#and as a child I was like huh?!? and they implied some shit about when jobs do background checks they’re gonna see that

[blasphemecel]

Michael Kaiser — Stench

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 9k TYPE: Angst, Childhood friends, Making up, occasionally funny WARNING(S): Poverty, implied/referenced child abuse, house break-in, spoilers for Kaiser's backstory, if I missed something lmk NOTE(S): This is a two shot but I'm posting it here combined for my own convenience. The numerals show how the chapters are separated and indicates a long time skip.

I.

Someone’s coming closer and closer. It’s hard to catch Kaiser off guard — he’s sensitive to the slightest of sounds, so he can hear them approaching from behind without trouble, these sloppy footsteps slapping against the cement as if the owner is wearing really shitty shoes. He freezes with the ball still in his hands, doesn’t dare look back and check who it is, an irrational part of his brain suspecting it to be his father.

It takes a while for whoever it is to cross the distance, and then an unfamiliar voice rings, “Hey.”

Kaiser glances over his shoulder finally. You stand there, peering down at him while he’s sitting, cigarette spreading fumes in the air even though you don’t look any older than him. He doesn’t say anything to acknowledge you, though, just stares, tense and confused about your intentions.

You crouch down so you are at eye level with him. The bad smell follows, wafting by his nose and he holds down a cough on the off chance any noise might set you off and make you violent. You pull it out of your mouth and flick it away from him, apparently possessing enough decorum to stop blowing smoke in his face. “Why are you always doing that?”

“Huh?”

Kaiser knows what you mean, but he can’t help asking. After all he’d noticed you before all those times just like you’d noticed him. Every day you hang around the solitary playground at a distance while he messes around with the ball, though he never expected you’d speak to him. If anything you never pay much mind to each other.

You usually leave like you’re on some kind of schedule, but you’re up close to him now and he can see you’re in a similar condition to him — bruises and dirt littering your skin, tattered and ill-fitting clothes barely hanging onto your frame. The offenders behind your loud entrance he identifies as the torn pink fuzzy slippers he always sees you wearing, smeared with faded mud. Certainly not the most reliable footwear, but you’re in a better boat than he is on that front, what with him not wearing any shoes at all. Not his fault he outgrew his last pair, although naturally his father found a way to blame him. He’s creative like that.

“You’re always kicking the ball and punching the shit outta it.”

Embarrassed by the reasoning behind his behavior maybe, Kaiser averts his eyes. He hopes not responding will dissuade you from interacting with him.

It doesn’t work. “What’s your name?”

“… Michael.”

“So basic, but fine. I’ll call you Micha, ok?”

“You don’t need to call me anything.”

You offer your name in return. After taking another drag, you smile and ask, “How old are you?”

“Thirteen,” he says, figuring this is unimportant enough information that he can offer it without consequences until you grow bored and go away.

You grin at him and squint your eyes. The expression makes you seem smug for no discernible reason. “I’m fourteen, so I’m your senior. You can call me boss if you want. Got it, small fry?”

What an annoying attitude. He places the ball over his stomach and adjusts his position so he’s hugging his knees, this surly expression on his face. “It’s not even that big of a difference…”

“You sound so pensive when you talk. Hey, why do you kick the ball even though you don’t have shoes? Doesn’t it hurt?”

What else is someone supposed to do with a piece of trash except hurt it? Expressing such a sentiment out loud seems shameful, though. “Why are you smoking even when it’s bad for you and stupid and tacky? Why are you asking dumb questions even though you’re not getting anything out of it?”

You burst out laughing. “Woah, relax. Touchy.” When he doesn’t respond and instead continues scrutinizing you with scorn (which at this point you deem undeserved), you say, “I stole ‘em off someone. What’s stopping you from stealing a pair of shoes?”

“They’re too big to steal. It’s impractical.”

“You think small, but fair enough,” you say, before standing up, still grinning. Then you wave. “I’ve gotta go now. I’ll see you tomorrow, Micha.”

“Who said I want to see you?”

You laugh again as if his rejection is funny, but trudge on away from him. “C’mon, lighten up.”

Kaiser scoffs, pressing his cheek against the ball, tightening his hold against it. There is nothing to lighten up about.

___

Kaiser hasn’t taken any particular liking towards you, but you do hang out together every day since you approached him. He’s not sure why he tolerates your presence. Maybe because you’re resourceful — stealing is so much easier when you two coordinate. Or maybe it’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t seem to want to strike him down and strangle him.

Currently you’re at the playground again. The lighter you use has some ugly, childish print on it. Kaiser is trying to inflate his ball with the air pump you swiped together from a shop in town earlier after you made fun of how ‘sad and flat’ it was and came up with the idea. When he hears the flicker and then registers the smell, Kaiser asks, “How many do you smoke a day?”

“One is to be stylish. Two is if I didn’t appreciate the first one enough. Three is if I still don’t feel like shitting.”

Kaiser frowns in disapproval at the moronic remark. Funny in an ironic sort of way how this lifestyle has you sounding like a ridiculous, fake adult — neither child nor mature, but something else entirely. A different category of human. He wonders if you think the same about him. “You fucking smell. How many are there in a pack?”

“Twenty,” you say after uselessly flipping over the lid, even though for one it’s not full and you already know the answer anyway, so it’s not necessary to check.

“So if you smoke three a day then you have to… steal one every two weeks?”

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion at this assessment. “No, that’s not right. It’s like once or twice a week depending.” Then you do some weird counting on your fingers for a while. “But even if it was exactly three a week, that’s like six point six or some shit like that. Dummy.”

“Shut up, shithead,” says Kaiser, embarrassed.

“Ok.”

“Leave me alone. I didn’t think about it too much.”

“I’m not even saying anything.” A moment of silence passes until an enlightened remark comes to mind. “Hey, Micha.”

“What?”

You scoot a little closer to him. Kaiser gets nervous at first and freezes, but calms down when it seems you’re not inching your hands towards him. Though the relief is short-lived because then you take an exaggerated sniff of the air and grin. “You stink too.”

He glares at you.

The ball ends up fine. Sure, it’s still beat up and dirty as most things around him, but at least it’s functional enough to kick again, and that’s what’s important.

___

“What now,” says Kaiser with an attitude of being greatly inconvenienced before plopping down next to you on the sidewalk.

You continue counting, trying to keep track of how much money you have on you. A series of gross, dry coughs escapes your mouth. When the fit near passes, you spit on the ground as if to ease your throat, hitting your chest for good measure. Kaiser watches the display with an impassive look on his face. Eventually you turn towards him and ask, “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Ok.”

“You’ve been quiet, not talking to me.”

“I’m gonna go get a haircut so I’m trying to see if I have enough,” you say, figuring he’s wondering about what you’re doing in a roundabout way.

Kaiser rams his head into his knees and makes some kind of noise which you can’t categorize between acknowledgement and disapproval.

You say, “Those children from the schoolyard were telling me having a bad haircut is ‘social suicide.’ Like ‘getting stabbed’ everyday. Apparently it’s the bowlcut that’s really shameful.”

“Other people have such stupid problems,” he says, irked, resentful. “I just cut it with scissors at home.”

“Yeah, man, I can tell. They wash your hair at the hairdresser though, so I wanna go now.”

“You really hang out with them? What do you even talk about?”

You shrug, pulling out a cigarette and then the hideous lighter. The smoke will waft by his nose again and irritate him. It’s unpleasant. The smell he associates with you is unpleasant, but it’s also yours so it’s kind of conflicting. “Recently I’ve been telling them I’m a ghost from the forest.”

Kaiser remains unamused the way you’ve always known him, but after some contemplation graces you with a snort, which makes you smile in return. He asks, “They don’t believe that. Right?”

“Maybe. They’ve got a what-do-you-call-it… You like football, don’t you?”

“A pitch.” He rolls his eyes as if forgetting the word is some kind of crime. Back he goes to frowning.

“Yea, they have that. You should sneak in with me sometime.” You shrug again as if the suggestion isn’t a big deal. “It’s fun.”

His nose scrunches at the thought, forehead wrinkling. It pisses him off just imagining it — truly a sickening concept. Why would you subject yourself to such a thing? Mingling with children who have nice things and an education and clean clothes and probably eat proper meals every night with their families. He doesn’t want to exchange pleasantries with people who can afford to concern themselves with social suicide. Stomach twisted in knots, Kaiser almost hurls, but somehow swallows the bile back down.

“Never,” he denies with finality.

“So dramatic, Micha.”

“Like you’re any better. You don’t care about anything. At all.”

At the sound of his tone getting more sulky than usual, you decide to spare him another glance. “Aww, are you tearing up?”

“No,” Kaiser lies, lips wavering. Unable to hold it in yet desperate to hide, he settles for covering his face with his hands, folding over himself. “I just fucking… hate this place. And I want out so… so bad.” Aside from the muffled sobs, there are also voice cracks littering his admission.

The thing is: you don’t really know what to do to make it all better.

___

Kaiser feels like he’s about to get a cramp from keeping his leg in this position for so long, lifted up and extended. Recently he stole a pair of sneakers from the thrift store, but the soles ended up falling off. Now you’re lathering everything in glue and wrapping it in tape in an attempt to salvage the situation.

“I’m not sure this is how it works,” he says. It’s kind of meek — a pathetic mumble — but you can recognize unwarranted criticism when you hear it.

“Take it or leave it.” You snap off the tape and move onto the next shoe.

When a snarky or otherwise offensive response doesn’t immediately come to mind, Kaiser resigns to silence. He continues observing you while you squeeze out copious amounts of glue. For a moment the only noises between you are those of your sniffles, the obnoxious huffing in of snot.

A few raindrops pour down, pelting your heads at the same time. You hiss when you realize your hard work is about to go to waste while all Kaiser provides in terms of reaction is a blink and a downwards twist of his lips.

“I don’t wanna go home,” you say, sounding distant, which he doesn’t hear from you much — usually there’s a lilt of amusement in your tone, some kind of playfulness lingering in all your words.

“I don’t either. It’s pointless anyway because you’ll get drenched by the time you go home and then there’s nothing to dry yourself with properly and it’s all one huge pain in the ass.”

“Right.” After signaling your agreement with his assessment, you shrug off your hoodie and stretch, trying to drape it enough so that it shields the two of you from the rain. Kaiser accommodates your goodwill by adjusting his position, scooting over next to you and cramming so he’s taking as little space as possible. It’s not an adequate cover by any means and you can tell his shoes will break apart again. But Kaiser is hugging you around the waist, resting his cheek against your neck, and you don’t have to deal with being at your place yet, so it can’t be all that bad.

___

“You look like a pufferfish,” you say unhelpfully.

Kaiser narrows his eyes at you in that way he tends to do which you haven’t seen anyone else replicate exactly. It’s kind of amusing when he does that, especially when one of them is irritated and droopy. “And you look like a spoiled apple.”

“Don’t mind. It’s a lot of bad things happening to me in that house.”

“I know,” says Kaiser.

You rub your cheek and then some more under your eye where the spots are the brightest. It makes him wince because your hands must be dirty, what with everything you two get up to in a day. Since Kaiser’s father strangles him, he’s always swollen and not so much bruised, but he thinks your parents must only leave it at punches while making up for it with enthusiasm. “I kinda like touching them when some time passes.”

“You’re sick.”

“Honestly I was, but it went away. I think I might have an ingrown toenail though.”

“No… I mean in the head.” To emphasize his point, Kaiser reaches out to probe your temple with his index finger. There’s another scratch blooming there, only coming to attention once his focus lands there, but it’s a waste of energy fixating on any of the small ones — he just can’t help but notice sometimes. “By the way, I don’t need to know what kind of toenail you have.”

You laugh, apparently finding his remark funny somehow. Then you reel your hand back before bringing it back down quickly as if you’re about to slap him. Still retaining his common sense, Kaiser flinches and tries to defend himself with his forearm. The reflex is foreign since he usually takes it lying down without moving an inch when it’s his dad.

His reaction makes you laugh harder for some reason, and you don’t smack him at all. Kaiser glares at you for your unfunny prank but you disregard it. Your hands settle around his throat instead, lightly tracing over the purple fingerprints, still fresh from last night. Almost immediately he clenches his teeth, tightlipped, breaking out into a sweat, expecting a harsh squeeze which never comes.

Kaiser wants to scold you for your idiotic behavior, yet he doesn’t. Maybe your hands aren’t for harm, he decides. And then he reaches out too, pressing his knuckle against the darkest contusion on your face. Your eye twitches closed. It turns into a strange fascination then, your skin touching his and his touching yours in places others had hurt. A ritualistic erasement.

___

You’re splitting the money again after selling off another valuable. It was some kind of fancy watch you two stole this time, more ballsy than usual. Once you pocket your share, you ask, “Are you saving up?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna move? Where?”

Kaiser shrugs. “I don’t care. Anywhere but here.”

You hum and walk ahead of him, probably looking for one of the drinking fountains in the area.

Either compelled by unusual curiosity or bothered by your silence, he says, “You wanna make it the fuck out of here too. Where would you go?”

“To the beach.”

Kaiser rolls his eyes behind your back, finding your answer stupid. Sure, the beach is an exotic idea considering he has never been to one, but all he can imagine is the sand sticking to his skin and the gross seaweed he’s seen in commercials inside stores and such. But on second thought both of these things are probably way less gross than the environment he spends every day in. He lets out a performative huff anyway and says ‘huh’ as if to demand an elaboration.

“I wanna be free like one of those seagulls that fly over the sea. D’you wanna be a seagull with me, Micha?”

“No. That’s dumb,” he says. You ignore him. Kaiser steels his nerves for a second and, after a dry swallow, takes a step so that he’s walking next to you rather than lagging behind. Then he brushes his fingers against yours lightly before making a sweaty, half hearted attempt at holding your hand. His cheeks are warm in a way he hasn’t felt them before. “Take me to your shitty beach someday.”

You make a more competent attempt at hand holding, grasping his fingers in yours until they’re interlacing, and then you swing your arms up and down. Kaiser has enough sense to be embarrassed by this, but doesn’t tell you to stop. He doesn’t know why, but this is the kind of contact he feels the need to savor. “So you do want to be a seagull.”

“Not interested.”

“You’re such a sourpuss, Micha, never playing along with anything.”

“It’s not my fault you make it sound dumb- Well, do you think it’s any use? Hoping for something like that…”

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up.”

“I won’t give up,” he says. “I just don’t know if it’ll work.”

“Come on. We’re gonna get out of here together someday. That’s gotta work.” You lift his arm in the air next and try to make him spin like a dancer. Though Kaiser is used to standing still and limp and letting things happen to him, the attempt doesn’t come out successful. At most he does a slight twist.

“Yeah. Together,” he agrees, like a promise. He imagines messing around with you in the sand with the sun warming his skin in contrast to the perpetual chill he’s become used to. Honestly despite belittling the idea earlier, it doesn’t seem so bad in his mind.

___

Kaiser yawns while sitting next to you on a bench, eating a burger. Since you’re famous for your generosity and kindness and all (not), you decided to ‘splurge out’ by buying food for you both from some shitty hole in the wall. It’s the most filling meal you’ve had in a while. You’re still chewing when you ask, “Are you tired or something?”

He rubs his eyes. “My father was fucking making noises throwing up all night.”

“Ah, your worthless sperm donor.” You nod sagely in acknowledgement.

“Yea, him. It reeked too and when I went to clean it, there were whole chunks in his vomit.”

You scoff. “Don’t clean after him.”

“Not like anyone’s going to clean it if I don’t.” Two more yawns accentuate his sentence. You reach out to throw away the container. For a second you consider keeping the plastic cutlery and maybe washing it at the drinking fountain later, but that seems too desperate even for you. Kaiser says, “I’d take a nap right now if I could, but I don’t want to go back yet.”

“It’s sunny today for the first time in a while. Would be a waste.” You watch Kaiser while he wipes his mouth and his fingers with the napkin. The dark circles around his eyes are worse than usual. “You can lie down on me and sleep if you want.”

“Huh? Really?”

“Yea, it’ll probably be really boring, but I’ll tolerate it,” you allow, ever so charitable.

Kaiser frowns, contemplating. He’s silent for so long, you forget you even suggested anything, but he eventually shifts around and rests his head on your lap, tense. You rake your fingers through his hair. “Don’t smoke,” he warns, but it’s kind of difficult to act butthurt when you’re being so… gentle with him.

“I won’t.”

“Seriously, don’t smoke right now.”

“I said ok already.”

Now that the matter is settled, he decides to trust you and flutters his eyes closed. Though your thighs and the bench aren’t the most comfortable places in the world, to Kaiser who only knows the cold hard floor, such an opportunity is borderline luxurious. The tang of the cigarettes clings even to the fabric of your pants, to your fingers — his favorite smell. You continue stroking his scalp and he dozes off with ease within minutes. Even though he’s snoring already, he moves to wrap his arms around your knee as if he feels a compulsive need to hold onto something in his sleep.

Kaiser looks surprisingly peaceful and precious right now. You hope he’s having a nice dream if any. A long stretch of ennui is ahead of you.

___

The antics have been ramping up as of late. In your defense, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to resist urging Kaiser to break in with you when you noticed the house with the open first floor window, clearly vacant. Though at first he displayed kleptomaniacal tendencies and wanted to rummage through the drawers for anything expensive, you deemed it too risky since you had no idea when the owner would come back. And then you told him you were merely interested in taking a proper shower.

Now you’re almost dry, waiting for Kaiser to finish. You can’t remember the last time you were so free of grime. Wearing the old clothes again almost feels shameful, like a step back. You sniff your armpit like a weirdo and realize your skin smells good .

Kaiser takes a while to come out and emerges looking like he underwent some kind of magical girl transformation. He’s trying to soak up the water from his hair with a towel, sending specks flying everywhere and dripping down his shirt when you blurt out, “You’re handsome.”

In a fashion you’d consider comedic, he stops dead in his tracks to gape at you with flushed cheeks. “What?”

“Your face is pretty.” He blinks. A crease appears on his forehead in apparent disapproval, though you’re not sure what he’s mad about (it’s a compliment!), especially when he’s still blushing. You make a vague hand gesture near your head to clarify your next point, “Try untangling it with your fingers.”

It takes Kaiser a good few seconds to get with the program before he twitches to attempt and follow your advice, but you both freeze when you detect the unmistakable sound of a door closing and locking downstairs. You push him back into the bathroom and close it behind yourself as gently as possible. Then you drag him back to the tub and gesticulate incomprehensibly some more to signal you should both get in and hide before sliding in behind the curtain and reclining on your side. Kaiser follows after you, but you think you might be doomed. It’s still wet, too, which is unpleasant, but not a priority considering the upcoming disaster.

Kaiser opens his mouth to speak, so you clamp it shut with your palm before putting your index finger over your lips. He embraces you, and he’s trembling, and then he hides in your neck as if you’re going to save him from whatever is about to come.

Like you’d assumed, the house owner enters almost immediately. You’re nauseous, stomach clenching. Kaiser is making a stunning impression of a corpse the way he’s not even breathing anymore in his attempt at being quiet. Your muscles are so tense on alert that it hurts and each passing second puts you more on edge.

Thankfully the flush comes and then the running water and then the person leaves with a click. Their footsteps get fainter and fainter until another door opens and closes. You stand and step out, trying not to make a noise still. Before going out into the hallway you throw a glance over your shoulder just to make sure Kaiser is still walking behind you, which he is.

Your movements are slow and light. The escape, especially while making your way down the stairs, is drawn out and excruciating. You hop out through the window you came in from. There you are outside, somehow without incident.

You turn to look at Kaiser again once you hear the rustle of the grass accompanying his jump. With the adrenaline still kicking, you break out into a sprint, eager to get far away. Kaiser catches up to you and you burst out laughing but you’re not even sure why, since you don’t find any of what transpired particularly amusing. A slight smile appears on his face when he recognizes the sound.

___

The next day you notice Kaiser isn’t at the playground, even though he always gets there before you do. No biggie — you can exert some patience.

After a while you start tapping your foot. It’s not like you have a watch to check what the time is or how long it’s been or a phone to ask him where he’s at. So you settle on putting on a show of irritability.

Nothing. Your legs hurt so you go sit down on the swing. You’re getting pretty old for the playground anyway, you think as you pull out a cigarette and light it, eyes darting around. Parents and their children, but no sign of Micha.

You exceed your usual three and end up burning half the pack in your attempt to occupy yourself during your waiting. It relaxes you usually, smoking, when you have a lot of shit juggling around your brain, but it doesn’t work this time.

Did something happen?

… Did his dad finally kill him?

___

Kaiser doesn’t show up at the playground ever again no matter how many times you go.

___

It’s another day where you need to shield your eyes from the sunlight with your hand. You’ve been seeing more of those since you ran away. Must be allegorical or some shit.

From your peripheral vision, while you walk down the street, you pass by a store that has one of those TVs on display, playing a sports game. You spare a moment to look, intrigued, nostalgic in a way — it reminds you of when you were little, when that kind of thing was more common.

They’re playing football, you realize, and you find that evocative too. Some guy scores a goal and they zoom in on him even though he’s not celebrating, instead choosing to stand there like a statue with his arms crossed. Like he’s too cool to get excited, which strikes you as obnoxious.

Then they show his face in full, up front.

You know that face. You’d recognize that face anywhere.

The back of his jersey reads ‘Kaiser’ and yet you never knew him as anything besides his first name.

At first you’re relieved considering you were under the impression catastrophe must’ve befallen him, but the solace doesn’t last long. When the realization hits, your eyes widen and your lips fall into a thin line. It's similar to a punch in the gut how all the air seems to vacate your chest. All this wind around you and you can’t get any.

The only person you ever loved left you behind without a second glance in your direction.

___

II.

Michael Kaiser is mildly inconvenienced. Billions injured on the scene and millions more will die.

So maybe he’s been ranting at someone who he didn’t even glance at, eyes closed, mind way too lost in his reverie. A part of his brain doesn’t even comprehend he’s in fact speaking to a person instead of a cardboard cutout. It’s to his complete shock and bafflement when after so much babbling he receives a reply. “Hey, Mr. Kaiser was it? Shut the fuck up.”

He flutters his eyes open to give the ingrate a glare and speak his mind some more, but he freezes on the spot at the sight in front of him. His blood runs cold, heart stuttering in his chest.

He’d know that face anywhere, even if right now it’s more unamused and neutral — nothing like the expressions in his memories. He’s not sure why his body is reacting like this either, tensing up with a nervous jitter in his system.

Wasn’t he supposed to have left all that stuff in the past? Yet a single look at you is enough to cause this response: this uncertainty, like he’s still a little boy who veers towards hopeless and incompetent, and fuck, why are you giving him such a dead stare?

Do you not recognize him?

Do you not love him anymore?

It’s a rash thing to focus on as his immediate concern especially when he hasn’t been killing himself with worry over you or anything during your years apart, but right now when you’re in front of him it’s all he wants to know. Which is cruel and selfish in a way, in his specific Kaiser-ish way, how he’s first preoccupied with himself before he wonders about your state of mind or living situation. A need to bait for a sign you still care about him torments him even if it might be drastic right off the bat.

When no ingenious idea for such a thing comes to mind and Kaiser realizes he’s been staring at you like a moron, he says, “Don’t call me Mr. Kaiser. It makes me sound old and decrepit.” And that isn’t what you of all people should be referring to him as.

You continue assessing him in a manner which can be described as judgmental at best. “Isn’t that what you said your name is during your little monologue?”

“You already know what my name is.” The awkward silence which follows is almost unbearable. Kaiser scratches himself on the neck even though he’s not itchy just to pass the time. Finally he snaps, “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Sorry to break it to you, sir, but most employees anywhere aren’t happy to listen to ten minute long demented tirades about non-problems.”

“Well maybe I overreacted a little,” concedes Kaiser and gives you what he thinks is a suave smile in an attempt at downplaying how uneasy he is. He thinks you can feel it. He thinks you’re doing it on purpose, hurting him with intention. “Are you seriously going to act like you don’t know me?”

Your pitiless gaze sticks to him like glue even when you take out the ice cubes and throw a generous amount into his drink before sticking a paper parasol in it with lots of spite, which is what the big stink he threw a tantrum over was all about. Kaiser wants to tell you that you’re very hot when you’re no longer a starving punching bag, but thinks better of it. Doesn’t seem charming even coming from him. 

“There.” You slide the cup across the counter towards him. “I fixed your shitty smoothie.”

“It’s not a smoothie!”

“A mocktail is basically juice.”

Wrapping his fingers around it, Kaiser doesn’t leave. Instead he chooses to stay and observe you in silence, jaw clenching.

“You can go.”

“I’m not going until you admit you know who I am.”

“What, are you famous or something?” you ask, bemused.

Kaiser is on the cusp of hypertension because you’re doing it on purpose and you’re not even doing it well because you want him perfectly aware of what you’re up to. You’ve never done this — hurt him before, let alone by design — so Kaiser almost assumed you were incapable of it. Though it makes sense that you are. After all, you’re the same type of inhuman he is, and he’s done this if not worse hundreds of times, and even reveled in it. Yet the realization you’re not what he remembers of you stirs disillusionment within him. The nature of it, he doesn’t quite grasp.

Kaiser contemplates causing a scene more than he already has, but he’s not sure how to do so while still getting what he wants. Trying to joke even though above all he wants to throw a tantrum, he whines, “You’re so immature.”

“I’m sorry that my reaction to getting threatened with a lawsuit over ice cubes was immature, Mr. Kaiser.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about!”

Your exterior remains listless and vacant, and Kaiser wants to scream the longer you scrutinize him in this manner. Eventually you spin your finger near your temple as if to call him delusional, then move onto taking the order of someone else.

His eyes narrow until you’re so blurry he can barely see you, perhaps either to censor you from his sight or because a milder expression wouldn’t suffice in communicating his disdain. With a final grit of his teeth and maybe a visible vein on his forehead, Kaiser stands up to leave. Fine. You win this one, but it’s war now.

The scorch of the sand under his feet startles him. He kind of forgot how hot it was, what with getting so distracted. Another comeuppance on a list of many. Today is punishment.

Dramatic inner soliloquy aside, Kaiser makes it back to the beach bed quickly, still reeling over that interaction. You’re here? You’re here, in front of him again, and apparently you’re not too happy to see him.

In the most disinterested tone he can muster, Sae asks, “Did they fix your smoothie?”

“It’s not a fucking smoothie!” With the grace of a lobotomized koala, Kaiser drops it over the small table separating them and barely resists the urge to hurl it at Sae. This would do wonders for his mental health short term, but again he’s trying to feign decorum.

With his trademark deadpan, Sae pretends none of that just happened. Kaiser turns around to look back at the hotel bar where you’re gesticulating at your coworker. Both of you seem immensely annoyed, wild and animated while you converse.

“Fuck, they’re totally complaining about me.”

Sae follows the line of direction through which Kaiser is stalking you. After a few seconds of analysis, he says, “Those are definitely the ‘this shit stain just threatened to sue me,’ ‘wow, really, what the hell’ faces.”

Kaiser snaps his head to look at him with genuine surprise. “What- How’d you know?”

“... You’re so embarrassing, it’s predictable.”

“And you’re annoying,” he says. “I’ll tell Coach to get rid of you and airdrop me Ness.”

“It’s cute that you think the coach cares about your opinion on me enough to replace me. The same as thinking the strippers at the club like you, in a way.”

There is a while of silence where Kaiser’s just snarling while Sae seems like he couldn’t give less of a shit. Then he adds his finisher,

“Or I guess in your case it’s like thinking the bartender actually cares about your order.”

Oh, fuck this vacation.

___

The heat is unbearable.

You step out into the sun and saunter up the wooden path to take your break away from the beach. Sweat has been exuding from your skin for the last few hours. Even so when you make it to the sidewalk, you keep your eyes trained on the scenery as you trudge on to your destination. The sand, the sea, the plants — some natural and some artificial.

Before long your legs take you to your usual street vendor, where you’ll order a shitty pancake that won’t do much to nourish you, but it’ll be so sweet that you’ll be too nauseous to get hungry for a while. The queue isn’t unbearable.

Not until you sense someone hovering behind you, followed up by a hand settling on your shoulder. You turn around to grace the offender with a disgusted side glance, but you’re so baffled to see Kaiser there, you just… freeze.

He’s sneering at you. In fact he looks so happy with himself, you want to vomit. Preferably on him.

“What a coincidence,” he says without even a sliver of shame.

You roll your eyes and face front again, deciding it’s in your best interest to feign ignorance to his existence. Taking this as a sign to elevate the antics to a more obnoxious level, Kaiser resigns himself to the role of one of those domesticated leeches, hanging off you now, fully wrapping his arm around your shoulders. His gaze is burning into your side profile to the point it’s unnerving and you can feel the artificial smugness emanating from his form.

“I thought we were done talking yesterday.”

“Really? You did? How naive,” he coos at you mockingly.

It is convenient that during this time of need — when you’re lacking a good comeback — your time to order comes up. You talk to the guy working about your aforementioned shitty pancake. The moment you shut your mouth, however, Kaiser starts listing off things you’re not even keeping track of like you’re hanging out together or something.

With a mild dispute over whether it’s ‘backwards’ that they do not accept payment through a card, which makes you want to die because you’re a regular here and now the employee who knows you by face will associate you with this pest, Kaiser pays for your thing, too. On the one hand you’re prideful, but on the other you’ve lived the life of a bottomfeeder who takes every scrap they’re given without question, and it’s the kind of conditioning you can’t let go of. So you allow it.

He ends up with an inordinate amount of food in his hands, too much for one person to eat. You’re still doing your ignoring shtick even when Kaiser pulls you down to sit next to him on the table. Content with pretending he doesn’t exist as he is dead to you, you bite onto your food in relative peace, mind drifting somewhere else. Until he speaks that is. “This must be our fateful meeting.”

“I don’t see what’s so fateful about it if you followed me?”

Unbeknownst to you, Kaiser too is adept at the ‘hearing only what he wants to hear’ game. So he moves on with the conversation without any indicator of comprehending what you just said. “I think it’s quite ironic, actually.”

“What are you on about now?”

“You told me you want to go to the beach once. And where do I find you? On the beach. It's an astral influence, I’m sure.”

“Ah? I don’t remember telling you that.”

You’re blinking at him in mild confusion. This hurts Kaiser a hundred times more than when you were deliberately going out of your way to act dismissive of him because he can tell you mean it. To think one of the moments he clung onto the most had slipped your mind.

His eyes are wide and his lips stand still in a thin line, so he forces himself to smirk again and glosses over the information which just shattered him. “So you admit you know me then?”

“No, Mr. Kaiser, I have no idea who you are. I’m thinking you should admit yourself to a hospital. They say false memories are an important symptom in psychopathology.”

“Very funny. I prefer Micha or at least Michael, though.”

“Do I give a fuck?”

He scowls at you. “Yes.”

You finish off your pancake and wipe your hands with the napkin in mild disgust. Kaiser laughs at the wrinkle of your face while you do so, and then he scoots an inch closer.

“Help me finish it all off.” He gestures at all the paper plates.

Pinching between your fingers, you tug the first thing that seems appetizing closer to your side of the table. Kaiser scoops up some of the portion for himself and dumps it in another meal. You ask, “Why are you trying to suck up to me?”

“Aw, is it so wrong to want to treat my closest friend?”

You scoff. The movement of your eyelids fascinates Kaiser — you never really showed any annoyance towards him before, so he finds these expressions of distaste fascinating even if they make him sick. “We haven’t seen each other in four years, so if I’m still your closest friend somehow, that’s just sad. Be for real if you’re gonna be anything.”

“You’re being so difficult! What did I even do?!” To be honest, he’s lying and his gaze isn’t even shying away from you while he’s lying, not even a twitch. He knows you, so he knows that you’re mad he couldn’t be assed to tell you where he went even though he obviously could. He thinks playing dumb might be more in his favor here, though, so he’ll do that. “I don’t even like going to the fucking beach. I’ve been going every year to different places searching for you.”

The unbridled perturbation on your face upon hearing this is quite amusing. Priceless even. You were calling him crazy merely for the sake of fucking with him, and perhaps it was your earnest attempt at gaslighting him but you’re not about to admit it. Right now, though, you think he is genuinely insane.

“You’re saying that to appease me,” you accuse, hoping you’re correct, but also not. The idea he might’ve thought about you like you did about him while you were separated enthralls you, though you can’t let him win you over his bullshit.

“Maybe,” says Kaiser, trying to be mysterious.

Since he obviously wants you to ask him for an elaboration, you deny him the satisfaction.

“How much do you make working at that shitty bar?”

“Enough.”

“I should take you back to Spain with me,” Kaiser decides. With too much confidence at that. “You’d have anything you could ever want.”

It is not like it was before. He’s not acting the way he used to. You suppose you aren’t either. But anyway, you thought it inconceivable that he would ever joke — is he joking? — or make the absurd statements he’s been making. It’s natural, in a way, since you’re also not of the same temperament as before.

With a huff, you say, “You’ll never be my sugar daddy, Kaiser.”

“You’re no fun nowadays.” There’s an amused lilt in his tone while he sneers — you think the way he smiles is fake. You recall he was kind of quiet and awkward and stilted, unnatural at first maybe because he was out of practice in communicating with others, but now he speaks with insincere charisma, like a showman. Yet still the things he says so casually are off-kilter, ruining whatever illusion he’s attempting to sell. “And I said to call me Micha.”

“I don’t need to call you anything.”

It’s all about the metamorphosis. It’s about becoming each other so you’re never truly apart.

___

You’re crouching under one of the tropical trees overlooking the road by the wooden path leading down the beach. The shade is insufficient and the heels of your feet are digging into your ass to the point it hurts. Before your break, the thought of smoking a cigarette had entered your brain so you obeyed it as it was too pervasive even though you don’t enjoy lighting up anything during such weather, believe it or not.

Your eyes are glossy since you’re spacing out, taking puffs. When two silhouettes come to a halt right in front you, only then does the absentminded trance end.

Kaiser waves at you with unnecessary enthusiasm which is just for show. They’re late, arriving way past their usual time. Earlier when he and his companion didn’t show when you expected them to, you assumed maybe their vacation ended and they’d headed home.

The other guy is sullen, but at least his eye lashes are long, which must count for something. After sparing you a glance, he turns towards Kaiser and says judgmentally, “You’re still harassing staff.”

“I’m not har-”

Not giving a shit, the other guy straight up leaves, not bothering to participate in the discussion on a topic he brought up. You watch in mild bafflement as he walks off without a care.

“Ignore him,” Kaiser says. A plastic smile overtakes his face before he squats down next to you, butting into your body with his and almost toppling you over. This is probably bad for his knees, and you’re half exposed to the sun now. Somehow he has created several problems where there were none. “You still smoke.”

You don’t reply, but maintain the common decency not to blow any in his face. He should stay away from you. Isn’t he an athlete? Shouldn’t he be cautious about secondhand smoke? You consider putting it out altogether, then, so you stub it in the almost empty can of the fizzy drink you’d been drinking earlier.

“What kind of lighter do you have now? Has your taste gotten any better?”

No response again. He places an arm around your waist. Through touching you so often it’s like he’s trying to hammer it into your head that you were close, and yet intangible things seem to evade Kaiser, so maybe he’s struggling to conceive of any other way to reestablish your connection.

“You still smell the same. Like nicotine.”

“Well, you smell the way you used to, too.”

The space between his brows wrinkles and his nose twitches in irritation at your words. “The fuck do you mean? No, I don’t.”

“Let me spell it out for you in a way we both understand.” For the first time since your strange reunion, you reciprocate the physicality and pull him in by the shoulder till you’re forehead to forehead so you can look him in the eyes while explaining. “When I saw you a few days ago for the first time in so long, it was like you basically still had a sign that says ‘broke ass bum.’”

He gapes at you with incredulity, this offended expression on his face.

“I mean,” you say, snickering in bewilderment at the absurdity of his previous actions, “you were gonna sue me over some ice cubes, really? Acting like a spoiled little prince to disguise where you crawled out from? I think you and I have got the kinda stench not even all the Dior in Avenue Montaigne can wipe off.”

His fingers would’ve dug hard into your flesh if your shirt wasn’t in the way with how his grip tightens in response. The grit of his teeth exposes more of them. Strangely, you think he has nice gums. “Why the fuck are you being like this?”

“‘Cause you were content to forget all about me, but you don’t want me to be angry at you either. You should’ve just been polite and pretended you didn’t recognize me. But no, you want it all. I hate people like you who make no sense.”

“You’re just jealous,” Kaiser accuses, trying the snobby angle. If he’s pretentious then he’s not hurt by you claiming you despise him. At least that’s what he settles on.

“Sure. That could be true as well.” You stand up and take the can with you to throw away.

Kaiser plops down on the sand, tired of squatting, and doesn’t bother watching you plod back to the bar but the sound of your footsteps rings heavy in his ears until it dissipates. He hugs his knees like the wet wipe he is at heart.

The kindest person he’d known was a scammer and a liar and a thief and who knows what else. It hurts like nothing else to bear the weight of your desertion.

This must be cellular rejection. You should’ve been ecstatic to see him on account of your shared inhumanity. Does it not matter to you anymore, the fact that you and Kaiser are the same?

… Right; you’re not the ball. When he hits you, you can hit him back.

___

The beach is desolate and eerie at night. Kaiser came out to brood, which was fine because Sae didn’t care to ask him where he was going when he left the room. Unlike during the day, the sand is cool under his feet now — what an obtuse observation to make, all things considered. He’s annoyed and frustrated at himself as usual when things don’t go his way.

There’s a light illuminating someone’s face where they recline on one of the lounge chairs. It’s blue, meaning the source is a phone. Kaiser startles because he assumed he was alone.

And you startle when you see him staring at you in the dark, but instead of screaming all you do is let out an unconvincing gasp and turn on the backlight to reveal him. Kaiser covers his eyes with his forearms and turns away, letting out some vampiric kind of noise.

Then you frown and go back to tapping away on your shitty mobile game. “You’re such a creep honestly,” you say in distaste.

Once he gets over the assault you just committed on his admittedly sensitive eyes, Kaiser sits down next to you uninvited.

“It’s a coincidence,” he snaps. “I don’t want to be around you either. You’re so fucking exhausting. Can’t talk to you like a normal person at all because of your stupid grudge.”

“Then why are you still trying?”

Of course, there are many answers to that question. Some including but not limited to I think I can still love you like before and I miss you and I regret not sending you that postcard and I hate how you’re mad at me, but I can’t seem to get it right. Though such pathetic things aren’t in Kaiser’s nature to spew, so they never make it past his throat. The words constrict around his neck like a noose.

Instead of answering, he says, “You’ve got a phone now. You should give me your number.”

“No.”

“You’re just trying to make my life difficult for no reason!”

You give him another one of your blank stares. In the dullness of the night, obviously the gesture stays meaningless, though Kaiser can sense the bemusement in your silence at least.

Seeing that ignoring the problem at large isn’t turning out to be the winning move, Kaiser sighs and tries to think of what to say. There’s probably some kind of trick to this, some way he could fool you into overlooking his transgressions. Though when you were friends, he never did that to you, and you never left him then. Maybe it’s not necessary. In this situation, it’s proving to even be detrimental.

Kaiser picks at the skin on his neck. It’s to his benefit you can’t see each other well — he’s not sure he’d be able to spit it out without the detachment of the environment. “Listen, I’m not good at this shit, but… If I have to be honest, I was really paranoid. I didn’t want to think about the past and I didn’t want to get dragged back into it, so I was too scared to even write you a letter to tell you I’m fine. But stumbling on you again, it’s probably fucking stupid but I don’t want to lose track of you anymore. It’s lonely.”

“I wasted a year of my life thinking you were dead,” you say.

“I’m sorry.”

“Tomorrow’s my free day.”

There’s an uncertain excitement in Kaiser now, as if you might be yanking his chain and he doesn’t want to commit to the feeling right away. “Sure, I’m leaving after tomorrow, so that works. Meet me here and we can catch up.”

“I see this shitty beach enough as it is,” you say.

“Yeah, but not the way you’re supposed to.”

You shrug.

Without prompting or any indication that you care, Kaiser says, “I have a horrible sunburn.” He will always find something to bitch about. It’s like he’s never satisfied.

After a few swipes, you unlock your phone and pass it to him so he can add his contact information. “Then use aloe vera or something. What are you, stupid?”

“I don’t have any,” justifies Kaiser, inputting the digits. His tone is defensive because this is the first he’s heard of it, but it’s not like he’ll admit that.

Your forgiveness is fake, in a way. It’d been a grudge you held for a while and a betrayal you wouldn’t tolerate from anyone else. Maybe you’ll hold it over his head if he displeases you. So it’s not real forgiveness, is it, more so a lenience, a testament to your past, that your love for him somehow prevails over your need to enact the lex talionis.

___

The sand sinks under your weight with each step you take, waves lapping over the shoreline, seagulls and children squealing in the background. Sunset makes everything easier on the eyes and the heat is finally settling down since it’s getting late into the afternoon.

You had a nice time catching up with Kaiser in another part of the city, although he displayed a susceptibility to tourist traps. He gloated a lot, and you pretended you didn’t know about half of it from reading his Wikipedia page that one time when you were fostering your hate boner for him. You told him about how you ran away and ended up in another country and about how you’re still on the missing persons site.

Now you’re going back by the seaside instead of through the streets. You walk side by side, your ankles touching the water. Kaiser’s grin is wide, which makes him seem smug, but this time it doesn’t strike you as forced so maybe he is simply carefree. It’s an unusual sight for you — Kaiser, genuinely smiling.

“I think I’ll come see you again when it’s off season. Or maybe we can arrange for you to come visit me instead. I’ve got all sorts of things I want to show you,” he says. He never really had anything to give you before, and now he takes pride in having the means to do so, regardless of whether you’re interested or impressed.

“Whatever, Micha. You’re so full of it. I bet it’ll be lame or you’ll forget you promised.”

He remains pleased despite the teasing, even happier if possible. “It’s fine if you say pointless shit like that, I don’t mind a challenge. All I have to do is prove you wrong.”

___

Lol at the end of finishing this I teared up in Frustration because I couldn't write this the way I envisioned it and then I couldn't save it through editing either (<- guy who's defiinitely normal and casual ) and I kinda just wanted to be done with it so I'm not gonna hold it hostage any longer either. Idk I'm just mad and depressed about it rn i guess. Thank U all for tapping in

[wherenymphsroam]

don’t say it’s unholy, if I let you come hold me (pt 1)

⟡ -- leon finds you drowning your grief in the back of a bar just outside of town. but don't worry, he won't blow your cover.

w/c: 2.1k

warnings: themes of coping with grief and depression, implied underage drinking and unhealthy coping mechanisms, vendetta leon, leon is just a wee bit morally grey here just due to the point in his life this is staged during, no sex but explicit language, leon is readers dad's coworker/friend, angst - eventual sex

a/n: okay, I've been sitting on this baby for a hot minute just because of how self indulgent it is iaqhdsiuwsjih. I wanted to make this longer before I released it, but I think I'm going to just continue this in parts (and even then, don't hold me to that lol judgwiuhd !!). again, please heed warnings, and if you are uncomfortable with any themes presented, please just don't read!

playlist: unholy (hey violet), disconnect (she wants revenge), discipline (nine inch nails), paralyzer (finger eleven)

You shouldn’t be here.

By all legal and ethical means, morality aside, you should be at the library, studying for a final you know damn well you won’t be passing. Or better yet, at home. Maybe poured over a mug of tea, that blend your mom has made you since you were a kid. Some shitty romcom playing in the background, ignored as you doze off surrounded by papers, scattered around the dining table like any other honorable, dutiful college student. Not some… dingy, shithole bar outside the parameters of your hometown.

(One you know your dad doesn’t frequent with colleagues. One you know is just outside the radius of people that would see you here, know you enough to know you shouldn’t be here.)

Maybe you would be back home right now, studying until you felt like your brain was going to melt out of your ears, if not for what happened. The “would’ve” “could’ve” and “should’ve”s are stacked high in your brain, like a mountain of now unattainable possibilities laid bare, slain by the events of recent nights. Something so chilling, so bone shattering and brain dissolving you just can’t manage to wrap your head around it. 

‘Shock’, right? 

That was the operative term for the numbness that has recently buzzed dully in your limbs, the heaviness of your own weight whenever you roll out of bed every day. The term itself is thrown around so flippantly, so easily outside the walls of a hospital, a clinic. General medical common knowledge be damned, everyone knows what shock is.

'Shock' is being betrayed by your child who marries someone of the same gender, rendering you and your paper thin beliefs meaningless. Generations passed down worth of indoctrination gone moot by one, unholy union. It’s coming home and finding your husband in bed with another woman, that blonde bitch at his front desk. The one he told you not to worry about? Yeah, that one. 

It’s the unspeakable, the unimaginable striking. It’s blinding, horrid in how it leaves you.. Empty. You’re compelled to apologize for its effects on your nervous system.

Sorry guys, I promise I’m sad. I know I don’t look it, I’m taking it out on all this- shit lying around. I’ve been meaning to throw this out for ages you know. Guess I finally have a reason now, huh? No, I don’t know how much sleep I’ve gotten the past week, it’s probably fine. I’m fine, don’t worry about me. That’ll make me feel worse. Now, if you would, let me go finish my manic episode in peace, will you-?

Could you blame this too as to why you finally dug out that fake ID your friends coerced you into agreeing to?

This wasn’t like you, not one bit. I mean, really, sitting in the back of some gnarly bar, surrounded with the sorts of people Daddy always warned you about? The sorts of people that only came out after dark, that hung around till dawn when they would then go back to dwell in whatever crevice of the city they called home until dusk? Maybe this was moms genes catching up with you – the predisposed ones you always knew would come to bite you in the ass. Maybe you should go check your eyes, don’t people's pupils dilate when they’re manic? “Crazy eyes'' those people on Tiktok would call them, right? 

“Unwidin’, huh?”

His voice calls through the air between you like he might’ve well been standing yards away. It takes you a moment longer than maybe appropriate to track his distance, his place at your side at the bartop. Glancing over, you first get a look at his hand, gesturing to the drink in front of you, the cigarette dangling between your fingers. The one that was currently beginning to slip in your weakened grip, speaking of. 

They’re long, nimble. Broad hands, worn at the tips, smooth along the meat of his palms. Even under the hazy atmosphere surrounding you, you can make out the glint of the watch up his sleeve – probably expensive, if the quality of the leather of his jacket sleeve has anything to say about it. Look at you. Even buzzed like this, you were spotting the finer details. A daddy’s girl with daddy’s tolerance.

Despite yourself, you nod numbly, head heavy on the bracket of your neck. A sign directly arguing with the idea of your tolerance – or rather, lack thereof – but it can't be as noticeable as your brain is attempting to trick you into believing, right?

Leon settles into the stool next to you, and you don’t so much as cast him a proper glance. Maybe that’s why he finds himself sitting down. You looked out of place, like a damn kicked puppy with your head drowning in a few shots worth in the back of this bar. It was a wonder no one else had approached you up till this point, especially given the time of night. It was hard not to feel like your guardian angel. 

“We both know this ain’t the healthiest way to do it.” He says as he flags the bartender down.

Touche, mystery man. 

Well, alright. Technically you knew the guy. You vaguely recognized him as one of Dad’s colleagues through the haze of your buzz. It was too sweet to interrupt, you find yourself completely unfazed in the face of the inevitable consequences that would come from your fathers colleague finding you here.

If anything, you couldn’t complain.

His voice was nice. Beyond “nice” actually. If you were any more wasted, you’d take him for a certain type of actor. More specifically, the ones you listen to late at night. The ones that speak to you behind pseudonyms and expensive microphones, nestled into crevices of the internet any mentally stable person wouldn’t dream of wandering into.  

You know better than to entertain that thought for more than a few seconds, even despite the dregs of nicotine floating through your blood coaxing you towards such a mental image. 

Finally, you brave a glance over your shoulder at him. He’s pretty. Real pretty. How are you only just noticing how sharp his eyes are? They look darker under this bar's lighting, that typically professional, almost playful glint in his gaze nowhere to be found. It had been a few years since you’d last seen him… maybe it was age finally starting to jade him.

Not that you knew the specifics. He was easily older than you by a decade and some change. And clearly all too happy to bypass all niceties in this situation. Damn. Did you look that bad? He was pretty enough to be an angel, but that didn’t mean he had to act like one. Maybe he felt bad for you. Maybe he had a better head sitting on his shoulders than a better half of the people in here. 

A huff of soft breath leaves through your nose, tendrils of smoke swirling out of your system with the action. Shaking your head, you dip it, taking another long drag from your quickly burning cigarette, an excuse to try and string together some sort of response that won’t make an ass out of you. Or actually, anything that didn’t scream “you’re hot and I don’t know how to conduct myself around good natured, attractive men” would do just fine. Those damn eyes of his… it was a mistake, letting your gazes lock. His eyes alone were enough to make your stomach flip. 

“Well,” you mutter, not daring to look back at him. “This is better than my plan b for the night.” 

You don’t so much as flinch when the bartender comes over, taking an order he murmurs in a tone you want spoken against the shell of your ear from behind. Your periphery catches the actions of the bartender pouring his order into a short glass, bronze in color.

Whiskey. Of course.

Reaching for the middle of the table, you stub your cigarette in a conveniently placed ashtray. Sure, you were a little fucked up in a way you’ve never been before tonight, but you had manners. 

Meanwhile, Leon is doing what he does best. Observing. He tries his best not to make it obvious how he watches your hand wobbles when you lift it. He watched the subtle change in your expression when he called to you, how your head bobbed when he sat down. Anyone else would be paying attention to how quickly you recoiled with the action, as if self conscious of your dragged reaction time. However, he had spotted the tension in your slouched shoulders. A reaction rooted in self preservation, a fear of judgment. It was enough to tell him just how many shots you probably had in your system. 

He was no stranger to girls like you, ‘situations’ such as the one he was currently sitting next to.

It was a familiar, cliche dance – the unspoken, drowning struggles of a near stranger on display, insecurities risen to the surface like hemorrhaged blood under thinned skin. It was written all over you. You were scrappy, worn paper, and he was the storm settling overhead. Baring your weariness and struggle and strife to his blind eye, painting you transparent. He could see right through you. You were running from something. Likely attempting to drown, bury it somewhere deep if not for just a night or so. 

“‘Plan B’?” he questions, tone calm, even almost lighthearted. It betrays his sharp gaze, perceptive and on guard as ever. As if he were approaching an injured doe in the wild. Not that he’s done much hunting lately. He’s found that meat off the streets bleeds more freely than the skin of doe’s and rabbits does in present times. 

A wry smile tugs at your lips, almost as if you figured he’d press the topic. It was already too much to ask that he didn’t mention your connection to his coworker, how Leon knew you were definitely not supposed to be somewhere like this, and he had managed to uphold that silent prayer.

Maybe your otherwise handicapped condition was blurring whatever lines that stood between you right now, the lines that constructed what he should be doing, finding you here without a legitimate ID.  He should be outing you to the bartender, dragging you out of this place by the scruff of your neck with your dad dialed into his phone.

He shouldn’t be… entertaining you, right? Could you go so far as to call his complacent presence.. Encouragement?

Taking a seat beside you, joining you in your mission to drown your ache, your pain. Keeping you calm under his gaze, as if a sedative rolled off him in gentle waves. His throat bobs around his sip of whiskey, and you can’t help how your gaze lingers on the action. 

“Plan B consisted of finding someone to fuck me into next week,” you mutter dryly, as if the admission of your half hearted ‘plans’ for tonight left a sour taste in even your mouth. It wasn’t who you were. This wasn’t what you did. For fucks sake, you weren’t even supposed to have gotten this far, knee deep in an actively self destructive decision. But life sure did have one hell of a way of knocking you one hundred eighty degrees in the other direction, didn’t it?

No. That’s an excuse. A shitty one, at that. It's an excuse you've heard your dad mutter under his breath when he slouches into the couch with a beer in hand.

This is a poor choice, and you knew this was a poor choice. And yet, that didn’t stop you from walking your happy ass into this bar, nose up and full of talked up confidence you poured into yourself in the parking lot. No amount of tugging and pulling and pleading your guilty conscience did on your brain would stop you, not this time. You knew that getting into an Uber to haul you outside the lines of town would seal your fate to the whims of this bar. How classy. 

If Leon was a worse man, he’d take your words at face value. (Or maybe he’s just damned with all that thorough training he’s been rung through. It’s practically impossible not to read people nowadays. Even alcohol has ceased to debilitate him of this begrudgingly equipped set of skills that was all but pummeled into him.) 

His gaze wavers. Flickers, almost with a wash of amusement for a moment. You were trying oh so hard, taking that clipped, short tone with him, all but puffing your chest with this aura of  mental toughness you likely wanted to think you had. It was cute, really. But oh, the lacing of desperation in your tone... The sweet vulnerability in your breath… every hairline fracture your already cracking front is bleeding. 

He doesn’t have to be a bloodhound to want to dig for more. He just can’t help himself. 

thank you for reading! I have emergency commissions open, so if you enjoyed this piece, please consider taking a look at my menu or rb’ing :^)

[kerubimcrepin]

LIVEBLOG: Wakfu Season 4, Episode 1

I'm awful at emotional speeches, but I just wanted to say... I'm very happy that I got to run this blog for such a long time. And I hope that there is still a lot of fun ahead of us. It feels very triumphant, to finally get to season 4 together with you all :)

"Let's kill Tot with Hammers" moment #1: This is an image Bonta of Dofus era, reused in Wakfu Season 4 to save money. Usually, Wakfu era Bonta is not white colored, and it does not have the same architecture that it had in Dofus era.

I do not know why they didn't just reuse images of Bonta from the OVAS, which are accurate to the Wakfu MMO and Wakfu Season 1 vision of Bonta.

"Let's kill Tot with Hammers" moment #2: Once again, this is just reusing the movie assets...

Also, the house has shifted positions. Did Kerubim, Atcham, and Joris move...? (I ask this despite knowing that the answer is "Ankama really dropped the ball with some of the animation and the sheer amount of asset reusage with this season, for some unknowable reason")

I am going to cry, he's so fucking funny... Save me. Shelter me.

This is Clown Olympics. I love you, Atcham and Kerubim. You are so right.

Literally they do not give a fuck. Is he implying Joris should go to the grocery store instead of staring at the evil, ominous eyes in the sky. Is he implying they should all eat dinner first and think about whatever the fuck is happening later.

I will be honest, I'm pretty sure they're like that because if they weren't, Joris would have a stress-induced heart attack. Joris can do all the worrying for the team. They don't need to feed into the worries of the guy who, at 7 years of age, convinced himself that Astrub was about to be overrun by zombies and nearly cried over a bottle-opener because of that.

Kerubim and Atcham really don't give a shit about little Jojo's opinions, huh.

He says something and the response is almost always "I'm not arguing with someone who is 70–90 years younger than me. Whatever u say gorgeous" and then go back to ignoring it. Insane.

[drooling at the thought of whatever Yugo does in the manga starting the Waven era and killing millions of people, which leads to Joris's (as well as Kerubim and Atcham's) military dictatorship in Bonta, and the way it truly underpins the character parallels between Joris and Yugo in a "child hero to antichrist type figure of ruin and death pipeline" way and the way they both demonstrate that road to hell is paved with good intentions] w-whaatever u say gorgeous. 🥴🤤

When I saw this the first time, I audibly groaned, and messaged my friends saying "I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING TRANSLATE THIS FONT AGAIN!! FUCK!!!!!"

...this says "Coqueline"

This is the Lorem Ipsum filler text. No cool easter eggs here.

This moment really touched me when I watched this season. Even with Joris, who is only six centuries old, you can see The Entropy begin to set in. Seeing cities built and rebuilt and destroyed and rebuilt. Seeing thousands of friends die, be born. Lose your entire family to time. And watch it be so eroded away by time that there is basically no proof of those loved ones, and the places you went to together, even existing.

I think it would be beautiful for someone immortal to know that somewhere out there, there's tangible and irrefutable proof of everything they have ever seen and experienced, including every single thing they love that is no more.

Oooor maybe I'm getting Ronik'y into it. I'm insane about immortality.

You get what you FUCKING DESERVE. ✌

[milkmissiles]

Mha boys when you have a stomach ache

(Because I am currently in excruciating pain lol)

Fluff. Literally just comfort and fluff. A little bit of implied spice.

Character index: denki, bakugou, shouto, kirishima x GN reader

Denki

This bitch would be so dramatic.

He would ask you all the questions.. like for someone who isn't book smart at all he sure does know a shit ton of symptoms.

Please humor him though he just wants to make sure your not dying.

I mean waking up in the middle of the night to see you curled up in a ball, tears rolling down your face, and your entire body tense and shaking is definitely a terrifying site for this poor boy..

But once you convince him you actually are not on deaths door, he will calm down a bit. He's still freaked the fuck out and absolutely has no idea what he's supposed to do but he will try his best.

He will hold you close all night, rubbing small circles into your stomach to distract you, if it's really bad he might give you some little shocks to distract you more.

In the morning, he'll run you a hot bath, helping you get in. But he won't leave you to your bath without saying something like, "Aren't you gonna be lonely in there without me? Y'know I could totally join you~"

He really likes to test his luck...

But once you shoot him a bit of a glare, indicating you are definitely not in the mood with the pain and all. He will leave you to it.

Although you have to admit baths are a lot more boring without him around...

Bakugou

He would somehow find a way to get mad at you?

Like bakugou wakes up to see you like dying on the floor, trying to find a comfortable position, and his first thought is to scold the absolute shit out of you...

"What the hell's up with you? Why are you curled up like that on the floor? You're gonna give yourself a headache if you sleep without head support idiot! Get back on the bed right now you stupid fuck!!"

He literally drags you back into bed by you collar before storming out of the room. He comes back with an advil, a glass of water and a snack and pretty much stuffs your face with them.

"You have a stomach ache, huh? Well, maybe you shouldn't have eaten that piece of toast you dropped on the floor!! I swear if you didn't have me you'd be dead! How stupid do you have to be to get yourself sick like this huh?? Huh?!"

He would say all this while stuffing a pain killer down your throat and force feeding you a granola bar...

"C'mon eat. You can't take advil on an empty stomach dumbass! Get it together you should know this!"

Once he's done scolding you, he'll huff, laying back down on the bed. Positioning himself so he's spooning you. One of his hands on your stomach, the other in-between your thighs. Turning himself into your own personal heat pack.

He'll make sure you get to sleep before he let's himself fall back asleep.

In the morning, he'll make you breakfast, your favorite breakfast in fact. The whole time grumbling about how its your fault he got no sleep last night. Shoving a plate of beautifully cooked food infront of you...

As pissed as he makes you think he is, he really was worried about you.

Shouto

As cold as the people who don't know him think he is. You know him well enough to know he's a huge softy.

He would immediately ask of your ok. Rubbing your back gently. He doesn't even skip a beat when he sees you curled up in child's pose on your shared bed, your breath sharp and unsteady.

Asks you if you need need anything, and when you respond with a sad sounding "sleep," He smiles softly at you. Thinking you look kinda cute like this..

After he gives himself a moment to figure out what you need, he'll go to your medicine cabinet and get you a painkiller. He'll pour you a glass of water and light a sented candle for extra relaxation. He is determined to get you some sleep.

He will pet your hair softly, speaking to you with the gentlest tone.

"Hey, y/n... can you sit up for me, please? I got you a painkiller, but you need to sit up to take it...*

He would help you up, giving you the pill and the water. He would help you lay back down. Cuddling you up to his left side and heating it up a bit to help your muscles relax. And if you start getting too hot, he'll place his right hand on the back of your neck. Cooling you off.

He would keep you at the perfect temperature to sleep. And you would sleep. Surprisingly enough, one of the best sleeps of your entire life.

Kirishima

This poor boy is absolutely lost.

He has zero idea how to help you and is instead left trying to calm you down as you sob into the bed sheets...

(Please, he's so freaked out)

I can see him patting your back like an awkward dad y'know?

He tries to talk you out of it too. Trying to act like he's not scared out of his mind that you're dying or some shit..

"Hey.. hey. You're ok.. you're ok, right? You're fine. Im here. You don't have to cry.. please don't cry.. are you okay??"

He's trying so hard but is so confused. Your talking is almost unintelligible through your tears, but eventually, he hears a soft, "advil..." Through the sobs.

He will fetch you some immediately. It takes him less than a minute before he's back. Advil in hand. A very determined look on his face.

Within like 30 minutes your passed out on his chest again. Sleeping oh so peacefully. He can finally breath, thanking the gods your ok. He was so worried you have no idea. Or I guess you probably do considering how he was fumbling over his words and desperately trying to help you. Now he just runs his hands through your hair, falling asleep in the quiet bliss of your breathing.

He will research the fuck out of this in the morning and make sure he is well prepared for the next incident. After all it is so not manly to not know how to care for your significant other..

[impishjesters]

Little Thoughts

warning(s): suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideations, child neglect, child abuse, suicidal thoughts of a child, abuse, financial abuse, hurt/comfort(?), mentioned manipulation, casual talk about death/dying, pre-relationship, uncertain reactions (basically Jax nor you really know how to go about the situation), implied crush (both ways) A/N: This was written for myself, read it or don't, I don't care. I just wanted validation and acceptance from somewhere, even if it's fictional...

“Do you ever just wish you were dead?”

Jax slowed his oncoming approach towards you, blinking in confusion. “What happened to, hi? Hello? How are you?” He heard you scoff and crossed his arms loosely in thought. Sure, he was used to hearing some pretty questionable things from you, but you’d never flat out ask him—or anyone else for that matter—if they wanted to be dead.

“Well?”

“Uh, can’t say I do. Sure, this place sucks but think of all the entertainment I’d miss out on if I was, ya know—” he swiped his thumb across his neck and made a noise, “—dead.”

“You’ve been here longer. Aren’t you tired?”

What was this? Morbid fifty questions?

“You doin’ alright there sugar?” Jax circled around you, allowing you to see him long before he approached you taking a seat beside you. “I know you usually say some pretty…intense shit, but this is a little too intense even for you.”

You shot him a blank stare. Huh, you did say some pretty out-of-pocket stuff when it came to the dark subject—but to ask him flat out if he ever wanted to just be dead? That was new, but it was a valid question in your mind.

How could they choose to suffer instead of just dying?

“This isn’t anything new… I’m not like you guys. I haven’t been here for years on end gradually going mad.”

“Hey, rude. I’m not nearly as bonkers as Rags or King-face.”

He got a playful eye roll from you and that was more than enough of a win for his little joke. Sure it was a serious topic but he didn’t do so well during talks like this.

“I’ve always been like this… for as long as I can remember, as a child I thought it’d just be better if I was dead. That way my family could stop fighting, and I could stop being the rag doll in their arguments.”

As you spoke the grin that was glued to his face started to fall, slipping bit by bit until his lips ran flat. What child wants to kill themselves? He remembers his childhood not being the greatest but he never thought about death, that’s for sure.

“We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, they’d spend it on unnecessary stuff and worry about food and bills later until years of it caught up and put them in a bind.” Your gaze fell to your hands, fingers picking and peeling at the flesh. “Most would say I was a very spoiled kid, I always got toys and the holidays were jam-packed with even more unnecessary toys for a growing child to outgrow.”

He had a feeling he knew where this was going…

“But I didn’t want that, I didn’t want all those toys. Expensive or cheap, I never asked for any of them. If my eyes made contact with something and lingered just a second too long they’d buy it for me.” You sighed, looking up at Jax. “All I wanted was my family to give me the time of day, to play with me. To love me.”

“Fuck, I’m..” he hesitated, saying sorry felt pointless, that was ages ago and he wasn’t there. He wasn’t at fault but he couldn’t even imagine that—his own parents argued but they kept him out of it.

“It’s fine you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

He shuffled in place awkwardly, how are you supposed to respond to that? Luckily he doesn’t need to because you are already looking away and took a deep breath before continuing.

“It never got better, toys became electronics and games. Because of my family, I didn’t get to socialize growing up and I’d be quiet and withdrawn at school. The older I got the more vocal they started to get about me, even though they didn’t want me they kept me chained down and limited my ability to fight them.”

“What they lock ya up or somethin’?”

“They didn’t need to, I had no reason to leave the house. I didn’t have friends, we didn’t have stores or anything fun to do that wasn’t an hour’s drive away.” He hates the way you laugh so casually about it. “No, they’d limit any money I’d receive making sure I’d spend it instead of save it. I used to think it was their way of trying to make sure I wouldn’t run away, but even if I didn’t have savings that wouldn’t have stopped me from leaving with nothing but the clothes on my back.”

“Why didn’t ya?”

“I was a coward.”

Jax snorted and caught your attention. “You were a child, not a coward.”

“Whatever, pointless to think about it now. Did me fat lotta good in the end anyways, here I am trapped in this hell hole where the closest thing to death is abstracting.” A dry laugh left you at the irony. “I can’t even fucking off myself properly.”

The two of you simply sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of you seemingly aware of how to continue the conversation. There was no reason to give Jax the whole sob story that didn’t matter anyway, and he couldn’t think of a response.

Sure he wasn’t the greatest at times but he didn’t want you to just…die… but he wasn’t going to try and guilt trip you into living for him. Even if that outcome sounded far better than you dying, he could live with a guilty conscience—probably…

“You don’t have to worry about responding, I sort of just… dropped that all on you. It’s fine, it’s the past.”

“Still doesn’t change that ya still feel like ya should’ve died because your family sucks.” You shot him an unimpressed look and he shrugged. “I’m just sayin’, you were just a kid stuck with a shit family and should’ve been given help a lot sooner.”

“Gee, thanks—”

“I’m not done,” he used your name, no silly or insulting nicknames, “someone should’ve done something, I know people are stupid and think if they just look away it’ll be fine. But someone should’ve stepped in, it’s still abuse, it’s neglect.”

It went unspoken about how you clearly didn’t seek any form of therapy or help as you got older, he already felt like he was pushing it saying what he did.

“Look nothing I say is gonna make ya not wanna pop yourself, but it’s different now. Yeah, ya stuck here but you aren’t alone, and the others like ya.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” he blinked, you weren’t asking him if he…

“Do you like me?”

Jax coughed into his hand, casually turning himself to face the same direction as you. He refused to budge even when you turned yourself to face him, he was not gonna lose his cool.

“Ya alright, better than King-face and Rags that’s for sure.”

His answer pleased you enough to pull back but still face towards him. Occasionally, you’d see him peeking over to see if you were still looking at him until he finally kept his gaze forward.

“Thank you Jax.”

It felt wrong to accept your thanks, he didn’t do anything. But again you responded for him, as if knowing his plight.

“Thank you for sitting here with me, and listening… nobody’s ever listened to me before and not tried to justify what they did like I was the one at fault. You don’t need to feel like you have to have done something to be thanked.”

His shoulders shrugged before relaxing, his gaze that had glued itself to nothing finally turning to you. “Look just, promise me if you get those icky thoughts again you’ll come to me instead of stewing in them okay?” He saw you hesitate and cautiously reached out for your hand. “Promise me.”

You sighed. “Fine, I promise…” Ironically, you didn’t think you could trust anyone but Jax with this sort of information. Personal feelings aside.

“Good, now shut ya face and enjoy my presence and this beautiful moonlight night.” He threw his arm around you and pulled you closer, hand lingering at your side. He was going to make sure not to take advantage of this information, he wanted things to be genuine and not manipulated—as easy as it would be for him.

If the two of you were stuck here he wanted your feelings towards him, and vice versa to be genuine before taking the next step.

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None really, chit-chat between some gal pals, some implied bi/pan reader.

A/N: Never fear, best gal Layla is here! Also the Hippo-Mama!

And I totes recommend reading the Hobby Headcanons that @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction wrote on the boys! I plan on implementing them all! (Also read all their other things, their Nathan Bateman shit is *insert Paccha meme here*) I need to read up on American football because frankly I have no clue how sports worked since I played soccer and baseball as a kid, before I write about Marc's lest I sound like some plebeian who's guessing everything lmao

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity

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Chapter 5:

Old Friends

You were minding your own business, cleaning up the mess of tossed books that a couple was oh so kind enough to allow their child to scatter.

You hoped you'd never see them again. While they sat at the nook, sipping coffee and eating the muffins, their child was running around, causing havoc and destroying your beautiful, well-organized shop. Oh, your poor shop…

The couple weren't happy when you charged them for the books their son had ripped up and destroyed beyond salvage, the books he colored in.

Yeah, you really hoped they would never come back.

You looked at your burned hand with a frown. It had been a few days since you hurt yourself, and while painful, the burn wasn't actually that bad. Some aloe, some ice… And it started to clear up after the first day, the blisters receding quickly. You flexed your fingers and tilted your head, curiously wondering if your soulmate could feel the burns, as well. When the thought crossed your mind, you pulled up your sleeve and looked at the mark on your wrist, checking to see which moon would be full today.

The bottom right one. It had been that one a lot, lately.

The bell to the front door dinged, and you straightened up, mentally preparing yourself for the forced smile you were going to have to put on, now.

You cleared your throat and spun around, broom in hand, looking at the woman who just walked in.

She was beautiful. Her tanned skin complimenting her dark eyes and mass of wavy curls. She smiled at you, a bit more genuine.

"Oh! Hello, welcome to Here Today Books." You say politely. "Can I help you?"

"You look like you need it more, sister." She sighed, smiling sympathetically, nodding to the pile of ruined books you now had to put into recycling. Her accent was… it wasn't American, like yours. It sounded similar, but her words had some kind of twinge to them.

"Ah, yeah… a couple and their lovely child were my most recent patrons." You joke dryly.

"Ah, a little tornado, huh?" She snorted, shaking her head.

"Yep. For sure." You sigh, giving her a new, more genuine smile. "Now, were you looking for anything in particular today?"

"Oh, actually, a friend told me about this place, and I was curious." She mused.

That… took you by surprise. People actually talk about your store? Like, as in tell other people about it? This was news, for sure.

"O-oh?" You blink.

"Yeah, he said you made good muffins and tea. I'm more of a coffee fan in the morning, myself, though. Tea is more of a night thing." She chuckled.

You tilt your head at her, gears in your brain whirling.

"Are you friends with Steven Grant, by any chance?" You ask.

She laughs. "Yes! I'm Layla. Layla el Faouly." She holds out her hand for you to shake, and you, without thinking, extend your healing hand.

She shakes it gingerly, her eyes focused on the rosy skin like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"That… looks like it hurt." She said.

"Oh, this? I was just dumb and grabbed a hot pan without thinking." You said, examining your hand casually.

"Oh… Yeah, that's not good for you, y'know?" Layla joked softly.

"Yeah, not the worst pains I've ever had, trust me." You reply. "Now, uh… are you looking for a book? Or after some of the coffee? Or my muffins?"

"Oh! I think I'll just explore a bit, if that's all right with you." Layla said with a nod.

"Oh, I don't mind! If you need anything, just holler!" You wave at her as she disappears into the shelves.

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"You saw it?" Layla muttered softly to herself; or more accurately, to the giant hippo-woman clad in gold and jewels standing next to her, only visible to her eyes.

"Yes, yes I did. Didn't Marc mention that he had phantom pains in that same hand?" Taweret chuckled.

"Yeah. I mean… It could be coincidence, but…"

"You should talk to her. The poor dear looks dreadfully lonely." Taweret sighed, looking even more gargantuan as she peers at the contents of the shelves pressing down around her, her cute little ears flickering back and forth.

She picked up a book on psychology, finding it suddenly terribly interesting, her eyes widening as she scans the pages faster than a human ever could.

"I will. If we're right about our assumption, then, maybe we can… I don't know…"

"Play matchmaker?" Taweret giggles.

Layla softly smiles, not paying attention to the open book in her hands as she chuckles.

"Yeah. We can play matchmaker."

"Oh, let's just see how this plays out first, m'love?" The goddess giggled.

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Layla wanders to the front of the store, two hardback romance novels in her hands and you smile as you restock some old sci-fi novels into your discount rack.

They were the kind of romance novels with the covers reminiscent of oil paintings, the pretty ones. Not the stupid photoshopped ones that are being printed nowadays.

"Find something you like?" You chuckle.

She waves the books with a wide grin, "I've actually been looking for these copies for ages. At one of the places I was working, some jerk stole them from my locker."

"Oh gods, that is horrible!" You gasp. Why would anyone steal books?! At most, those particular novels, even new, only went for a few pounds!

"I know, right! They were autographed and everything!" Layla groaned.

You felt even more offended on her behalf. If those books were autographed and authentic, they would go for actually a decent sum for a collector online...

"That's even worse than just stealing a regular copy!" You clucked.

Layla wiggled the books in her hands. "But, hey! You have hardback copies, and in very good condition. Mine were old, beat up paperbacks!"

"Well, I'm more than happy that you found them!" You grinned widely.

Layla tilted her head to the left slightly, like she had heard something from behind her, and then she looked right at you, eyeing you up and down briefly, as if she were thinking.

You quirked an eyebrow at her in concern.

"Is everything all right?" You ask.

"Hm? Oh! Yes, yes I'm okay! I just have this... thing. The ringing in my ears?" She coughs, abashed.

"Oh! You have tinnitus? I have a booklet or two on medical things that might have something in it for you if you'd like." You chirp helpfully.

Layla put her hand up, chuckling as she declined politely. "Thank you, but no, I'll be okay. It's not constant or anything like that, it's just that I got off a plane the other day and my ears popped and haven't righted themselves yet.."

"Ooooh..." You nod in understanding. "Where'd you fly in from, if you don't mind my asking?"

She smiled. "Cairo."

"That's the accent!" You gasp in realization, pointing at her.

Layla laughed when you blushed and apologized for the outburst.

"It's fine, and yes! How'd you guess?"

"I used to have an exchange student, he would come in here and buy books for his college courses all the time! He was born and raised just outside Cairo." You chuckle.

"Ohh! Interesting." Layla hummed, looking at the books in her hands.

"Hm... you mentioned you had a menu of sorts?"

"Sure!" You lead her over to one of the nooks, and hand her the laminated mini menu you had available.

Her eyebrows raised, impressed at the various items you had available.

"Oh! This is actually nice..."

"Yep! Most of it is made to order by me, so some of it'll take a bit to bake." You grin proudly.

"Oh... well in that case, is it okay if I ask you to keep me some company? If you're not busy? I don't actually have too many friends other than Steven and his... er, brothers and my... uhhh... surrogate mom, so being able to have another woman to chit-chat with would be very welcome..."

To say you were surprised at the offer was an understatement.

"Oh! Uh, sure! I don't... I don't mind!"

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You and Layla clicked very well. You had similar tastes in things like reality TV, romance novels, even skincare routines.

But when she started talking about herself, is when it got interesting. It turns out she had been married to Marc at some point.

She was his ex-wife. The one he told you about.

"I imagine it's kind of awkward for you two, huh?" You remarked.

"Oh, me n Marc? Not at all! We're still good friends, it's just..." Layla set her coffee down, frowning as she tried to think of how to describe it.

"...After a while, whatever we had... like... the spark, I guess? It just... faded. Marc went through a bit of soul searching and after he did that, well..."

They weren't soulmates.

"Ah... I understand." You sighed.

"What about you?" She asked, a small sly smirk playing her lips.

"Oh! Uh... yeah. No. Nothing for me, I'm afraid." You chuckle awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Oh? Nobody special or anything like that? Never kissed someone?"

"Well, I mean, when I was in highschool I kissed a girl on a dare." You sip your own coffee.

"A girl?" Her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"Yeah, to be honest I'm not sure what kind of preference I have, because I've never really been attracted to anyone before, but it was... weird. Didn't feel like everyone talked it up to be."

"Ah... so... are you waiting for your soulmate, then?" Layla asked a bit tightly.

"Yeah... I know it's stupid, but..." You say, looking down at the mug in your hands.

"Not really. Who doesn't want to meet the one person that is your other half?" She said, smiling softly in sympathy.

Her finger traced the rim of her cup idly, trying to think of the best way to go about phrasing the next question without being obvious about her suspicions.

"Do you... have any ideas of who it might be?" She finally asked.

You shake your head and shrug. "D'nno. I don't know if it's a man or a woman or... well anybody, really. I don't know what it's supposed to feel like once you meet your soulmate because each bond is different so..."

Layla wanted to scream. She wanted to facepalm, she wanted to smack her head on the table. She wanted to splash her coffee into her face.

Taweret was giggling like mad.

"Not as easy as you assumed it was going to be, eh Little One?" The goddess smiled behind her hand at Layla.

Her eyebrow twitched, knowing full well she couldn't retort without looking insane or revealing her position as Taweret's avatar.

You had to be Marc's (and possibly Steven's and Jake's) soulmate. It was all just too coincidental for her liking.

"Oh! That's... well I hope they're close by!" Layla said, forcing a very strained smile.

How could you and Marc be this thick?!

That fact alone had to mean something.

"That's everyone's hope, isn't it?" You chuckled softly, a small fond smile on your face, a glimmer of sadness in your eyes.

Layla felt sympathy for you in the moment, realizing how terribly lonely you must be feeling. And how much pain.

Especially with Marc and the others doing Khonshu's will.

Taweret seemed to pick the thought out of thin air, so in tune with Layla she could tell by the flash in her eyes what she was thinking about.

"Ohhh! That bloody old bone-head!" She huffed, her nostrils flaring as she crossed her arms, her bottom lip poking out from beneath her muzzle.

"He needs to give those poor boys a break! Especially because whatever happens to them, happens to her!" She gestured to you with her big, yet gentle hands.

Layla cleared her throat.

"Well, uh.... since I've told you about me... why don't you tell me about you? Where were you born, stuff like that?" Layla asked you, still smiling.

"Oh! Me? I'm afraid it's not very interesting." You chuckled dryly.

Layla looked outside as the rain came down in sheets. Not very appealing to walk back to the boys' flat in this weather... especially not for her hair.

"It looks like I've got time, love. Go ahead! We can have some more drinks while we chat."

You smiled a bit wider.

It was nice to have a girl-friend to talk with, again.

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When Steven had woken up, Layla was gone, and Marc and Jake left Steven quite alone in the body, letting him front entirely for the day. She'd left a note on Gus and Co's tank saying she went out for a bit for some fresh air.

Which, quite frankly, Marc said was bullshit because of the weather. Layla wouldn't go out in a monsoon and risk her hair becoming an unmanageable spongy mop that would take forever to dry, unless she was going somewhere very specific.

It was one of the things she complained about the most when they were together, something he thought was amusing. He remembered one time they got caught in a rain after their wedding, and at the hotel she was fussing and muttering under her breath as her wet curls hung over her face, desperately trying to get the dripping mass of hair to dry, glaring at herself in the mirror.

Steven sighed, and made his morning cup of tea and went about his routine. He dusted some, and decided to slip on his apron and play with some recipes he'd found online.

The apron was a bit... "dinky" as Marc had called it. Jake apparently ordered it online when he saw the slightly cartoon'd Egyptian motifs on it and left it as a present for Steven, since his favorite thing to do other than read was to cook (and he was a major Egyptophile).

When he was finished, he'd placed the extra portions in a small container in the fridge for Layla when she returned, in case she was hungry.

Then, he sat down, ate, and read a book while he played some music over the cheap sound system Marc installed.

When Layla returned, she was... dry. Remarkably dry. Her hair was still perky and everything!

She apparently bought an umbrella while she was out, placing it in the holder so no excess water dripped on the floor.

"Ah! Hey Steven." She chuckled, walking up and kissing his cheek, knocking his glasses off to the side as she did, placing her bag on the little table nearby.

"How'd you know?" Steven chuckled, adjusting his glasses as he looked up at her.

"Well, aside from the fact you're hunched over like a goblin over a book... the flat smells wonderful. You've obviously been cooking. Not Marc." She grinned.

"Ha!" Steven giggled.

Layla hummed as she set her new purchases on the table, folding the little canvas bag neatly.

Steven's eyebrows shot up when he saw the books.

"Where were you..?" He asked, clearing his throat.

"Oh, y'know... exploring. Went out for a tea..." She grinned at him out of the corner of her still ridiculously beautiful eyes.

"Visited that bookstore you 'n Marc told me about."

Steven fidgeted in his seat.

"O-oh..."

"Mhmm." She tapped her nails on the books' hard covers; she then turned around and crossed her arms, still grinning as she leaned her hips on the table.

"....Why are you looking at me like that? And where did you get that umbrella..?"

"Oh, well..." She shrugged, sighing a bit dramatically, looking elsewhere in the flat for dramatic effect.

She looked back at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Your little girlfriend who owns the bookstore. She really is a sweetheart, she let me borrow it while I'm in town."

"Bloody hell! Layla! It's not like that at all--" Steven sputtered, almost dropping the book in his hand.

She started cackling madly, walking into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator.

"Ooh! What'dja make?"

Steven made a noise, burying his face in his hands as he tried to hide the faint blush that crept up his face and set up shop in the tips of his ears, knocking his glasses up to his forehead.

"Bloody hell!" He groaned into his palms.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Chapter 6: Link

[ebonysplendor]

There's Something Wrong With Sunny Day Jack (Demo) Review🌤️

TL;DR: Sunny days, keeping the clouds awaaaaaay~! ... Okay, but like what if our cloud is the "sunny day", and it won't go away? Do we even want it to at this point...?

Game Link: https://snaccpop-studios.itch.io/sunny-day-jack

Game Link (classic): https://snaccpop-studios.itch.io/sdj-classic

Notable Features: Gender Neutral language, Self-Insert, Yandere LI, Voice Acting, Create a cup of froyo ... yo Spiciness: 5.5/5 -- Let me tell you! It's a whole scene going down in this thing, okay?! FULLY delivered. The literal only thing that would've made this any spicier is if you saw it. You kinda do, but it's just out of frame. LI Red Flags: 3/5 -- Manipulation, possessive, lowkey obsessive, implied violence and possession, but like, I'm pretty sure I can fix him, so whatever, ya know?

Wanna know more? Lmao naaah. Not if you aren't at least 18, and I mean that. There is a WHOLE spicy scene in here. This one's for the adulty adults. Anyways, if you don't care about my yapping and/or you're in the 18+ club, let's get into it!

Okay, okay, okay, I know, yeah, I know, but listen...I'm only getting around to making the review now.

Okay, okay, okay, wait, stop, listen. I know that this game is damn near two years old, but I didn't start getting into reading visual novels until last year, and I didn't start taking the plunge to make reviews until this year so... :P

ANYWAYS! I do have news that you may not know yet! When I was looking for exactly how old this game is, I stumbled upon a little news~

As of me typing this (which was on the 28 August at about 9:30pm, but who knows when I'll actually post this review lmao), the game was updated an hour ago. I'm talking this shit is fresh out of the box! So, naturally, I went scouring for a download button...but then it occurred to me that that message said that it was for the $12+ tier of their patreon supporters. Not gonna lie, the spicy scene in that damn game has got a girl tempted, okay? But the way my bills are set up...

Okay, anyways, getting back on track because I've started yappin'. I'm going to go ahead and jump into this thing because, let me tell you, if you're like me, and you're late to this game, you've gotta hear about it! Granted, the download to the version that I'm talking about isn't available anymore (at least for the public/non $12 patrons), but the classic version is! I don't know how different it is though ^^;

Admittedly, because this game is almost two years old and because there's not a download link available currently, I might spoil it just a little so that you're not left too much in the dark about the game, especially since, again, the download link isn't available. That being said, it may still be spoiler friendly because habit lol.

But you get it by this point. Let's stop talking and start summarizing. Let's get into it!

So boom.

Basically, we're being...haunted?, we guess?...by this very attractive, but frankly super cheesy, children's TV show host. How'd it happened? We aren't really sure. We just remembered that we got some weird tape and was like "Huh...okay", watched it, and boom, here he is. Speaking of "he" and "here he is", here he is!

Everyone, this is the bae, Sunny Day Jack, but he doesn't mind being called just "Jack", so refer to him as such.

Jack has kind've been rocking with us for a few months at this point, and admittedly, it was very poor but really great timing. The reason why that is the case is because we had experienced something pretty tragic, and we were having a really hard time getting over it, but honestly? Jack's child-like explanation of working through problems and explaining emotions actually came in clutch, because we were lowkey able to get this far because of him. That being said...our relationship with him is getting a little blurred -- more than a little.

Ya see, things kind've...escalated between us, and we honestly aren't sure if we're glad that we got called into work or if we're pissed about it. Like, the undertones have been there for a while, but it was only today that those undertones became more pronounced and obvious. I mean, the man had his tongue-- ANYWAYS!

So, we go into work where our asshole manager ditches us because apparently the things that he has to do is way more important than us having a day off from babysitting and picking up the slack of our lazy ass co-workers. The only upside to this is that the day is likely to be slow because of the rain and that we're alone, meaning that we can openly talk to Jack.

Oh, now that I think about it, I forgot something super crucial -- we can see and hear Jack. More specifically, we can touch him, feel him, smell him, fuck him, the works, but, for whatever reason, others can't do the same. I guess it's like...medium privileges or being a ghost's host perks or something? Anyways, I'm getting off track. Gonna stop it there before I start spouting some stupid shit.

We kind've flashback to what happened right before our boss called, and whoo boi, does that steamy feeling come back full force. It's weird, because it's like Jack can read our mind about how we felt so comfortable and so safe and so protected and, frankly, so curious about him and what all went down in that moment. Jack basically reassures us that the feelings that we have are okay, and what would be best described as "love". Oh...oh, haha, uh...

"Nah, dawg, it's not love."

"Well...do you love me?"

AYO? I beg your finest pardon, sir!? Like, he's just gonna come out the woodwork with that shit?!

Regardless, he's still reassuring us that, "It's okay if you see me as bae" and we're just "We're roommates, dude, and seeing someone as bae is way more complicated than you're making it sound!" He pretty much just laughs it off and is like "Well, either way, I'll be here. Always. I'm not going anywhere. Ever. I'll be anything and everything that you need". Oof, that is...a bold ass claim, and one that we're not so entirely sure we should trust...but damn does it feel good to hear those words and have some support...anyways.

Our work day continues, we run into this awkwardly cute guy (I'll explain more later), our whore of an ex-boyfriend called and ruined our fucking mood, Jack lays down some more heavy words of reassurance, and the day goes onto the next.

Unfortunately, we land ourselves back at work, but fortunately without the "un-", we are alone and can freely talk to Jack again. Like mentioned, the guy is a ghost, but he's so very real, just not to others, which can be super disorienting sometimes; this is one of those sometimes. Jack wanted us to make him a yogurt and...oof, his reaction was...

...less than thrilled. Disgusted, even. Horrified.

Now, this doesn't sound like a huge detail or issue, but he actually got a bit scary here because, what is this shit that he's spouting about us "not being that type of person anymore" and "being better than that, now"? Like, when I say that this man -- clown? ghost? -- had a full shift in personality, and it was just...fear in his eyes, desperation in his voice? Like, he looked and sounded absolutely haunted and terrified of something. Like, this was beyond the horror in a cup that we apparently made him experience; it only triggered it.

Thankfully, although awkward, he easily moves past this saying that the combination of flavors just threw him off, and a customer walks in to provide a diversion for an extra layer of safety.

Oh! It's that awkward but polite cutie from the other day!

When we see him, or rather when we hear the door, we say our awkward ass, lame ass greeting, and it's kind've an opener for him to start some super brief small talk. He eventually takes the plunge and shoots his shot. Now, personally, I think the guy is damned adorbs, but at the same time, it's just...it's too soon. That mixed with this whole thing we've got going on with Jack...

We're pretty conflicted on how to answer, un-- Wait, huh? What did...?

Did-- Wait, Jack wants us to tell him that we have a boyfriend? And what does he mean that "it doesn't even have to be a lie"? ... He said the thing again, too. That thing about being whatever he wants us to be.

This is so anxiety inducing, too, because it's like, first off, we weren't expecting to hear him talking to us, and second, we can't acknowledge him in any shape, way, or form. Jack is quite literally looming right behind us, whispering in our ear, and we cannot so much as look his way without the guy in front of us thinking that we've completely lost our shit. Even still, our feelings for Jack have been complicated lately. Should we even take that plunge? Something about doing that doesn't seem right, though...

...We tell the guy that we don't have a boyfriend. Before he gets his hopes up too much, though, we tell him that we aren't really looking for anything right now, either. The guy leaves. The store is quiet, and we're left with alone with Jack with that awkwardness from earlier back in the air at full force; he's the first one to speak.

He apologizes and starts asking if he's pushed anything onto us that we didn't want. Before we can really answer though, he apologizes again. He explains that he thought that he was speaking in terms of what we wanted, but he keeps going back and forth like he's trying to find the right words but also figure out where he misunderstood; better yet, and more accurately, he's trying to figure out why he misunderstood in the first place. The poor guy is honestly so pitiful at this point, and we try to stop him from rambling and reach out for him... but our hand falls right through him.

Obviously, we start panicking, and Jack explains to us that he doesn't want to do anything that we don't want him to do nor feel comfortable with, and if it's him that we don't feel comfortable with and it's him that we don't want...this is what happens.

Okay, now, we're past the point of panicking; we're on the verge of tears because had we known us saying "No, I don't have a boyfriend" meant that Jack would start questioning if we actually wanted him around and fading away, we would've never said it. True to his optimistic nature, Jack reassures us that he's not "fading away" or "disappearing", and we're just like "Dude, piss off with that. Now, is not the time" because it's like, bro, this isn't a joke or us not wanting to get up for work; this is serious.

Jack chills with the reassurance and explains that he understands that we're serious, but that this isn't an issue that he can fix himself. Jack basically said that our words -- better yet our acceptance or denial of him -- are very weighted and that the only way to fix what's going on right then and there is to reaffirm that we accept him being there and truly meaning it, and that's only because he doesn't want to do anything that we don't want or need from him.

Even still, do we really trust him fully enough to do this? He's not the kind of guy to hurt us, is he? I mean, it's Sunny Day Jack. Then again, we also thought the same about---

"Hey."

"Yeah, Jack?"

"I know it's scary, I honestly do, but you can trust me. All I want is to be with you, protect you, and make you happy; that's what I'm here for."

All of that sounds so nice, too nice, but...

Can we trust him so easily...?

We really shouldn't...

But that horrible, heartbreaking moment...

That pain that Jack somehow made bearable, took away even...

That companionship he gave us in the place of loneliness...

His comfort...

His gaze...

What's wrong with feeling good? Why doubt him, and why feel like this unique and irreplicable connection is a bad thing? It's like Jack said: these feelings are okay; it's normal. There's nothing wrong with this.

...Right?

Y'all. You all. Guys. Gays. Theys. People. Friends. MY friends. SQUAD. (all right, enough...)

Hot and bothered, bothered and hot. Like, please allow me like 3 - 5 sentences of degeneracy. Between Jack and Ren (iykyk) ... Ren still laid down the pipe better but Jack?? Jack was a damned close second. Like, did you see the way that man was looking in our eyes and holding us? Then he's so big and masculine looking and ahhhhh~! That is BAE right there!

Anyways, getting back on track, when I had to go back and get those screenshots, what should've taken me like 5 - 10 minutes took me like 30+ minutes because I had to relive these moments. I had to relive this story! Like I mentioned earlier, the game is damn near two years old, but it reads like new, you feel me? The story, the implications, the art style, the scenes, the drama -- ahhh! I LIVE. I ASCEND. Like, when these developers hit the mark, they hit the damned mark with such precision!

I'm pretty sure that it's been mentioned at this point, but do you know what I loved the most about this visual novel (degeneracy aside, of course lol)? The subtle but oddly specific ass details that you're sure to miss or gloss over if you're not paying attention. I'm talking those details that you probably wouldn't catch until you've already read it once, seen how things have panned out, and then read through it again. Like, how it described us feeling cold whenever we thought about Jack leaving or fading away from us, or how the air would feel like syrup or cotton candy whenever he spoke to us, or how we'd get all warm in the most literal sense whenever Jack was near, or feel full, or completed, or -- the list honestly goes on. Like, there's a lot of allusion to being slowly corrupted/possessed by Jack, because this guy is a ghost, remember? Yeah, I had lowkey forgot, too.

Those specifically subtle details really made the story come together, and once I caught onto what was going on, I was just like, bro, the signs were there! I'd have to say that my absolute favorite "subtle" sign was when Jack always seemed to know exactly what we were thinking, almost like he was able to read our thoughts, but as soon as we started to "reject" him, all of a sudden he wasn't exactly sure what we thought. He went from responding to our thoughts to questioning what we may have been thinking about. Like, what? Go the eff off SnaccPop!

I love this visual novel, I love this visual novel, I love this visual novel, I love this frickin visual novel. I could ramble and geek way more but I'm gonna start wrapping it up before I start yappin' too, too much. Just allow me a few more sentences, a paragraph or two, please.

I. Cannot. Wait! For the full and official release! I am so excited to see how the team is going to mold this story and how things are going to pan out. I'm excited to see how and if we're able to get away from Jack because, at this point, he has a damned strong hold on us, but I'm speculating that our horror movie fanatic and director friend is going to come in clutch for this one.

If it was not obvious (and honestly, if you were somehow later to this game than I was) 100/10 would recommend, and I am recommending. It is so good, and I really hope that I'm not over hyping it, because the foundation that has been built for this story is so damned solid. Like I mentioned way earlier, unfortunately, you can't play the (free) updated demo anymore, but you can still play the classic one; I just don't know how different it is compared to the new version. Either way, I'll give you the link to both just in case (Update | OG). If you're able, definitely give them that monetary support and play the updated version. Hell, tell ME how it is because...I really don't want to put off my bills but, at this point, Jack has me in a fucking chokehold all over again. What's an extra, unplanned $12 at this point? Also, if able, visit the game's page and give SnaccPop that ever so encouraging but thirsty "NEED. MOAR. I mean, you take your time because perfection can't be rushed, and I know you all are people with a life and other responsibilities and such, BUT I NEED. MOAR. IT'S SO GOOD. STAND AND DELIEVER. ...please UwU I beg OTL"

Meh, that was highkey three paragraphs, but I'm not gonna split it so it can still be the two paragraphs that I requested. Lol sorry for pushing it there, but I'm done now! Promise. No more yappin'. The yap has been concluded, and I'm gonna go ahead and head out.

Big preesh for getting this far, and please, remember to drink water, don't be dumb, and hope to see you around~!

Something's Wrong with Sunny Day Jack (Updated; download not available to public)

Something's Wrong with Sunny Day Jack (Classic; download available)

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

Ngl if the sigewinne story was more 'Neuvillette instructed the melusines that it's alright gifting people in need gifts despite past prejudice' i would be fine with it. But the fact they wrote it in a way that implies that he instructed them specifically to care for Wriothesley makes me uhhhhhhh

Sir you are aware this child is an orphan and the best you can do is tell the melusines to feed him? What about other orphans? You have the guards at your command to help people??

I'm alot more fine with the 'Neuvillette cant do anything about the shit law despite being iudex' thing, like I'm okayish chalking it up to he's not human, it wasn't his job / wasn't told to fix the law and shit he is a judge first and foremost. But this story is NOT helping because it implies he HAS the capacity to comprehend SOMETHING is wrong and has the will to fix it and just... does nothing???

Sir this is not helping the collusion allegations

Idk man i'm a wriolette apologist i'm so alright with waving off the shallow plot beats to cater to the shippers thing but they had to make it super obvious huh head in hands

Yippey (running around in circles I love yapping and getting big asks).

Personally with shipping and media enjoyment, I'm very much the guy who is like "these are my OCs now" and I will enjoy things regardless of how I feel about the canon materials. I don't care about 'canon proof' for ships and for most scenarios, I don't think canon should be used to dissuade a person from shipping either. Obviously there's gonna be things that makes me think you're weird, but things like self-insert/canonxoc is cool and that will Never have any basis in canon material anyway. So like. Take the limiters off and reach for the sky.

As for the Neuvillette-and-melusines thing, yeah. I think it's weird that they made it specifically about Wriothesley. In general, how they portrayed Wriothesley always irks me, because they make his entire characterisation around how he 'overcame' his past because he's just a special guy who, instead of complaining about the shit hands he's dealt, accepted his sentence gracefully and pulled himself up by his bootstraps and got to where he is because he's strong and crafty. Wriothesley doesn't actually value these traits (he thinks of himself as just some guy), but everyone around him considers him 'special' because he's able to network and rally people and make a name for himself in Meropide.

That would have made for a more interesting narrative if they actually did something with it and really show some actual conflict between his view of himself and how the public sees him, but now, as it read to me, it just reeks of individual exceptionalism. He's successful because he has that capitalist mindset in him lol. Wriothesley becomes Fontaine's idealised "rags to riches" story. Then, not only is he extraordinary, he also is 'humble' about it. "You don't know you're beautiful/That's what makes you beautiful" moment lmao.

With Neuvillette, had they actually shown that he's ill-equipped to do his job as someone who struggles to relate to his subjects, I would have been like, yippee! Cool! Like I have reworked his story and characterisation to work in my mind to an embarrassing extent, and I whole-heartedly think it can be done with the premise they have set up for him. He could be complacent because he's never actually been allowed to step into the backstreets, because from the moment he stepped foot in Fontaine he's been treated as the upperclass, even when the Melusines were going through their fantasy racism shit. He's never had to fear for his life, or wonder when his next meal is. He gets water imported from all across the world, when people in the Fleuve Cendre/Meropide/Poisson probably struggles to get good plumbing and clean water.

And Focalors kept him there. He's very intentionally isolated so he can serve in her grand plan. It could also be an empathy issue, right, he can see people starve and think, cognitively, that it's just how the world is. That's just how humans are. You can really lean onto the Otherness of Neuvillette and portray him even as a overwhelmingly large, eldritch cryptid, who's trying to keep an ant colony alive simply because he likes ants. But he doesn't understand them, and because of that, he lets them die purely by accident most of the time. And he feels bad for it!

But I think the problem with it is that Genshin can't......... commit, and they can't stay consistent. They can't say he's powerless because Focalors is pulling the strings, or because of his own ineptitude, because they want Focalors to be sympathetic, and they want to say Neuvillette is cool and powerful. Like he has canonically enforced judicial changes. He essentially set up anti-discrimination laws for the Melusines. He's fully capable to. But now, because MHY forgot about that, now it seems like he only makes changes when it affects him and those he cares about, and not the hundreds and thousands of children who died due to poverty and incarceration in his time as Iudex. Then the whole thing with how he's able to pull strings to Get the Traveller into prison, but you tell me he can't... I dunno, fudge the verdict a little every once in a while? When he has to sentence a child to prison???

And obviously, these inconsistencies aren't intentional, because if you try to rationalise them, Neuvillette would end up looking like a weirdo bigot who only cares about one specific species and took a specific liking to one minor for no discernible reason. And he's not meant to be seen as that. The Melusines lore was meant to show that he cares about them. The Wriothesley lore is also meant to show that he cares about this poor starving kid. MHY just forgor there's many other starving kids in Fontaine.

His whole character hinges on the fact that underneath his cold impartiality is a guy who has a bleeding heart, who literally cries all the damn time. That's his Core Concept. MHY just sucked at writing it because........ writing teams aren't talking to each other.

Like, once people realised a lot of characterisation debates in genshin fandom can be answered with "MHY is just shit at their job", half of the complaints would be redirected to the fucking company instead of the characters/shippers lmao. Like, Lanoire. Wriothesley would have never allowed her to keep living like that. Now if you try to rationalise that whole quest, you have to think "maybe Wriothesley doesn't care all that much" or "maybe he doesn't know Meropide as well as he does," both of which contradicts canon facts about him. Because he has eyes everywhere (and even if he doesn't, his guards would 100% just tell him instead of just trying to sneak the kid out, because they canonically get Rewarded for shit like that). And he, canonically, cares about people's quality of life and safety in Meropide. He'd hate to have something like this fall under his nose.

So yeah yippee. I mean, I will keep drawing art and writing wrlt, obviously. I don't gotta explain that to anyone else. I think I know better than MHY /lh

[saltwatersweets]

here's an old-ish secret santa fic i made for dr3 (@cdroloisms) in late 2021 :D probably should have put it on tumblr ages ago but It's Here Now // read on ao3 here !!

content warnings: implied torture, blood, abuse, manipulation, morally ambiguous (at best) c!sam, general warden c!sam + c!dream-isms

reblogs > likes

————————

you meet him when he is a child.

you are a child, too, technically, but even with his somewhat tall frame for someone who should only be half grown up, even with the hoodie covering his entire torso and then some, even with the porcelain mask covering his face, you can tell that this boy is younger than you. you can tell it in the way he fumbles as he runs, in the way he clutches his half-broken iron ax too close to his chest, the way he crashes into you and falls to the ground, dragging you down with him. 

you round on the kid, a stern word on the tip of your tongue, but pause when you see the way he had fallen; arm underneath his chest, body shaking with the force of his fall. he freezes, shudders, a tiny, muffled groan escaping past his teeth. wincing, he rolls over, cradling his left arm with practically his whole body as he curls inwards. 

you make a move to stand, and the rustle of grass and leaves’ movement must alert him to your presence, if his masked face snapping up to stare into yours is any indication. he reels back, and though you can’t see his expression, his body language makes his surprise all too visible. lifting his right arm just the slightest bit, the boy’s shield is dragged from his inventory. the thing is so big and his curled up form is so small he manages to hide himself completely behind the thing. 

you wonder why he’s so startled by you for a moment - you don’t even have any weapons out - before it clicks. 

you’re a creeper hybrid. of course, of course, he likely mistook you for a regular mob.

after a moment, his shield lowers, and you see the two black dots that make the eyes of the mask. he must get a better look at you, now, because he puts his shield away and makes a small sound of embarrassment. 

“did i knock you over?” the boy asks, barely making a sound this time as he pushes himself off the ground. you stare at him for a moment, eyes half open in snarky annoyance. “oh. sorry.” 

doesn’t sound very sorry, even if a little sheepish. “it’s fine. don’t do it again.” 

he tilts his head at that, akin to a confused animal. “i probably won’t. y’know. i mean, i’ll be heading off right about now, so…”

the boy freezes for a moment, before slapping his face - or the mask covering it, in this case - and making a short huff of exasperation. “shit. they’re still after me.” 

well that’s interesting. “what, are you on the run?”

he lets out a small noise that almost sounds like a laugh. “sorta? i mean- like, i’m not being hunted, really, i’m not in danger. well, so long as i’m careful, i mean. they’re not- like, y’know, the law or anything, so-“

“get to the point,” you say, not rudely. 

“it’s… basically like a game of tag? but cooler. we call it a manhunt - i coined that name, by the way, don’t let george try to tell you differently - and basically my friends run after me until i give up or win.”

huh. that sounds… incredibly dangerous, actually. you’re certainly not the pinnacle of safety, having your own redstone mob-traps backfire as you get the hang of the red powder won’t get you a reputation as such, but you have the maturity to recognize this as dangerous. you also have the maturity recognize that it does sound, maybe, kind of, fun. 

the boy stares at you for a moment, almost but not quite awkwardly. “i gotta go - they’re still chasing me, and now i need to find food to heal myself before they catch up. it was nice meeting you, though.”

“wait.” you begin, surprising yourself. you reach out for his arm, but think better of it at the last second and quickly pull it back to search through your inventory. shifting through for a moment, you summon a healing pot. “for your arm. i mean, it was partially my fault you broke it.”

he stares at it, unmoving. you fear you’ve made a mistake - does accepting help from others break the rules of the boy’s little game? is he offended by your offer? but he takes it, a smile in his voice, “trading with villagers isn’t cheating, after all.” 

before you can blink, he stuffs a few sticks in your hand, thanking you very much for the potion. you tell him no problem. he runs off, waiting until his front is out of your sight, likely to keep his true face hidden. 

you huff lightly. kids. 

————————

your footsteps ring out a hollow echo as you walk into his cell. 

almost immediately are you hit with the overwhelming stench of it all, the blood and total lack of hygiene tickling your nose through your mask. you wonder how quackity stands it every day. you wonder how you stand it. 

you stare at the prisoner, who blinks sluggishly. you doubt he even heard your approach, he seems so out of it, mind a thousand miles elsewhere and unfocused. if he hadn’t pulled this dissociative stunt four times in the past week, you’d briefly wonder if he was concussed. now, however, you only sigh, stepping ever closer to the half unconscious form of your once-friend. 

kneeling down, shifting through your inventory, you summon a healing pot. usually, this would spark panic in the prisoner’s eyes, but nothing happens. if it weren’t for the added annoyance that his consciousness brings, you’d be impressed at the fact that he’s even awake. 

carding your fingers through his hair, he finally stirs, a mumbled half word escaping past his teeth. you pull his head up by the knotted strands that are matted with half-dried blood, not harshly, not gently, and press the cool glass of the potion against his lips. obediently, he opens his mouth. the still bubbling liquid slips down his throat, and he only gags on it once. 

you watch as his wounds stitch themselves together. it’s like clockwork. he is broken shards of glass you must glue together every time it shatters.

after a moment, you replace the empty bottle in your hand with a wet piece of cloth, to clean up the blood. unlike potions, you do not clean him after every session, moreso just once a week. at the feeling of cold cloth on his skin, the prisoner’s half lidded eyes raise, meeting your own. you watch as his pupils, previously swallowing the green whole, dilate as he regains some focus. you turn away. you’d rather not look a monster in the eyes. 

“i’m out of water, y’know.” he states, and once again you are taken aback by his audacity. just moments ago he was on the brink of death, and now he has the ability to ask for more water when it’s still halfway full. 

“you have plenty of water already, dream.” the wet cloth grazes his arm, the one you had found twisted and limp upon today’s visit, and he winces in phantom pain. in his defense, you’re hardly being careful. in his defense, the blood from his closed wounds is spilling onto your fingertips. 

“it’s all bloody. you can see it.” he turns his eyes to the dripping ceiling, then the lava, then to you. “you can see it, sam.” 

already, you feel your frustration rise. you had already healed him, and now were cleaning up his blood for him. you didn’t have to do this. you’re being generous.

“if you want clean water so badly, behave. you want these privileges, these things i’m letting you have? then behave. you’re lucky i’m even here, cleaning up your messes.” you stuff the cloth back into your inventory. you don’t care to get your hands dirty.

“you don’t think i’m trying?” he asks, head lolling to the side. “you think you can hurt me in a way i haven’t been hurt?” 

there is nothing you hate more than him. him, and how much you used to love him. how much true hatred stems from once-love.

(you hate how scared of you he looks, even as he deliberately measures your patience.) (you hate how scared of him you are.)

you turn away from him. the platform clicks loudly as you leave him behind to the obsidian and bloody water and lava. 

as you hold down the lever that will cover his cell in lava once again, you take a better look at your fingers. you regret ever coming in to clean him at all.

he got blood on your hands. 

[follower-sword]

An Apology Gone Wrong

TW: Sucidal thoughts. Child abandonment. Implied death. Depression.

He just wanted everything back to normal again. Thankfully that little messager dragon was still asleep in Star's pocket. He didn't even know if Ego got the letter or let alone wanted to come.

He sat in the meadow for a long while, messing with the flowers there...maybe he could bring some back to Star...he was interrupted by footsteps. He swiftly turns around and gets up, seeing Ego there in full armor.

"...I didn't expect-"

"For me to actually come? Yeah I figured."

They stood there for a while, pure silence. The wind blew softly as the birds chirped. Follower broke the silence.

"Look I-...I'm sorry...I just wante-"

"Dont make excuses. I don't forgive you."

The dove's feathers fluffed up in surprise. He was confused...usually Ego would take it as a joke...

"I-"

"That's it? I'm sorry? That's why you brought me out here? For a half ass apology?"

The otter crossed his arms. A huge frown formed on his face as his tail lashed around.

"I know Star is the reason your apologizing. You don't even mean it! Your doing this cause the only person who fucking cares about you told you too! You really like being told what to do huh?! Maybe thats why Star loves you! Because your a good boy right? You listen to anything he says!"

Follower looks down, he didn't know what to say due to his thoughts scattering.

"You know Sword, I tried making friends with you for so long! Only for me to get hate back! I tried so hard so maybe! Just maybe just could have a friend other than Egg! That I felt like I was worth something!"

"Heck! I wouldn't be surprised if you treated Star like shit when you first met him! You definitely did with me! I'm surprised Star even stayed with you this long! What is he going to do when he figures out the REAL reason you were abandoned by Venomshank?"

The dove froze...no no no..

"Yeah! I'm surprised people believed that little sob tale! Your not innocent Sword...you never were...Icedagger was your fault. No wonder your father left you for DEAD!"

Follower whipped out his sword and aimed it at Ego's neck.

"Don't you dare.."

"Hah..see? Everytime. Everytime someone disagrees or someone tries to reveal who you are you try to result to killing. What happeneds when Star finds out you killed me too? That's what you do best Sword, just like Icedagger."

"THAT WASN'T MY FAULT!"

"Where is the proof? Where is the proof bird? Cause all I see is a murderer."

Follower was panting like he just ran a mile, his heart pounded as his mind ran thousands of thoughts, scenarios and flashbacks. Windforce must have told him...there's no other way he could know...but...he couldn't, he never could bring himself to kill anyone who did nothing wrong...

The dove lowered his blade as he turned off his emotions, staring at the ground with no expression. Something he learned while with Illumina.

"That's what I thought. Enjoy your time with Star while you have it. He won't stay for long."

Ego turns away and starts walking back to Playground but he stops for a second.

"By the way, if I see you again...I'm not afraid to tell Star who you really are...I hope your happy to get a taste of your own medicine.."

With that the Captian left. As soon as Ego was gone it was like a switch flipped, causing all of the dove's emotions to flood in like a dam breaking and he collapsed. Sobbing in the flower covered meadow.....

Just let him dissappear....

[marvelous-slut]

Daddy Issues - Dmitri Antonov x female! reader

warnings: p in v, female implied reader, daddy issues to the max, didn’t really proof read this?? age gap, reader is 18 but in high school

not my first go around on the smut/fanfic side of tumblr but it is for stranger things & it’s been a while, I hope you folks enjoy my late night horny thoughts of this beautiful man

“love you kid, i’ll be at joyce’s tonight for a birthday dinner, you and dmitri come over.” you crumble the note and throw it in the floor, holding back tears. you loved your father jim hopper dearly, but since he returned from russia with joyce & a man you first knew as enzo, things were different.

“yeah every year we do this, we get each other a cheesy gift and bake a cake with those stupid candles that don’t blow out.” you say excitedly to jonathan, your possibly soon to be step brother. he kept quiet, knowing hopper would be at his home this evening celebrating his birthday, not with his daughter.

you run up to your room after you trash the meaningless note in the garbage. you find the shortest skirt in your wardrobe, some fishnets and a long sleeve crop top. by the time you change, your fathers new russian friend is out of the shower, ready to leave himself. he looks up to see how your dressed, very different from what he’s seen before. he immediately tries thinking of something else so his raging hard on doesn’t show.

“you ready?” you ask, grabbing the keys and heading out the door.

the two of you arrive at the byers home, you knew your father was going to have a shit fit when he saw how you were dressed. at this point, you didn’t care. if he was going to leave you hanging for a woman, why wouldn’t you act out? dmitri was silent the entire ride, thinking of how inappropriate it would be if he slid his hands under your skirt and finger fucked you. as soon as you walked through the door, it was on.

“hey hon-, what the fuck are you wearing?” he asks, harshly. you plop down on the couch.

“clothes dad, happy birthday by the way.” you reply cold, jonathan swallows the lump in his throat. he had never seen so much skin from you, but he wasn’t complaining. dmitri walks to the table, knowing things were about to go south.

“why are you dressed that way?” you see the anger in his eyes, disappointment as well. no disappointment could compare to what you felt this evening after reading his bullshit note. “did you wear that shit to school?” you laugh, standing up, pulling the skirt up as you did.

“do you really think if i did jonathan would have mentioned it? i mean he’s like a dog in heat right now and i’m just sitting here.” jonathan’s face turns red as a tomato, joyce comes from the kitchen.

“hey! don’t talk about my son like that!” she exclaims, hopper defending her. you feel your chest heating up with anger.

“oh i forgot, you’re my new mommy joyce! i have to listen to everything you say huh? sorry he’s barley keeping it in his pants over there. hey speaking of mommy, i’m moving back in with mine. fuck this!” you exclaim, shooting out the door and making sure to slam it on the way out. hopper apologizes to joyce, dmitri gets up from the table and tells hopper he will make sure you get home to cool off, and he keeps his promise.

“come on,” he says, looking down on you crying on the steps, placing his jacket around you knowing you had to be freezing. “let’s go

home.”

the whole ride home you cry, you didn’t mean to but you tell dmitri everything as if he’s your personal therapist and he listens and he understands. he feels angry with hopper, his son was back in russia and he couldn’t do anything about it for the time being, hoppers child was right in front of his face and he choses a woman over her. “i don’t know what hurts me more, the fact that he gave up something that was special to me or that he sent you to chase me after i melt down.” finally you two arrive back at home, he places his hand on your thigh, comforting you.

“let’s go inside.” once inside, something in you snapped. you look at dmitris figure, thinking of how you wanted him on top of you. you walk over to him, brushing your body against his.

“thanks for playing daddy for me.” this sends him into a spiral, he knows it’s wrong. the man who helped him get out of russia, gave him a place to live and he was going to fuck his daughter.

dmitri backs you against the wall, his bare cold hands running up your thigh. finally reaching the pathetic excuse for underwear you have on.

“you really had your father upset tonight,” he says, pushing your laced thong to the side, teasing your entrance with his finger, “i never thought such a sweet girl like you could do that.” you leaned your head back, silently begging him to finger fuck your eager cunt, there was no way he didn’t feel the wetness between your folds.

“what can i say?” you ask, mind fuzzy still not believing this is happening.

“i think someone has daddy issues.” he slips a cold finger into your throbbing pussy, making your back arch against the wall, a small moan escaping your lips. he sees how much pleasure this brings you and adds another finger, slowly pumping. “you want someone to take care of you, to protect you, to love you. someone who won’t disappoint you.” he whispers before pressing his lips against your neck, you whimper as he’s pumping his fingers in and out of you. “am i wrong?” he stops, waiting on you to reply.

“i- i. no, no you’re not.” he grins and starts moving his fingers again. using his other hand, he gently grabs a handful of your hair, slamming his lips against yours, sliding his tongue into your desperate mouth.

“good.” he pulls his fingers out, slipping them slowly into your mouth, making you taste your juices. “i’ll do that for you.” before you know it, you two are in his guest bedroom, he pulls you to the bed laying you down on your back, spreading your legs as far as they will go, pulling his jeans and boxers down in one swift motion revealing his throbbing cock. bigger than any other you had seen, which wasn’t shocking considering that number was very low.

“you taste fucking sweet,” he says, licking his fingers, “just like candy.” he uses his saliva to coat his cock, gently gliding it into your slick cunt. your back arches and you let out an ungodly moan. his hand finds it’s way to your neck, softly gripping it.

“who’s girl are you angel?” he thrusts into you slowly, his cock stretching you out even more than you imagined was possible.

“yours, i’m yours daddy.” the word drives him absolutely insane. he pulls your tits out of the skimpy shirt you wore, kneading one with his hand, his other hand playing with your clit.

“that’s right, you’re mine.” he whispers, his lips against your neck again, careful not to leave any marks as bad as he wanted to. you dug your nails into his back, not being able to hold back. it felt entirely too good having him inside of you. “this sweet tight pussy is all mine.” you feel your stomach start to knot up, grabbing onto the sheets desperately.

“you’re close aren’t you?” he asks, laughing and hurrying his face into your shoulder. you barley get out a yes before you feel yourself coming undone.

“please keep fucking me, right there. oh my god.” you scream out. “i’m gonna fucking cum.”

“Cum angel.” the words push you to the edge, he finishes right behind you.

“What the fuck is this?” your heart sinks, hearing your fathers voice boom through the room.

[eco-lite]

My unedited thoughts on volume 2!

“The Cat’s Eye of Insight”

* I really have such little patience for the obnoxious stuck-up child trope. Even if the kid is legitimately troubled. Sorry, Hajime.

* “Whenever I was near Richard, I kept finding that all the things I’d locked away deep in my heart just started spilling out” (32). Uh huh. 🥲

* “And why is my brain so much more talented at coming up with awful scenarios than good ones?” (39). Great question, I’d love to ask my brain the same thing.

* Lots of hints that we’ll be seeing more sides of Richard in this volume!

“The Fighting Garnet”

* Why is Richard turning into Sherlock Holmes right now?

* NOT Richard implying that he and Seigi are soul mates! 😭

* Really interesting exploration of how in some peoples’ eyes, the more beauty a person has, the less human they are—the less they must be treated with respect. Similar to how people feel they have more rights to celebrities’ personal lives and bodies because they are in the public eye. It seems like Richard had experienced a lot of violation in his life. In this regard, Seigi is dehumanizing Richard all the time. But I think this story finally has him realizing why his words bother Richard so much.

* “Now, maybe this was just me making assumptions here, but I can’t imagine there were a lot of women in the world, let alone in Japan, who would particularly enjoy being called warriors. I think being called ‘lady’ or ‘princess’ would probably land with more women in general” (95). Seigi, my sweet summer child. You have no idea. What is this, Ouran Highschool Host Club? I think most women today would love to be called a warrior—women fight every fucking day to exist as we are. As Richard said, to live is to fight!

“The Dance of the Emeralds”

* Richard, you are way too lenient when it comes to sweets…

* I’m starting to think that most people aren’t actually that effected by Richard’s beauty—it’s just Seigi. He keeps mentioning how beautiful Richard is even when he’s frowning or doing mundane things. I think that’s just Seigi’s attraction to him as a person.

* “She had the vibe of someone who’d just come running from a construction site” (131). Literally what??

* I really glad that Seigi genuinely appreciates who Tanimoto is as a person, with all her nuances and cute habits.

* Crazy how Seigi says the wildest romantic shit to Richard and is like “huh, what?” But when he says the same kind of thing to Tanimoto he’s gets all flustered and nervous.

* Not Tanimoto thinking Seigi has feelings for literally everyone besides her. 😭

* This story has taken such a turn omg. We’re into drug smuggling and money laundering now?! This really is turning into Sherlock Holmes.

* I don’t even know what to say about Richard eating the caramels out of Seigi’s hand. That’s just normal fodder for them by now.

* Richard fishing for compliments now?? “‘You look perfect like you always do. The most beautiful man in the whole world is standing in front of me.’ The woman behind the counter suddenly started coughing really loud. Maybe she had a cold” (180). And then Richard hurried away into the theater. Like??? You can’t act so shameless and then get embarrassed, Richard!

* Ahh, Richard, you’re too self-sacrificing. Way to end on a sad note.

“The Opal of Reunion”

* “‘The universe has a way of bringing people together when it’s meant to be’” (196). Richard, you sentimental shit. (And NOT Seigi reusing that line on Hase omg.)

* Wow, Richard was right on to suspect Seigi had a crush on his karate classmate. I mean, we were all thinking it. But Seigi! You can actually admit to yourself that you had a crush on your male classmate?! Biggest character growth! Not that he knows how to explain it to Richard, though.

* 🥹🥹🥹 Richard waiting for Seigi because he knew Seigi would be disappointed in Hase after their confrontation. 🥹🥹🥹 Richard playing Finnish death metal so Seigi can cry in peace. 🥹🥹🥹 Richard taking Seigi out for sushi at a fancy hotel. 🥹🥹🥹 Richard telling Seigi to live in the moment instead of ruminating on depressing times in the past. 🥹🥹🥹 Richard letting them split the check so Seigi doesn’t have to be reminded of his relationship with Hase. I’m so happy that both Seigi and us readers get to see this side of Richard—“comfort mode.”

* “…in the end, the only thing I have power over is what I decide to do. Otherwise, I’m just going to cause myself a lot of unnecessary pain” (215). Yeahhh I felt this hard. I struggle with this a lot.

“The Serendipity of Euclase”

* Awww Richard, don’t be ashamed of your pudding fail. Please keep blushing though, that’s fucking adorable.

* His little swaying with joy. 🥹

* SEIGI you cannot in one moment say “we’re just boss and employee,” and in the next moment say “‘we were kinda like a cute married couple, huh?’”! Stop playing with Richard’s emotions!!

[randomgentlefolk]

CPC CHAPTER 164

I'm crying on the ground. Sobbing with my cat yet again. I feel so peaceful and destroyed at the same time.

Lambcat really said we should start the year with a breakdown huh

I'm gonna hold my breakdown until I talk about the moment.

Lance to the rescue!! Man I love that guy. I also really love how he looks in the panel I put as my pfp. He looks so soft and gentle :')

The interaction between Lance and Lorena is rising my hope that they will still be friends after the chaos ends.

This did caught me off guard lmao 😭 I'm sorry for saying this but is he implying that he has a thick skull because nahh he did himself dirty

Y'ALL IT'S THE MOMENT WE'VE (or at least me haha) ALL BEEN WAITING FOR. Lance!!! Fighting against his kingdom!!! I'm so proud of him YOU GO LANCE!!!

Huge respect for Lance and his friends tho for CARRYING THAT HUGE PILLAR LIKE WHAT. Remember when I said something along the line of "if Frederick say he's weak while he can carry an entire llama, then I'm terrified of what Lance can do"? Yea this just proved my point.

Also I'm going to keep saying that Lance is going to have a sick scar with that x mark.

I once again wonder what is the legal age for alcohol in cpc? In US and the country I live in, the legal age is 21. But I think it's 18 in UK right? If it's 18 in cpc then that makes sense because Lance is 19 and Blaine is 20 (i'm saying this because of the beer pong comment by Lance's friend)

Sheesh, I hope Leland will be defeated from the king position soon. I don't want anyone to be executed. That would be disturbing.

Oooh!! Syrah and Saffron probably showing their fighting skill in the future episodes??? I hope so!!

Thank you Maria! It's nice to see that The pastel siblings now believe that Frederick truly loves Gwen.

Feeling like your legs are paralyzed whenever you're gonna face something you're terrified of is so real :( you can do it, Frederick! I believe in you!!

LELAND CHILL???? MAN YOUR HANDS ARE BLEEDING. Eat a snickers damnit. You're not you when you're going through a heart break xd

Oh. Okay. Ouch. Massive ow. Y'know when I said how the Monika's room episode and Frederick's monologue about what he wants really hits for me? Well add this to the list because wtfff.

Aww Gwegg :( She kept blaming herself even though it really isn't her fault. What Gwen said is pretty comforting though. Them apologizing to each other </3 It really is the shit when you realize you haven't treat yourself kindly. Like when you keep wondering why everything is wrong then you look at your inner self and go "oh. That's why".

GWEN SAYING "No matter what happens, I'll never let go of you again!" HAJWHSIWBS

INTOOOOO LEELATHAE'S BACKSTORY!!

*cue 1996 batman transition*

Aww the births of The Pastel Siblings! Though Leelathae's thought during each of the births...it breaks my heart :( it seems that she view the births of The Pastel Siblings as a way to apologize for her "mistake" (in which she didn't make any mistake at all), even though it shouldn't be like that at all...

I'm surprised no animals appear at Maria's birth lol. I was really expecting for a deer or birds to suddenly appear haha.

This IS making me a bit worried though. I don't know much about child births and stuff but while it is normal to still feel pain after giving birth, is it possible that there were some complications leading to Leelathae's dead 3 years after giving birth to Gwen and Jamie? I'll let someone more knowledgeable to figure out what is happening with Leelathae since I have no idea at all.

Anyway! Finally, a close up on Pastel Siblings as babies!! I know we've seen them before in the portraits beside Jack's bed, but it's nice to see them clearer.

Initially, I was worried how Leelathae would react to Gwen, but nevermind that

I'm so happy about this scene :') Leelathae realizing how beautiful Gwen is, even calling her the most beautiful in all the land. Also her saying as long as Gwen thinks she's beautiful, then what other people think doesn't matter makes me sob. Mother love is always something so touching.

On the other hand though, it made me a little confused now on why she asked Jack to lock up the children and never let them out. Looking at one of the fast pass episode's thumbnail, maybe it's because of the witch? We're nearing the end and there are still so many questions.

And now, INTO THE PRESENT! And the moment....

*cue 1996 batman transition*

I'M. I'M GONNA CRY. The fact that Gwen doesn't recognize Leelathae?? The fact that they're wearing the same robe???

WHEN LAMBCAT SAID THERE WASN'T ENOUGH GUT PUNCHES, SHE WAS BEING FR. I don't have anything to say about this scene, but at the same time I want to say a lot about this scene. Gwen's mom telling her that she's beautiful, Gwen crying without knowing why, I'm going to cry.

But hey, Gwegg is finally whole again! True love kiss is real after all ^_^ i love how Lambcat does a little spin at the classic true love kiss. But now that Gwen is finally awake...Well, let's just wish her, Frederick, Aurelia, and Celso good luck at dealing with the officially confirmed big bad wolf/serpent, Leland.

We kinda should thank Leland a bit, though. If he wasn't there ripping off all of the thorny veins, Gwen would get pretty hurt if she still wakes up while sitting up

Yooo the newest fast pass being the final chapter of Leelathae's diary? I hope we will have our questions answered!! And the fact that there's a witch in the thumbnail...hm.

That's it for now!

Mono out! (But still in to hear your thoughts)

[peninkwrites]

Before: Tubbo's First Friend

Tubbo heard there was a child in his basement, how exciting!

[CW: hostage situations, child endangerment, implied neglect]

The Mafia AU

crossposted to ao3

~

This wasn’t the first time his father had brought home a hostage, but it was the first time it was someone around Tubbo’s age.  Tubbo had snuck down the hall, looking over the railing curiously as a small figure––bigger than him, but still small––was all but carried inside and back through the house to the cellar, head covered by a hood, and arms pinned back.  It wasn’t just any kid, as Tubbo had heard through his occasional eavesdropping, it was the Police Captain’s kid.  Tubbo, not out of any personal experience, rather word of mouth, had heard that the Police Captain was an “annoying bitch” who “didn’t know how to stay out of the way.”  Somehow, taking her kid was meant to fix that.  Tubbo was nine years old, and he thought he grasped the family business relatively well, but he thought taking away her kid would probably be an annoyance at best.  He knows if he disappeared, when his father eventually noticed, he’d probably be pissed off, but that wouldn’t stop him from acting as he did, but his father was good at his business, apparently, so maybe it did something.

Tubbo lurked for the first few days of their new guest in the basement.  This one was a hostage, so, thus far no gunshots or screaming, just a rather eerie quiet from downstairs.  Tubbo only asked about the kid once and had gotten very lucky, all things considered.  Not a question directly towards his father––god forbid––but he happened to be in the kitchen when one of the lackeys came in to go downstairs and feed their captive.  Tubbo had, when it came down to it, despite having lurked in the kitchen deliberately, panicked and instead of asking anything that might have made sense, he’d asked the man, “do they seem nice?”

The man seemed startled by Tubbo being there at all, let alone speaking, so instead of a more expected scolding, the guy just went, “what?”

“The Captain’s kid.  Are they nice?  How old are they?  Are they my age?  I’m nine, by the way.”

Silence, Tubbo shifting nervously, and the man staring at him like he was a particularly yippy dog.  “Uh.  Quiet.  The kid is fuckin’ quiet.  Obviously,” the man says dryly.  He glances back to the cellar door, which he had been about to unlock behind him, before he reconsiders.  “D’you wanna..?” He nods from the kitchen to the cellar.

“Can I?” Tubbo asks eagerly.

The man still looks quite uncomfortable.  He doesn’t seem to know that the Boss’s kid doesn’t get any respect, and if he wanted he could just tell him to fuck off, and isn’t sure if he’s supposed to treat Tubbo like a dangerous little mob prince or not.  “I dunno, I don’t see why not…”  He says sheepishly.  “Just, get some shit together, whatever kids eat, I dunno, guess you’d know, huh?  And I’ll be up here to lock up after.  Don’t– Don’t stay down there too long, though, okay?” He said warningly.

Tubbo was already flitting around the kitchen like an excitable, jittery moth.  He pauses only once, looking briefly worried.  “Are they allergic to peanut butter?”

“Do you think I fuckin’ asked?”

Tubbo considers this gravely.  He thinks he read somewhere that peanut allergies were alarmingly common and quite fatal.  “I’ll assume yes just to be safe,” he nods astutely, like this man is at all invested.

“Yeah… yeah, you do that…” the man sighs, leaning against the cabinets.

Tubbo has a wooden tray, because he might as well do his best on the presentation, he has a feeling he’ll only be able to do this once, and he places a glass of water beside a juice box––one for hydration, one for leisure––and he’s arranged a pile of goldfish and chicken nuggets on the plate with the utmost care.  He is careful with his last additions, debating between condiments, before deciding to bring along ketchup, as that’s what he tended to use, before, with an unusual joy in actually being able to share with someone, he added a coveted pudding cup to the tray.  The man had watched this display in wry amusement.

“What, you’re not gonna put a flower on it for your girlfriend?” He said dryly.

Rather than embarrassed, Tubbo took this critique thoughtfully.  “Should I?”

The man sighed, his wit apparently unappreciated, and unlocked the cellar.  “Again, it’s not a fucking playdate, so don’t take too long.”

“You got it, sir!” Tubbo said brightly, descending into the darkened cellar with only mild apprehension.

A single bare bulb lit the room, it was otherwise sparsely furnished.  A mattress on the floor with a blanket on top of it, but otherwise, Tubbo noted, there wasn’t much to do down here.  He wishes he’d thought to bring down a puzzle or something, but it’s too late for that now.

“Hey, you’re not the usual guy!” The Captain’s kid is quite chipper for a hostage, sitting on the edge of the mattress, chin resting on their palm.

“N-No!  No, I’m not,” Tubbo hoped his excitement wasn’t too obvious.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen another kid, let alone spoken with them.  “Hello!  It’s– it is nice to meet you, I am Tubbo Underscore, but you can just call me Tubbo, obviously, and I– I’ve brought you food!” He holds out the tray.  “And– And water.  Um.  Obviously…”

“Cool, concierge, could you, like, bring it here?  I think you’re just outta my range,” the kid waved, and Tubbo recognized the chain around their wrist, it at least padded with some cloth between the metal and their skin.

Tubbo nodded sharply, quick to come closer.  The kid was much tanner than he was, which made sense, considering their entombment had only been a matter of days now, and Tubbo did not go outside much, and they were also clearly older than Tubbo.  “What’s– What’s a concierge?” Tubbo asked with something like awe.

The Captain’s kid considered this thoughtfully.  “Um.  I don’t actually know!  Like, a waiter or something?  I dunno.”  A shrug.  “Dude!  You got me chicken nuggets?!  This is way better than the crap they’ve been feeding me so far!”

“Yeah!  I’m nine years old––ten in December!––how old are you?” Tubbo wanted to sit next to them, but he held back, sitting on the ground across from them instead, all warning of not taking too long having left his mind.

“Whoa!  What is this, 20 questions?  I can’t be giving info to the enemy,” they said, cracking open the juice box.  “I am… older than you, though,” they seemed to think that was important to clarify.  “By a few years, alright?”

“Right, right, and what’s your name?” Tubbo asked eagerly.

“Now that is an interesting question, Tubbo Underscore,” they say his name a tad mockingly, but Tubbo doesn’t notice.  “Because, see, I’ve been down here forever now, and it’s given me a lot of time to think.”

“It has?”

“Yeah!  It has!  About, y’know, life and stuff, and you know what, Tubbo Underscore?  I’ve figured some stuff out.  I think I might be a dude.”

“Ye–Yeah?” Tubbo asks, puzzled.

“Yep!  A total dude.  Big ol’ mano-a-mano, manly man, right here!” The kid flexes, arms not all that impressive.  “Well, okay, not yet, but I’ll get there, anyway, I think I’m all dude-ified now.”

“Cool.  I– I didn’t know you could do that, to be honest,” Tubbo says, intrigued.

“So, the ‘nouns I got all sorted out, the basic kit will do, the he’s and the him’s, and the his’s, all that good stuff,” he pauses for a mouthful of goldfish, “still a bit caught up on the– the nomenclature–”

“What’s gnome-men-clay-sure?”

The Captain’s kid considers this thoughtfully.  “I am not sure, actually.  Something to do with names, that’s the point, basically, dunno what name to go with––Actually!” He cuts himself off, distracted, it makes Tubbo jump.  “Other issue, side-issue to the name thing, my one issue, my one hangup on gettin’ dude-ified, is,” he shakes out his hair, long and dark.  “Long hair!  Long hair is rad!  So, there’s a debate goin’ on up here,” he knocks on the side of his skull.  “About how I’m gonna be dude-ified if I like my longer hair,” he rubs his hands together, leaning forward conspiratorially, Tubbo leaning in to listen.  “I’m pretty sure… I’m pretty sure guys can have long hair,” he nods, as if revealing some great wisdom.

“Yeah, yeah probably, I mean, if you don’t cut it, it gets long,” Tubbo tries to contribute, thinking only of literal biological matters and not the social matters the Captain’s kid seems caught up with.

“Exactly!” The kid laughs again.  “And like, that’s cool now, isn’t it?  That’s what all the hippies are doing, right?”

Finally, a topic Tubbo has something to say on, he adds excitedly: “My dad says hippies are useless bums with no self respect!  So, yeah!  They’re probably cool.”

“Sweet,” the kid nods.  “Very cool.”  He eats another mouthful of crackers.  “‘fish?” He offers the plate to Tubbo.

“No, thank you, all yours, man,” Tubbo declines, more intrigued by the conversation.  “I didn’t realize you could change it.  You know, I’ve never put much thought into being a girl.  I haven’t really been around many girls, though, or, any girls, so I guess I wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, fair enough,” the kid shrugs, crushing the juice box and tossing it across the room as one would a beer can, before eyeing the pudding cup next.

“I dunno.  As of, I’m quite happy being a boy, so.”

“My thoughts exactly!  Being a guy rules.  Like, I’m sure being a chick rules too, but I just don’t feel it, y’know?” He ignores the spoon Tubbo had brought so nicely and takes a swig of the pudding as if drinking a thick beverage.

“Yeah, I guess me neither.”

“So, dunno what I’m gonna do with names––thanks for your help, though, Tubbo, that hair conundrum was bugging me a bit, glad we settled on something––but I dunno about names.  I kinda want it to be something silly, something fun, y’know?”

“Oh, that’s nice!”

“Yeah, so, when I’m a big strong dude, people will still underestimate me, so I can still take ‘em by surprise when I, I dunno, stab ‘em or whatever.”

“Oh.”  Not what Tubbo was expecting.

The hostage squints across the room, contemplating something, clearly enjoying having an audience after days of isolation, “what’s the opposite of bright?”

“Um, dim?”

“Hm, close, but no cigar.  What’s, like, sorta like dim, but not the opposite of bright?”

Tubbo has quite the repertoire of such language.  “Oh!  I know!  Stupid, slow, dumb, idiotic, r–”

“Nah, close!  We’re really close, but no cigar!” He nods thoughtfully, pausing for a goldfish.

“Yeah, what’s that mean, too?  No cigar?  I mean, my dad smokes cigars sometimes, but it doesn’t make sense in what you’re saying.”

The hostage exhales air from his cheeks.  “No idea!”

Tubbo laughs.  “I don’t think I’ve met anybody that talks like you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tubbo shrugs.  “I dunno.  I think you’re… you’re pretty cool.”

“You’re goddamn right I’m cool!”  He takes it all in stride, pointing at Tubbo approvingly, the chain around his wrist rattling as he does so.  He takes another swig of the pudding, it creating a chocolate mustache on his lip.

“Why do you have a chain on your wrist?  Most hostages don’t need that,” Tubbo asked.  “Not the littler ones, anyway.”

“Uh, ‘cause I bit ‘im,” he says around a mouthful of pudding.

“You– You bit who?” Tubbo’s eyes widened, because there’s no way in hell he meant Schlatt.

“Dunno, some guy.”  Another halfhearted shrug.  “I’m a– I’m a fuckin’ shark, Tubbo!  Smell blood in the water, and I just gotta–” the kid bites down on nothing, as if to demonstrate, before delving back into the pudding cup.

“Cool,” Tubbo says breathlessly.

The kid nods, basking in the praise.  “My mom gives me shit for it.  Oh, you’re gonna get in trouble if you get in fights all the time, oh, your teachers called again, what do you mean you held that boy’s head underwater?” A high laugh that was honestly far funnier to Tubbo than what the kid had actually said.  “And, well, I mean, she was kinda right, I did end up in trouble for it.  Word of advice to you, kid, kicking a dude in the balls is not a catch all answer to your problems, especially if it’s a grown-ass man.  And, also, this shoulda been obvious, but forgive me, I’m young, definitely do not tell them your mom is the Police Captain and she’ll arrest them all if they mess with you.  That gets you thrown in a trunk, and that is no bueno,” he nods sagely.

“Right, no bueno,” Tubbo pretends to understand what that means.

“It’ll be kinda cool now, though, instead they’ll call her and be like Captain, your son has gotten into trouble again, and she’ll be all like of course, my son is a real rascal!  I should’ve been a better father!”

“Father?” Tubbo giggles.

“Yeah!  Yeah, ‘cause it’s all switched around!”

“I don’t think that’s how that works, bossman–”

“Kid, what the fuck?” An exasperated voice calls down the stairs.  “I said it wasn’t a playdate, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Sorry!  Sorry, I’m coming now!”  Tubbo still wavers, staring almost longingly at the boy across from him.  “It was– It was really nice to meet you Mr– Whatever your name is gonna end up being?  Yeah!  So, um, bye!”

Tubbo was halfway up the stairs, an ache in his chest, when he hears one last word from downstairs.

“Foolish!” Followed by a high cackle of delight.

“Foolish…” Tubbo murmurs the name.  He doesn’t know what to do with the fact that he feels happy and sad at the exact same time.  “I think I made a friend,” he tells the man brightly at the top of the stairs.

“That’s… that’s great kid,” the man says dryly.  “Hope your little buddy doesn’t get shot, I guess.”

[tera-starstorm]

hey guys it's me mr. oc x canon gay rivals with a little oc x canon gay rival compare/contrast for you. Long winded infodump incoming

by now you may be aware that hop and yasuta have known each other since they were like 8 years old. ever since they met the two of them have sort of just hung off of each other all the time like. hop's always just been a very physically affectionate person and yasuta latched onto him (quite literally) because he was a very anxious child and trusted hop as a sort of "anchor". so as they get older they continue kinda just being Like That yknow. and as they start developing feelings for each other they don't really... Realize? the line between platonic and romantic is just so blurred for them and the process happened so slowly and gradually neither of them realized. there is no very distinct "oh shit i think i'm in love with him" moment for either of them. like there was of course a realization for both of them but it was sort of just "oh wait huh. that makes sense" and they're both pretty comfortable with the idea of being in love with each other. like the realization perhaps isn't as nerve-wracking as you would think it might be. sure there's some nervousness in the form of "would anything change if i told him" (mostly on yasuta's part tbh) but the IDEA of loving the other feels very natural and like. i think the best way i can put it is that it doesn't feel foreign to them because of the way it was built up SO slowly over time and how they've always behaved around each other.

now on the flip side. yuki and kieran did not meet that long ago. by the end of mochi mayhem and after yuki's uh. Little Plan. it's been a couple of months. kieran obviously fell for yuki fast and hard but i think until end end of indigo disk it was largely infatuation. it gets Very real after ID though. and like... he Knows how he feels about yuki and is having a lot of trouble figuring out how to deal with it. obviously he doesn't wanna fuck up their friendship and figures yuki does not and never will feel the same. kieran doesn't even really feel like he deserves the second chance at friendship he got and the fact that he feels the way he does kinda scares him! he sort of bounces between moments of boldness in which he strongly tries to make gestures that imply how he feels and moments of getting really nervous and being like "what am i doing i have to stop before i scare him away he would never feel the same"

and yuki. So yuki i think did develop a little bit of a crush on kieran in teal mask but it was not like. on the same level of kieran's infatuation with him. and i also don't think he like... Realized he had even DEVELOPED that little crush in the first place. much like his brother before him he just goes "i feel a little differently about him than my other friends. how quaint!" and moves on without thinking about it further. weirdly enough i think it was during ID where those feelings started getting a lot stronger as his worry for kieran grew. and at somepoint between ID and MM he has a very distinct "i think i'm in love with him" moment.

so. that's the big thing i think. unlike hop and yasuta, yuki and kieran did not grow up together and sort of have time to grow into those feelings so that they didn't seem so scary. when yuki realizes this it is SCARY because it's such an unfamiliar thing and like. it also requires him to think about himself which he doesn't like doing. nevermind the fact that he was a disaster between ID and MM so this stacked on top of all of that did not do him any favors emotionally. but even after those other things are resolved it still makes him SOOO fucking nervous. i mentioned it earlier but it literally makes him so nervous he gets nauseous over it sometimes. and it's unusual because yuki is typically very headstrong and just Goes For Shit and nothing makes him this visibly nervous. but like i said this requires him to consider his own feelings and i do not think he likes that ❤️ this isn't even to mention that he is somehow FULLY UNAWARE OF THE FACT THAT KIERAN LIKES HIM AS WELL AS IF IT WASN'T THE MOST OBVIOUS THING ON PLANET FUCKING EARTH. he's still working on distancing himself from the idea that he's not a burden and deserves to live and feel and this whole situation is really putting that to the test i think

[whumpcloud]

Red Room - Lies and Proof

content: filmed whump, creepy/intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, captivity, threatened fingore (cutting off a finger - doesn't happen but nails get pulled out instead), begging, implied child abuse (non-specific)

New project. Jack Mitchell (yes, that one, if you know me you know I'm excited), twenty-one, he/they. Real pretty when he cries. No permanent injuries, no broken limbs, and no facial damage, but as always, it's up to you. Streaming in twenty. Leave suggestions while you wait!

Matthew refreshes the page.

Nothing. Thirty seconds.

Matthew refreshes the page.

Take a knife to him.

Oh, knife freak's still here. Matthew refreshes the page.

Threaten him with something permanent so he screams and begs :)

Not even a finger or two? Bummer. You're not usually this careful. Pull out their nails?

holy shit, youre not kidding. hes all over the news. you should show him.

Now that gives Matthew an idea. He can manage all of those, if he does them in the right order.

Jack is sitting up on the mattress, biting his nails down to the skin, when Matthew comes to get him.

"N-No, please." Jack shrinks away, as though hiding in the corner is going to help. "Please, please don't, p-please-"

"Begging's not gonna get you anywhere, baby boy," Matthew grins. "But keep doing it anyway. It's adorable."

Jack screams and struggles until Matthew slams the back of his head into the wall, so about three seconds. Jack whines and closes his eyes so that the room doesn't jostle with Matthew's careless movement. It doesn't seem like Matthew has an ounce of patience for Jack screaming when he doesn't explicitly want it.

Fine.

Matthew lays Jack on the table and straps him in. Jack immediately notices the television, then everything spins as Matthew tilts the table.

"Can't have you straining your neck to look," he smiles. "Camera on!"

The one thing that Jack can take comfort in is that Matthew looks like an idiot. He really does look like some kidnapper in a movie, black scarf over his mouth hiding his maniacal delight. Not that it's really any comfort at all, but Jack grasps onto it anyway.

"You gonna say hi, Jacky?" Matthew says.

"All of you are horrible people," Jack spits.

"Yeah, yeah, I think we know that," Matthew laughs, then checks his watch. "Anyway, let's watch something. Might take a bit to get to the good part."

Matthew turns on the television, flicking to some celebrity news show that Jack has always been banned from watching or being on.

It plays for a few minutes, and Jack can feel his heart beating in his ears. Is the anticipation a part of it? Jack fidgets in his bindings.

"This is so fun for you," Jack says dryly.

"Wait for it," Matthew says, double checking his watch.

And then Jack sees it. That's him, on the screen, a picture of him at a convention a few years ago. It's the only one the news ever uses, because it's the last time they managed to get a photo of him smiling like that.

It fades out, into an interview, and Jack isn't listening, can't listen, because that's his father, on this show he hates, looking anxious and teary and worried.

Jack hates it. Is it another act? Even he can't tell. He turns away from the screen, angry tears in his eyes.

Matthew watches, and Jack knows that stupid smirk is on his face under his stupid scarf. "What is it, baby boy? You don't like watching? Don't you wanna see your dad?"

"He's lying," Jack mumbles. "He doesn't care."

"That's not a nice thing to say about your dad, Jacky," Matthew says.

"So?" Jack squeezes his eyes shut. "He probably thinks I ran away. He's just using being famous to get me back."

"Oh, that's interesting," Matthew chuckles, and circles around to rest his chin on the top of the table, fingers tracing Jack's cheekbones. "Why would you run away, huh? Come on, you've got nothing to lose by telling."

"Do you think I wanted to be a fucking actor?" Jack snaps, wrenching his face away from Matthew's touch. "I didn't, I hate it, but he wanted me to and I didn't have a fucking choice."

"Daddy issues, huh?" Matthew's tone of voice doesn't waver from amusement. "Doesn't mean he doesn't care about you, baby boy."

"He cares because I look good on camera," Jack mutters.

Matthew laughs. "Can't say I disagree. But come on, I bet he'd care about you getting hurt. Even if it's just 'cause he's not the one hurting you."

"He wouldn't."

"Aw, you sound so sure." Matthew grins as Jack's head snaps to the side at the feeling of a knife against his hand. "We could prove it. You wanna prove it?"

Jack swallows. "What, are you going to send him a video of me?"

"Nah, nah, I'm gonna send him something way more fun," Matthew grins, placing the knife edge on Jack's pinky. "Let's go real cliche. What about your finger in a box?"

Jack's eyes widen. "N-No, no, you said- you said nothing permanent, you--"

"And you didn't think I could change my mind?" Matthew digs in, just a little, and Jack's tiny whimper is music to his ears. "Could be fun. We'll just have to see."

"No!" Jack is already starting to sob. So quick to panic. "No, don't, please, please no, s-something else, anything else, please, you said nothing permanent, please!"

Jack screams - like it's going to help, like it's doing anything but make this even more fun - when Matthew slices, a little droplet of blood trickling down the side of Jack's hand.

"Stop it, stop it, please!" Jack begs, not even caring that he's being filmed, that people are watching this for some kind of sick pleasure, laser focused on the fact that he could lose his finger. "Something else, please, I'm begging you!"

"That you are," Matthew says, pressing Jack's palm flat. "Didn't I already tell you begging wasn't gonna get you anywhere?"

"No, p-please!" Jack's desperate voice breaks. "Something else, something else! Not this, please not this!"

"What else then, huh?" Matthew's other hand slides into Jack's hair. "Go on. What else should I send him?"

"I don't know, I don't know, just not my finger, please--"

"I asked you a question, sweetheart," Matthew says, voice lowering. "I want an answer. Pick something. Something that'll hurt."

What can he afford to lose? Jack wracks his brain for something, something that Matthew will accept, something that will hurt but won't hurt too much and he can send and won't be a finger.

"M-My nails?" Jack tries. Is that enough? Please let it be enough. "Y-You could pull… pull them out."

Matthew's face lights up. Oh, he just knew this was going to be fun. Jack has no idea that he's managed to tumble headfirst into where everyone wants him. He really does know exactly how to behave for a camera.

"Alright," Matthew grins. "One hand or both?"

Matthew has no real intention of letting Jack get away from this with any nails left on his hands, but he wants to see what Jack picks. Wants to see how far Jack thinks he wants to go with this.

"Both," Jack mumbles. "Don't pretend it's a choice."

"No, it is," Matthew lies, and puts the knife down to pick up some tweezers instead. "But you've said both now."

Jack is too panicked to think about whether it's a lie or not, and Matthew knows that. Matthew ignores Jack's pleas to change his answer, holds his hand still as he begs, and can't help laughing at the scream when the first nail is ripped from his finger. By the third nail, Jack is cussing out Matthew and everyone watching with all the swear words he knows. By the seventh, he can't do anything but incoherently sob for it to stop. Matthew holds every single nail up for the camera to see, then sets it aside.

"You're so cute when you beg," Matthew says, kissing the top of Jack's head. "All done now. See ya later, everyone."

And Matthew turns the camera off.

"Don't touch me," Jack gasps, fighting to control his breathing. "Don't fucking touch me, I s-swear--"

Matthew isn't actually expecting any resistance, but Jack manages to grab his ponytail in one bloody, bound hand, and pulls sharply.

"You little shit!"

Matthew's first instinct is to break Jack's fingers for it, but he stops himself, and instead wrenches his hair from Jack's grasp and grabs the knife.

Jack balls his hands into fists. "You're a sadistic fucking freak--"

"Shh," is all Matthew knows he needs to say, because he's holding a knife under Jack's chin.

Jack goes silent.

"That's good," Matthew says. "Now, I'm gonna ask you to do some things, and you're not gonna cry or complain, 'cause I don't have the patience for that when no-one's watching. You just gotta do what you're told."

"Mhm," Jack manages.

"Okay. Gonna unstrap you, and then you're gonna walk with me."

Matthew leaves no room for disagreement. Jack limply slides from the table, and Matthew holds him up by the waist, and pulls him towards the countertops around the room.

"There's a box up there," Matthew says, using the knife to gesture. "Bring it down, and then you're gonna push your nails into it."

Jack obeys, even though he whimpers and almost starts to cry again when he sees his own bloody, broken nails. He makes a point not to look at his hands.

"Tape and paper and pens in that drawer," Matthew says. "Write your address and stick it to the top. Write a little letter if you want. But remember I'm over your shoulder, so don't get any ideas."

"Why are you making me do this?" Jack mumbles.

"DNA, silly," Matthew replies. "I sanitise everything, so it's not on the counters. But I'm not taking more risks than I need to."

Jack writes an I'm sorry before hesitating, and tacking on an I love you.

Jack drops a strand of Matthew's hair into the box with the letter, and immediately shuts it so Matthew won't see. It won't make a difference if Matthew's DNA isn't already somewhere. But on the off-chance it is, Jack can cling to some hope.

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