m not discussing my sex life with you— like— ever again.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll have a sleepover and braid Sam’s hair.”

You sputtered and then went back to dishing up your food.

“Muérdeme, Dean. Then we’d have to listen to all the kinky shit him and Madison are into, no thank you.”

“Touche.”

You heard Dean’s phone buzz with a notification. The metaphorical clock struck twelve.

“That’s Bela, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Okay, well, it’s been fun.”

You inhaled and sent him off, “go get ‘em, champ.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks again for the birthday shenanigans. I’ll see you next week?”

“I’ll be at rehearsal, but I’ve got calls and stuff scheduled throughout the day.”

“Sounds good. Have a good one.”

“You too.”

Something lingered between you in the silence and before you could say something you’d regret, you finally ended the call. It almost felt like he was waiting you out, making sure not to be the one that hung up first.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

#spotless series #dean winchester fanfiction #dean/reader #dean/bela #slow burn #rockstar au #fake dating #dean winchester fluff

43 notes · View notes

ultrainfinitepit · 16 hours

Note

Hello!! I return with more pin making questions :]

In my first ask you mentioned that you'd be willing to go into detail about your favorite social medias, and as I have basically only used Tumblr that would be super useful!

It would also be wonderful if you'd be willing to talk about your experiences with the different shopfronts that you've used, but I understand if you can't due to partnership stuff.

And the last question for now, Newsletters! How did you go about setting one up/what program you use/how long does it take to write an update/etc.

Thank you so much!! You're awesome!!!

Hi again :)) sure I can answer this, this is going to be a very long post so I'll put my answers under the cut.

Same disclaimer as last time that all this is just what has worked for me or what I've personally observed, that doesn't mean this is all objectively correct or factual. Others will have different mileage or find other things that work even better.

Social Media

The three platforms I prefer the most are Tumblr, Instagram, and Twitter.

General recommendations:

Respond to people's comments, even with something as simple as a "thank you" for a compliment. This will help build engagement and foster a good relationship with your audience.

Take nice product photos: keep your pin in focus with a nice background and good lighting. Often you only get one chance for your product to leave a good impression!

Pick only a few social media profiles to manage. Don't stretch yourself too thin such that you can't engage with your audience on all your social media.

Tumblr

Posts have a long but sporadic lifespan thanks to the queue (sporadic means, they will exhibit random bursts of activity). And you can post large image sets and long text posts with links, for this reason it is my favorite platform.

Getting a following on Tumblr is largely luck-based. Users rebel against posts being pushed into their feed by the recommendation algorithm or boosts. Users find posts via other users and not so much the tags, although the tagging system is leagues better than Instagram's (which no longer shows most recent posts and only shows popular posts).

On Tumblr I get the most traffic from:

Responses to user submissions - for example, drawing people's angel requests.

Tag yourself posts

Silly or cute doodles and comics - especially if people can overlay their fandom darlings onto these posts.

Compilations of Pride-related designs, particularly of popular flags

I have noticed over the years, people do not reblog as much as in the past, so it's harder to get your posts noticed.

Instagram

In my opinion this is the easiest platform to grow an audience on. Instagram has a very predictable set of criteria for showing your posts to other users, through personal experience it is something like this:

Post once a day.

Post one Reel a day.

No more than three Story shares.

If you deviate from this for too long, or post too many times in a day, Instagram will deprioritize showing your posts to other users. This schedule can be a lot, so if possible I recommend having a buffer of saved up posts and Reels.

Instagram users are pickier about what they like to see. I recommend keeping your profile looking neat and professional; WIPs don't seem to do well there. Instagram users like illustrations and heavily-visual posts; they do not respond well to slides with text on them unless it is a tutorial or tag-yourself post.

Some users like to put memes or other silly images at the end of their posts. I personally don't do this, but I've been told the reason for it is: people share the silly images and that gains more traffic for the post even if they are not sharing the main content.

On Instagram I get the most traffic from:

Fanart of recently popular characters

Tag yourself posts

Pride-related art for popular flags

Cute, colorful illustrated creatures

Anything that asks for audience feedback in the comments. More comments means more engagement, which means it's bumped up in the algorithm.

Hosting monthly art challenges such as Angeltober

Bare chested men

And I have noticed DTIYS challenges are popular and a great way for people to find your profile, although I haven't hosted one of these yet.

Tags on Instagram appear to matter less than in the past, but I still think they are worth using. Try to tag for the content in your post (such as "#biblically accurate angel") instead of using tags for artists or small businesses (such as "#smallbusinessstrong"). Everyone else is using these tags so you have lots of competition, but no one is trawling through those tags so you have less engagement from them. Users are looking for specifically the content they like, they don't care who is posting it.

Twitter

The most arcane out of these three platforms. Getting noticed on Twitter seems to be largely luck-based as well. I had my Twitter profile for a while with little traffic on it until I started posting the new Pride Angels, then it blew up. Hashtags are pretty useless on Twitter and I didn't have many followers before then so I'm not sure why those got popular at that time.

On Twitter I get the most traffic from:

Pride-related art for popular flags

Other relatable art such as for astrological signs

Dishonorable Mention: TikTok

I have a TikTok but I just use it to crosspost my Instagram Reels. I do not have many followers on TikTok, I do not put effort into it, and I dislike the interface. That being said, I have heard from other creators it is way easier than Instagram to grow on if you are willing to make videos and post every day.

A note on blacklisted words

On Twitter, Instagram, and possibly Tumblr too: words like "shop" "link" "commission" etc. may cause your post to be deprioritized. This is because social media platforms do not want you going off of them to some other site to spend money elsewhere. That's why you'll notice people censoring these words ("shop" to "sh0p").

Personally I dislike doing this, it just makes me feel silly, so I don't bother. But I will admit, it hurts my posts. So this is something to keep in mind if you want to do shop promotion on social media.

Shops

The shops I run are, in the order of making them:

Redbubble

The lowest possible barrier to entry for a merch artist: they literally do everything from production to shipping for you, and all you do is provide the artwork. The trade-off is that it's very hard to make any significant money from Redbubble (I make maybe a few cents at most from each sale), and you have no control over the quality of the products.

Etsy

My referral link here.

While Etsy can be imposing at first, it is probably the easiest out of all the marketplaces to start out on. There is a lot of information to fill out to get started, so take it slow so you don't get overwhelmed. It does get easier after the first listing. Once you make one listing you can just keep duplicating and changing it a little so you don't have to keep making listings from scratch.

Etsy claims you need ten listings in your shop before you open it, but you can ignore that.

Once you've gotten started, there's lots of little tricks to learn such as letter mail shipping, all about VAT, improving listings, sections, and so on that I could go into more detail on if anyone is interested. For now I'll just focus on the platform itself.

I like that Etsy has a marketplace search, as a customer it is really nice to use. I like that it has one big cart for all the items I am looking at, and that it has a favorites system. I also like as a customer how each shop is uniform; I know exactly how to search through each shop and what format to expect. I do enjoy artists' custom shops but, sometimes their interfaces are tough to navigate.

Etsy is reasonably good at showing your items to people, which is the number one reason I recommend it for beginners. Just make sure to put effort into your listings such as tagging them, adding nice photos, and videos.

They have protection features built-in such as covering refunds if an item is delivered but the customer claims to not have received it. Etsy also enables international shipping with VAT which is great for EU/UK customers. My biggest gripe with Etsy is the fees, which I've already complained about.

Gumroad

Not much to say about Gumroad really. I only use it to list digital items such as PDFs of my lineart. I think it's saved me a few inquiries from people looking for my art for tattoos. Since all that art is for free on social media anyway, I don't charge for purchases on Gumroad. That's just a personal choice though.

Mercari

Not much to say about Mercari either. I use it to list pins from my personal collection, though I've seen a handful of pin makers use it for the pins they've created. I think the Mercari listing creation is atrocious: they like to recommend titles for your items when you upload new images, and will overwrite existing titles.

I've been considering moving away from Mercari, they recently switched their fee model so now buyers pay fees instead of sellers. This means while sellers can lower their prices, buyers get sticker shock and then ask for discounts on top of already-discounted items. I'm only on there because it's the most popular place for second-hand pin selling.

Shopify

So far I've really enjoyed Shopify. The setup was nightmarishly hard, not to turn anyone off of it but it took me literal months. You can import your listings from Etsy to Shopify but then you have to redo all the SKUs, link up photos to variants, and so on. If you have a ton of listings like me it takes a while. If you only have a few it is more worth it or, might even be worth starting out on if you can do sufficient promotion.

The major advantage of Etsy over Shopify is the marketplace feature: if you don't need the help of Etsy to promote your items then Shopify might be the better option to start out on.

I like that Shopify has significantly lower fees vs. Etsy. However, they do payouts differently and in a way I dislike. Etsy will deduct your shipping fees before calculating your payout balance, while Shopify will payout your balance and then charge you for shipping as part of your monthly bill. So you need to make sure to set aside some of your funds always to cover the Shopify shipping charge.

Additionally, to enable certain integrations or features you will need to pay for them monthly, which can add up. To sync my inventory between Shopify, Etsy, and Faire I use Trunk Inventory, which charges me a monthly $60 fee. That's in addition to the monthly Shopify fee.

Faire

I actually hate Faire despite using it. I was going to use Tundra but Faire drove them out of business (lawsuit pending). Now Faire is the only game in town for wholesale so I'm forced to use them, not that it's done me much good since I haven't had any sales there.

I can rant for ages about Faire's horrendous fees and outdated product import. But if you're a beginner you don't have to worry about wholesale selling, so I'll leave that discussion for another time. If anyone wants to hear more from me about Faire they can send another ask.

My stockists

It's quite hard to give honest reviews of my stockists here, since they might see them so, I'll just share my Linktree for them and you all can investigate on your own and inquire privately.

Newsletter

I used to use Tinyletter but it shut down, so now I use Email Octopus. Here's a referral link, and you can check out my newsletter sign up page here.

Email Octopus doesn't have a newsletter archive, and the interface is more complicated than Tinyletter's, which I dislike; but I like it better than Tinyletter's replacement Mailchimp.

You can try these out for yourself and see which you like better, it really is personal preference. All newsletter services are essentially the same: all you need is a sign up page, a way to store emails, and an ability to send a newsletter to them.

To get people to sign up for your newsletter, I personally recommend always offering it as a choice. For example, if you run a pin campaign, send an update where you share a link to your newsletter to your backers so they have the option to sign up. Do not export their emails and add them to your newsletter without a choice. I have been on the receiving end of this as a backer/customer and it makes me feel bad: it's extra emails in my inbox I didn't agree to and it feels like the creator misusing my information even if technically they are not. As a fellow creator I totally get why others might do this, it's an effective way to get lots of new newsletter signups at once. I just don't personally like it.

Shopify has a built-in newsletter feature you can use as well if you make a Shopify storefront. From your dashboard you can go to Marketing > Create campaign.

I like to send out a shortened newsletter via Shopify. Usually what I do is copy my full newsletter from Email Octopus to Shopify, and remove any bits not directly related to my Shopify, such as news on crowdfunding campaigns.

Writing your newsletter

Writing a newsletter doesn't take much time, and I think it should be a low effort task. In fact, if you make it too long people will not read it.

Throughout the month leading up to a shop update I will update my newsletter with whatever new items are ready, taking only a few minutes here and there. I include a few photos and I make sure to link to the items once they are listed (truncated example below).

I will also alert people to any sales or other special offers, news about stockists, and crowdfunding campaigns: anything a potential buyer would be interested in.

I have seen other artists share much longer newsletters with impressive graphics, sections on their art process, personal updates - but for myself I usually skip over that stuff in my inbox, so I don't do it as a creator. For others it might be worth the effort!

Final Thoughts

If you read all this, thank you! I know this was a very long post. I hope it helps at least one of you. I won't keep you much longer: you can find links to everything I mentioned in my Linktree and if you have more questions you can send an ask.

One day I'd like to make a tutorial series for making and selling merch, so this was useful as a draft for that. I would also include manufacturer reviews. If that's something you'd like to see someday you can let me know.

#ask #tutorial

20 notes · View notes