#felt like I was possessed partway in

[cowabummers]

"Earth below us, Floating weightless, Calling, calling home"

[ossifer-bones]

Kiriona's Teeth, Naberius' Body, and Lyctoral Masking

He undid her scarf, and Nona looked away. Beneath the scarf a huge wound in the throat made the neck yawn wide open. When she peeked back, wishing she had her braids to screen everything, she saw that Palamedes had unbuttoned the shirt partway and there was another big wound in the chest—a big purple bloodless puncture wound, with white teeth peeking out coyly from within.

Kiriona's chest wound appears as a purple and bloodless wound, with teeth. A lot of people think that teeth is just a poetic way of referring to her ribs being visible, but I propose an alternate explanation: the devils, and Hell.

As we see on the Ninth, when they inspect the corpse of one of the possessed:

The eyelids hung slack, and there were rows of dark purple pinpricks above and below them—like something fine and sharp had come through.

The possessed bear purple pinpricks through which the teeth emerge, purple and bloodless wounds.

Naberius' and Gideon's Bodies

Naberius' body in Gideon the Ninth:

Naberius Tern lay awkwardly sprawled on the ground. His expression was that of a man who had suffered the surprise of his life. There was something too white about his eyeballs, but otherwise he looked perfectly real, perfectly alive, perfectly coiffed.

Gideon's body in As Yet Unsent:

The corpse has still failed to rot. The princess says they are leaving it outside in significantly fluctuating temperatures, under observation, and it still fails to rot.

The corpse is still as it ever was. I asked Hect if the scavengers had got at it. She said that animals refused to touch it even when encouraged.

I wonder if they will stop the experiments now. The corpse of the Ninth House cavalier is as pristine as when Camilla Hect convinced them to take it on board.

Both fail to rot. Both bodies appear obviously dead on inspection, yet uncannily pristine. Perfectly coifed, pristine as when first taken on board, remarkably so.

Lyctoral Masking

Ianthe was a black hole to you, a null, an empty, overradiant space, unreadable; but close physical proximity could echolocate that darkness.

Black hole, overradiant, darkness. Dark, light, dark.

“Harrowhark,” he said, “You are a Lyctor. You generate too much light, or too much darkness, for me to look at you and make out any strong detail [...]

Too much light, or too much darkness.

Lyctoral masking means the body is, at once, too light and yet too dark for detail to be made out necromantically, at least from a distance. John says that even he cannot make out strong detail as a result of it. Where else does John say that his power falls short? Hell.

“It is the mouth to Hell [...] Anyone who has entered a stoma has never returned. It is a portal to the place I cannot touch—somewhere I don’t fully comprehend, where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless.”

When else do we see light and darkness associated with necromancy?

Soul Siphoning

The torchlights gave an asthmatic gurk and dimmed as though their batteries were being sucked dry, and when Gideon looked at her hands through bleary eyes they were deepening grey [...] The world grew heavy and black around the edges, and Gideon felt cold all the way to her marrow.

Then Gideon saw the colour begin draining from Colum the Eighth as though he were covered with cheap dye: leaching as shadow leached hue in the nighttime, more horrible and more obvious in the unforgiving light of the electric torches and underfloor lamps. As he faded, the pale Silas incandesced. He glowed with an irradiated shimmer, iridescent white, and the air began to taste of lightning.

“When Master Octakiseron siphons his cavalier, he sends the soul elsewhere and then exploits the space it leaves behind. The power that rushes in to fill that space will keep refilling, for as long as either of them can survive [...]”

“Brother Colum has fought harder and in colder climes,” said Silas calmly. “He has come back to me through stranger ghosts. He has never once let his body become corrupted, and he never shall.”

Soul siphoning, as we can see, relies on sending the soul somewhere else and exploiting the power that rushes to fill in the space it leaves. This place is almost explicitly said to be Hell. As Augustine says to Mercy, founder of the Eighth: “You never did take the stoma seriously, which is why your whole damned House sucks at it like a grotesque teat—”

And, as you can see from the above excerpts, siphoning dims the lights and brings a chill to the room. Where else do we see gloom descend and the temperature drop?

With an awful crack, his head turned one hundred and eighty degrees to look impassively at the room behind him. One of the lightbulbs screamed, exploded, died in a shower of sparks. The air was very cold. Gideon’s breath came as frosty white frills in the sudden darkness, and the remaining lights struggled to pierce the gloom. Colum licked his lips with a grey tongue.

Siphoning taps into the power of Hell. And, as Ianthe says, she suspects the Eighth's contribution to the Lyctoral megatheorem was getting the power flowing.

“And then for the last step you hook up the cables and get the power flowing. You’ll find that one a walk in the park, Eighth, I suspect it was your House’s contribution.”

Conclusions

Soul siphoning relies on displacing the cavalier's soul, to draw power from the resulting space.

The displacement of soul siphoning derives power from Hell, the realm beyond the Stoma, where the devils originate from.

After their deaths, that allow their respective necromancers to ascend to Lyctorhood, Naberius and Gideon's bodies appear to be preserved.

Devils grow teeth from purple, bloodless wounds. The wound on Gideon's body appears purple, bloodless, and has seemingly grown teeth.

Ianthe theorised that the Eighth's contribution to the megatheorem was getting the power flowing, granting them access to the lyctoral well of thanergy.

Lyctoral masking is said by John to be due to the Lyctor generating too much light or darkness, obscuring details from even him. Soul siphoning generates light and darkness. Soul siphoning derives power from the place beyond the Stoma, which John defines as being a place where his power is meaningless.

The Stoma are in the River, where dead souls go after death, and an essential component of imperfect lyctorhood is the death of the cavalier.

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 3

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Eventually Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

It was official. I was crushing on my professor. It made the seven-thirty class on Tuesdays and Thursdays all the more enjoyable - icing on an already delicious cake, if you will.

Partway into the second class I had with him I realized that I hadn't been taking notes. My mind had been so in tune with what he had been saying, or more of how he was saying it, that I had simply forgotten to write down all the main points. Still, I was engaged. I was listening.

Dr. Miller stopped me again on my walk out. With each interaction I managed to keep my cool a little more; I was able to engage in conversation and harness the beast of lust that had suddenly taken over my inner psyche. I wasn't used to it - the the erratic and irrational thoughts; the desire to throw any self-control I possessed out the window. It gave my rather boring life a little spark that I welcomed more with each passing day.

As I was about to walk by and out the door after class, Dr. Miller said my name and waved me to him. I wondered if he was at all aware of how much I enjoyed the way my name rolled off his tongue. “What are the five major perspectives in psychology?”

I smiled. I knew this one. “Biological, psychodynamic, behavioral, cognitive and humanistic.” No stuttering, no ‘uhh’ or ‘umm’. I looked up into his big brown eyes with just the smallest bout of confidence.

With a nod and an accompanied smile Dr. Miller responded. “So you were paying attention.” He subtly winked now and I felt as if I was thirteen again with my first crush.

“Always.”

“You, uh..” He nodded toward the pen I had been subconsciously twirling between my fingers. “You weren't taking notes.”

Shit. I saw his eyes fall toward my throat as I swallowed hard. They immediately elevated to challenge mine again. “I was just.. I was listening. I-”

“I know you were.” His lips curled up into a half-smirk; he cracked his knuckles and I felt the need to continue explaining. There was no way I could leave with the idea that Dr. Miller thought I didn't care about the material he was teaching.

“Honestly, I-”

“No need to explain Ms. (Y/LN)."

Check mate. There it was. My name sounded like dirty words coming out of his mouth like that.

Stop it! I scolded myself.

“Dr. Miller,” another student penetrated our interaction as he made his way down with an IPad set perfectly in his palms.

“I'll see you soon.” Dr. Miller didn't immediately turn to the young man beside us. His eyes held me firmly in place like a vice and I managed a breath when he finally acknowledged the unnamed classmate of mine.

“See ya.” I turned, tucking the pen into the pocket of my jeans and then ran my thumbs beneath each of the straps on my backpack as I exited the classroom again.

Was Dr. Miller into me? I was always terrible at reading things like this; but a part of me felt like something was there. He had made it a point to talk to me after each class. The odd elevator ride that one night.. the fact that he knew my name..

All have logical explanations, I reminded myself. He has only been professional. I sound like a man at a strip club who thinks the stripper actually likes him.

When I reached the parking lot a crowd had gathered near the far end by the campus green. From a distance I could see the familiar flicker of blue and red lights swirling about in even patterns amongst a collection of spotlights.

Curiosity got the better of me, as it had apparently done to a number of others on campus. What was going on?

I fiddled with my phone in my pocket and on the short walk I impatiently searched the local news for stories that might explain what had drawn half of the university’s population to the edge of campus in such a frigid evening. There was nothing but updates on a tractor-trailer crash on the highway from earlier in the day, local sports scores and other miscellaneous, newsworthy titles that did nothing to solve the mystery that lingered beyond where my eyes could see.

A soft male voice caught my attention and I turned when he said my name.

“James.” A close friend from my graduate years had recently been hired as part of the team of campus security. He paced toward me with open arms and I was pleased to see a familiar face.

“I'm glad you're okay,” he muttered, pulling me in for a friendly hug. Concern lingered in his voice and I knew he knew more than I did regarding the matter at hand; not only because of his jobb but because of the concerning way he greeted me.

“What happened?” I took in his attire. From the casual sweatshirt and jeans it didn't take a genius to pinpoint that he wasn't currently on the clock.

“You don't want to know.”

“James..” My eyes pleaded, “If you tell me I'll turn around so I don't have to jump in there and find out for myself.” I motioned to the growing crowd some fifty yards from where we stood.

His eyes shifted and then he gave a nod. “Let me walk you to your car.”

“Tell me,” I begged again like some child asking what she had gotten for her birthday.

“They just found a woman's body.”

My eyes must've enlarged by ten sizes. I felt my stomach knot up and I stopped walking. “What?” This wasn't at all what I had expected him to say. I didn't know what I expected but it wasn't.. this.

“It's bad." He shook his head, “She was stabbed. The state police took it over. They think it happened late last night.”

“Oh my God.” I put a hand over my mouth and glanced back to where the crowd was still gathered.

“You shouldn't be alone on campus. I know you're taking a few night classes but call security when you leave the building. Or call me. Walk with other people from class.”

“I will,” I assured him right away as he began to rattle off the best possible ways to stay safe, shy of a bullet proof vest or body armor.

“They're going to shut down classes for a while, I'm sure. All of next week, at least.”

“Yeah.. yeah that makes sense.” I nodded. “Do they know who did it?”

“Looking into it.”

A puff of smoke filtered more prominently into the air when I let out a deep exhale.

“Just.. don't walk alone.. please.” James encouraged me.

I nodded and we walked the rest of the way in silence. He made sure my car was started before backing away and I rolled down my window.

“You be careful, too,” I told him, adding with a little smile. “Please.”

James smiled back and nodded. “I will.” He sighed and tapped the car. “Look into getting some pepper spray."

I chuckled. “Yes, Dad.”

James gave a small smile with an accompanied wave. “Be careful.”

I waved back and secured the window in the up position before blasting the heat in my little, white Mazda.

“Holy shit,” I said to myself as I took a moment to process the information. Someone had been killed on campus. The person responsible had not been caught or identified. I found myself loosely pondering scenarios.

Was it a random murder? A crime of passion? A prostitute? A drug deal gone wrong?

I ruled out the latter. The other scenarios felt palpable, the first one being the most eerie. To think of a man watching, waiting, preying on whatever young woman happened to be crossing his path right at that moment. It was almost like a..

Lion and a gazelle.

I physically shivered and allowed my imagination to wander so deep into the pits of darkness that I was truly shaken; frightened. There was a killer who, at the very least, passed through campus. The fact that he could still be lurking forced me to do a quick look into the back seat.

When I turned back around I sighed and leaned my head back against the seat. I locked the four doors of the vehicle with one movement of my left index finger and surfed around on my phone to see if anyone was talking about the incident on social media. When I finished browsing, finding no other information or gossip yet, I started up the car and gazed out through the windshield.

A black Mercedes sat facing my white Mazda. The shiny logo shimmered in the darkness and above it was a dark figure sitting there quietly. It was just a ghostly silhouette but with the murder it felt more than a bit ominous.

When the headlights suddenly highlighted the immediate surroundings, I jumped. A set of lights, ordinary lights, made my body tense and jolt with fear.

I have to go home, I thought. With a deep breath I put the car into drive and slowly crept away from the parking space. The Mercedes shadowed my movements, trailing my car out of the lot and onto the main road. I took two lefts and rounded a corner on a back road between the school’s campus and my quiet, little street. The black Mercedes followed.

I tried to get a glimpse of the driver, though every attempt was unsuccessful. Was the person following me or was it my imagination? If the person was following me they either thought I was mindless or they were terrible at hiding their intentions.

Left turn. Right turn. Straight for a mile. The Mercedes seemed to be on a clear path to my doorstep. When the street sign that led to my street came into view I stayed on the main drag that was lined with restaurants, little shops and bars. I didn't dare turn down onto the road where I resided; where I slept at night.

No sooner than a second or two after my street sign came and went, the Mercedes cruised by me in the left lane.

I did a quick head turn though tinted windows on the flashy automobile made me curse. “Fuck!”

Another mystery unsolved. But the obvious question remained, were they even following me? The logical answer was - probably not. It was all of the hoopla with the body on campus and my own taboo feelings for Dr. Miller that had me on edge.

At the next red light I panned the area. There were people out and about on the sidewalks in pairs or small groups. Cars were sparingly parked along the sides of the road. Most importantly, the black Mercedes was nowhere in sight.

With that, I put on my right blinker and made a lap around the block before finally turning onto the street where my little rented house sat near the end of a quiet cul-de-sac.

CLICK HERE FOR NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @grogusmum @amyispxnk

[mortispoxi]

After taking the time to really sit and process the roller coaster of information that was the recent People Make Games video about the drama surrounding Studio ZA/UM, I wanted to make this post to go over some of my thoughts that I had about the video. If you have not watched the video but are curious what people are saying about it or you have and you want to read someone else’s perspective, then I invite you to read through as I babble incoherently.

Overall, I thought it provided an interesting, in-depth look at the timeline of events leading up to Kurvitz, Rostov, and Hindpere’s dismissals while also giving us a proper inside scoop to the interpersonal relationships of both the former and current Studio ZA/UM employees. However, I do think the video has a couple of problems specifically with the way some of the information is presented on top of the fact that it loses focus partway through from the real issue which is the alleged fraud that took place by the investors to acquire the majority share within the company.

A big problem that I had with the video was the way in which Kurvitz behavior and final statement are disproportionately framed in the narrative. Now I am not about to go on a lengthy rant to dismiss everything Robert Kurvitz did to his friends during his time at the studio. In fact, the thing that I really liked about this video was how Chris Bratt, the writer and interviewer, holds no punches when it comes to the accusations of misconduct we heard from current Studio ZA/UM employees against him. Instead, I think it needs to be addressed that Bratt left out background context, whether intentionally or unintentionally I do not want to speculate, that could potentially explain what happened to everyone leading up to the expulsions to make Kurvitz appear far worse than how he might’ve been. I fully believe every word Argo Tuulik, Kaspar Tamsula, and Petteri Sulonen has said about working under Kurvitz and his inner circle so by piecing together all their statements to create a timeline of events the investors start to look far less innocent than how they portray themselves to be in the video.

It’s abundantly clear that Kurvitz was notoriously hard to work with. However, what’s also clear was the tremendous amount of stress everyone was under while also still being in the throes of burnout after working on the game nonstop for months. I think the investors (Kender, Haavel, and Kompus) purposefully set the team up for failure by creating impossible deadlines without informing the writers, approving Kurvitz and his inner circle to take time off while disallowing the others from taking theirs, and attempting to restructure the company in preparation to franchise Disco Elysium against Kurvitz wishes and thus he felt scared enough to push for his role to be de facto creative leader anywhere he could. What seems to be three full years of forcing everyone to crunch, miscommunicating when important deadlines were, setting impossible work standards to meet, and readying themselves to snatch more power within the company may have helped sow the seeds of animosity the writers began growing towards one another.

All of this is nothing new for those of us who have been keeping an eye on the drama from the start. We were told long in advance by the likes of Martin Luiga, who although left the project early on has been friends and worked alongside him for the better part of two decades, that Kurvitz possesses less than stellar leadership skills and that there was no merit in what the investors would end up accusing him of doing to warrant his dismissal. That confirmation was given long before the release of the PMG video and cements the idea in my mind that perhaps Kurvitz erratic behavior that was described by the current Studio ZA/UM employees was not the cause but rather a symptom of a much larger problem happening around him (i.e. a toxic work environment brought on by the investors using manipulation tactics to further stress and cause resentment amongst the collective). Yes, Kurvitz was at times uncooperative and dismissive towards his fellow employees, but this aspect of his character and the situation was played up to be a far greater problem in the PMG video than what the context suggests. I’m also inclined to believe this interpretation because Argo Tuulik, despite having legitimate, unresolved issues with his friend, does still regard Kurvitz very highly and even believes that he should still have artistic access to Elysium.  

When you think about it from this perspective, it makes perfect sense as to why Kurvitz was acting erratically around his fellow coworkers who eventually lashed out at him. On top of Kurvitz’s subpar leadership skills, he clearly was rapidly losing control of the situation which caused a great amount of stress for everybody involved as he scrambled in every which way to hold onto his position within the studio. It does not surprise me when it’s admitted by Sulonen that Kurvitz was thinking of taking the source code to potentially start over with a newly founded company since the situation was rapidly deteriorating and everyone was getting more and more frustrated with him and his inner circle. The impossible working conditions they found themselves in was a pressure cooker for the animosity and resentment building within the disillusioned group. Clearly the investors made their workers run themselves ragged in order to divide everyone and make it easier for them to take advantage of Kurvitz’s now frequent outbursts to finally push him out of their way.

Everything that I’ve said above can easily be discerned from the context clues found in the interviews from the current and former ZA/UM members. Which if you think about it is an unfortunate statement because Bratt does not seem to register the complaints of mismanagement by the hands of the investors from either side and instead only points the spotlight at Kurvitz’s past transgressions. What I am describing is one of the major issues I have with the PMG video. The video talking about the ongoing legal battle to determine if corporate fraud took place seemed to disproportionately focus on the problems Kurvitz and his inner circle had with other team members and not issuing a public apology to his former colleagues. Now that doesn’t sound all too bad on paper, right? If Kurvitz apologized, it could help begin the healing process and make for a good closer for the video. Well, that’s where the problem comes into play because Kurvitz response to Bratt’s request for comment regarding what Tuulik, Tamsalu, and Sulonen said about his poor conduct should not come as a surprise to anyone who had been paying attention. In the video, Bratt hails the email Kurvitz sent back to him as arrogant and dismissive which he then uses to accuse him of not standing with his fellow workers in solidarity and not taking accountability for his actions. However, right at the start of his interview, Kurvitz informs Bratt that at the behest of his lawyers he does not want the full interview to be published as they are worried Studio ZA/UM might take something he said as an admission of guilt and use it against him in a court of law. Therefore, when asked to comment about what his former colleagues said about him, he fires back an email that basically says that he wants the focus to be on the thing that really matters, the lawsuits and the shady activities of the investors. Bratt, clearly not liking his response, decided to attack his statement even though had Kurvitz given PMG what they wanted he could potentially be incriminating himself. Whether he denies or fully understands that his actions hurt others, the way he responded is 100% justified and did not deserve the level of vitriol he got from both Bratt and the public. It seems like a double standard that Ilmar Kompus can deny answering a question by claiming he cannot comment due to the ongoing lawsuit during his interview but when Kurvitz does it for the exact same reasons he is attacked. Again, Kurvitz is fully responsible to rectify the hurt he caused others but legally he’s in the clear and Bratt seemed to purposely neglect that aspect of the ongoing narrative.

Now, I’m not about to pull a whole reddit conspiracy in my write up. I do believe Chris Bratt, who directed this video, went into this with the very best of intentions to tell the full story with an emphasis on the workers who were affected by the situation. However, the problems that I’ve listed above make me worry what will be the takeaway from someone who is only a casual observer of the ZA/UM situation. Personally, I have been following this from the beginning so I’ve had a lot of time to develop my own insight into things but that’s usually not the case for most people. What I’m concerned about is whether Bratt may have unintentionally furthered the investors narrative by pushing people’s focus away from themselves and onto Kurvitz who has largely had the support of fans and outside viewers up until this point. Studio ZA/UM as it stands is desperate for a leg up in the PR battle it’s had with Kurvitz since October 1st, 2022. They lost so much support once the announcement was made that Kurvitz and his inner circle had been terminated, and lost even more upon the release of collage mode, that it makes logical sense that they want more people to be on their side so when the time comes for the studio to announce another game their reviews and sales numbers won’t immediately be tanked by angry fans. So, the fact that this video seemingly only held its focus on the misgivings of Kurvitz closing statement and personality instead of what is actually being fought over, alleged corporate fraud and theft of IP, may have unwittingly handed the investors that distraction that they have been looking for. Since the release of this video, I’ve seen an unfortunate mix of people arguing over the ethics of the situation, those switching sides to now support the studio, and outright calling for Kurvitz to lose the right to access his life’s work. This is not the outcome me and many other like minded fans want to see from this mess. At the end of the day, Elysium is Robert Kurvitz’s life work, and he deserves a chance to legally regain those rights even if he is a prideful and arrogant person. His personality should not dictate whether he is allowed to prove in a court of law that the investors took something that isn’t theirs. Bratt’s well-meaning but deeply misguided efforts to report on the ZA/UM situation may have done more harm than good. I consider this to be the biggest flaw of the video and the reason why the contents ultimately did not sit right with me despite the accuracy and importance of the reporting.  

Just as a quick reminder for those who aren’t entirely up to speed or want a refresher, the reason why Kurvitz and Studio ZA/UM are fighting over the IP rights in the first place started when Kurvitz was promised by the investors that if he signed over the rights to Elysium and his book he would eventually be able to buy back a portion of the shares to the company and upon release of the sequel buy back even more. At no point was anyone supposed to possess a majority percent of the shares in the company to remain equitable amongst all participants. So, Kurvitz signed this contract under the assumption that the investors would hold up their end of the bargain while in the short term he would get the funding needed to complete the rest of the game. Unfortunately, when Margus Linnamäe left his position within the company, Ilmar Kompus agreed to buy him out of his share allegedly using the money intended to produce the sequel thus acquiring the majority share which tipped the balance of power. Now, the IP rights are currently held by the company YESSIRNOSIR Ltd. which no one holds shares of but is still owned and controlled by sources within Studio ZA/UM. The lawsuit itself is Kurvitz claiming that the way Kompus bought into the majority share of the company was done illegally and should he be able to prove in a court of law that fraud took place it would immediately delegitimize and invalidate Kompus’s control which would then give Kurvitz and Rostov a chance to reclaim power along with all the subsidiaries of the company which includes YESSIRNOSIR Ltd.

From the way I saw it, it certainly felt like Bratt went out of his way to put blame on the deteriorating work environment and splintering of a two-decade old artist collective squarely on Robert Kurvitz shoulders. If I were to speculate, I think in his anger after not receiving the conclusion he had been hoping for from his interviewee, Bratt refused to acknowledge the very real fact that his hands are legally tied with the things that he can publicly talk about which had the unintentional consequence of villainizing Kurvitz. Bratt is still correct in his assessment that Kurvitz is arrogant and people were hurt by his actions but whether intentional or not misrepresenting how much Kurvitz and his inner circle was responsible for the strife while neglecting to even acknowledge the amount of meddling the investors were doing behind the scenes only detracts from his argument and puts into question who he’s really representing in his video.

[ineffectualdemon]

Controversial Doctor Who opinions from someone who quit watching partway through the 12th Doctor's 1st series

(I am going to try to pick it back up from whenever Moffat left I decided)

1. David Tennant wasn't that good as the Doctor. I really didn't buy him as the Doctor. Maybe because so much "I love Doctor Who" leaked out of him. Idk. But I had a hard time buying into him. I think David Tennant is an incredible actor but I thought his stint as 10 wasn't the best work he's done. He wasn't terrible, I just wasn't as into him

2. Martha was a great companion in a shit season. Martha as a character was brilliant. She was just given nothing to actually work with and I almost rage quit after her series because I hated the stories so fucking much. Martha deserved better

3. Matt Smith was an excellent Doctor. Whether or not you liked his storylines his cranky old professor trapped in a young man's body was perfect. It felt like William Hartnell had possessed him. Even if I didn't enjoy the story I enjoyed his performance as 11

4. The Ponds were good companions with bad stories. It was nice to have a couple on board and while they were rocky sometimes they genuinely loved and cared about each other and I liked their dynamic and their dynamic with 11. Yes I didn't like a lot of the stories but they kept me coming back

I think as evidence that what kept me compelled was 11 and the Ponds when it was Jenna Coleman and Peter Capaldi I could not give a shit anymore and the poor writing and stories did make me rage quit

I didn't really like Jenna Coleman with 11 either but I was fond of 11 enough to stick around. I just didn't feel connected to either Peter Capaldi as the Doctor or Jenna Coleman for it to override the janky stories

I'm going to double check which series Moffat left and go from there I think

[heylittleriotact]

Someone else beat me to Senna so I'm gonna ask about Bartenderess

(Thank you for playing btw!)

Bartenderess was inspired by a time about ten years ago when I was employed as (surprisingly) a bartender. I met people that seemed fictional during that time, so I decided to make up some more.

It’s a short story about a fateful night where the wrong people end up under the same roof at the same time. This is a snippet from partway through.

Thanks for tagging me, friend. This was fun!

The bartenderess smiled and turned away: Her line of work certainly offered interesting insight into the variant reality of human relationships.

She shelved the whiskey and whipped around when she felt a coaster bounce off her back.

Parking lot guy sat at the bar, staring at her in his judging, dope-eyed way - in this light she could make out dark veins and angry looking tracks on his inner arms.

“Did you throw that at me?” She asked.

“Better than a beer bottle.” He shrugged.

“Can’t argue with that. You’re out of beer I’m guessing.”

“Might be.” He snarked.

“Well do you want one?”

“Yes.”

“Care to give me a bit more to go off of? We have a variety of options.”

“I dunno. You got what I was drinking in the lot?”

The bartenderess sighed and pulled a beer of the same name out of the fridge, twisted off the top and set it in front of the Junkie. “Did you pay cover?”

“Went in the back door.”

“In all fairness I can’t even be mad. We don’t even have anyone watching that.” She looked at the ten he held out to her. “Oh, you can start a tab if you want.”

He looked at her like she was an idiot, “You think I’ll pay?”

She started pouring a beer for someone else on the bar. “I won’t lie to you and say it wouldn’t ruin my night if you didn’t.”

Hulking Irish Man #1 - who the Junkie had (foolishly) chosen to sit next to - chimed in on the conversation with an elbow to the wiry fellow’s ribcage.

“You walk out on your tab and I’ll break your back, you dirty thing.”

The Junkie opened his mouth to respond, but the bartenderess cut him off.

“Just ah… just leave it, okay?” She poured Hulking Irish Man #1 another beer, hoping it would distract him. Or something.

“You couldn’t break your way out of a wet paper bag, you Irish fuck.”

She covered her face with the palm of her hand at the sound of the whiny, nasally voice that came from somewhere behind the mountainous form of Hulking Irish Man #2.

Hulking Irish Man Number The First swiveled in his bar stool and looked at the speaker; a bearded man, on the short and slight side, wearing a Detroit Red Wings baseball cap and a hoodie.

“Don’t even start with me right now, Pinky. My friend over there is itchin’ for a fight and he won’t listen to your shit for ten minutes tonight before he decides to break your fucking face in.”

“You’re pissed, hey?” The snide little bastard grinned, squeezing in between Hulking Irish Man #1 and Minnie Mouse. “Hey, can I get a goddamn beer over here or what?”

“Dunno Pinky. You got the money for that right now? I hear you owe these gentlemen here a good deal of money.”

The strung out Aussie looked up, seemingly only just now realizing there was a conversation going on around him. “For what?”

The bartenderess jerked a thumb at Pinky, “Got more balls than brains, this one.”

“It’s your damn fault.” Pinky snapped at her. “You could have just gone along with it and then we’d both be a few gees richer.”

The bartenderess crossed her arms and shot Pinky an unimpressed smirk that she hoped would convey exactly how little she regretted her decision. “Yes, go along with it and pretend that I slept with you? I don’t fucking think so. I possess the integrity to choose my bedmates wisely; even pretending to be yours would be a vast infringement on said scruples.”

“Not even for half of fifteen grand?” He sneered derisively.

“The fact that you’re fifteen grand poorer should serve to show you exactly where I stand on the issue.” She took a moment to repeat the ever-familiar motion; turn, open fridge door - grab a beer from the bottom row - turn back, twist - serve. “You know the economy isn’t doing so well, right? What happens when you get laid off and all of your savings are gone?”

Pinky frowned and shook his head, “Nah. I’ll be fine.”

“If that’s your bet, I’m staying on the other side of it based on your previous luck.” She raised an eyebrow, “Why are you here anyway? You hate live music nights.”

Pinky shrugged. “Found out today the girl I was seeing for the past three weeks has a boyfriend. She’s all confused and wants to talk about her feelings.” Pinky pulled a face and took a drink. “Don’t think I’ll give her the time of day.”

“You say that.”

“I fucking mean it.”

“Well maybe you should stop fucking girls who have boyfriends then. You can’t tell me that you ploughed her for three weeks and had no idea she was attached.” The bartenderess pointed out fairly. “You may be stupid enough to lose fifteen grand, but you’re not that fucking stupid.”

“Why are you so nice to him? He’s scum!” Hulking Irish Man #1 scoffed, glaring down his nose at Pinky.

“I’m nice to you.” The bartenderess stated flatly, shrugging. “Pay your tab, tip me well, and refrain from pissing me off and I’ll be your best friend - shockingly, Pinky meets all of these criteria… more often than not.” She leveled a withering glare at the Red Wings fan and he looked away, abashed.

Roughly a month or so earlier, during one of many mornings when he came in already drunk, the bartenderess had done a quality check on Pinky’s beer, to which he made the mistake of responding, “It would be a lot better if you were on your knees blowing me while I was drinking it.”

“Pay your tab and get the fuck out: Don’t come back till you get a fucking grip - you actually think you can get away with talking to me like that?” The bartenderess had responded, printing his tab and slapping it on the wood between them.

He did as she said - it was the glare.

He tried coming back once prior to apologizing - it didn’t last long; he sat at the bar and went mostly ignored by the sole bartenderess as she carried on with her Sunday afternoon shift.

“Oh you’re here?” She finally said, feigning surprise as she withdrew a batch of clean glasses from the washer and set them out to dry. “I wonder what would bring someone like you to a place like this - get the fuck out.”

And that was that: A trite apology arrived the next day via text message, and all was well in the universe again.

Don’t antagonize your bartender - especially if she’s nothing short of a charm and is capable of pouring a pint without more than half an inch of head.

“I fucking love you!”

Oh God.

‘Cuddles’ she called him privately. He was a regular fixture at the pub, showing up at least four nights a week and staying till either the bar closed, or he was cut off and told to leave. See, he had this nasty habit of having a few too many and becoming belligerent and abusive to any and all within his reach; including the staff. He also conveniently forgot to pay his considerable tab a number of times, leaving it to fall on the other staff to pay. He had never pulled this particular stunt with the bartenderess, but she had become the person to follow up on the lost tabs and ensure an apology was given to the victimized staff.

Cuddles was a nice enough guy; fell on hard times in his life. Both he and his brother Scott (short for Scotsman) suffered from some mental health issues that the bartenderess didn’t know the specific nitty gritty of, but what she assumed from Cuddles’ part to consist of severe depression, anxiety, and alcoholism. Scott was the same, though his institutionalization for attempted suicide and his own admittance to borderline personality disorder and sexual assault at the hands of his very attractive female psychiatrist left him a good deal more fucked up than his brother.

They wore on her, truth be told. But at the same time she was deeply fond of these brothers for all of their struggles: Just as she was somehow fond of a pair of Irish extremists, and a hipster who didn’t know where his dick ended and the world began.

People grow on you like that when you work at a bar: People who exist and function in society, but are somehow fucked up, and to a point - pitiable. They’re here for a reason, the outcasts and undesirables. They’re the ones who come once, and then come back the next day, and the day after that, and pretty soon, you know more about them - good and bad - than you know about your own family.

Because when you’re a bartender, you are neutral.

You are judge, jury and executioner for no one.

You exist to serve drinks and food and conversation and release.

People will tell you things that they tell no one else because you exist only in one place forever: In a building at an address, in a city in a town, shielded by a panel of wood and a row of taps.

You are static and surreal: A fixed dream-state in an imagined world where these souls pass out of the doors and you cease to exist at all until they return the next day.

A bartender has permission to care; the woman who catches the bus home in a skirt at the end of her shift, does not.

“I love you too,” The bartenderess smiles, and though her tone is accommodating, it is also businesslike. She places Cuddles’ drink of choice before him; a Paralyzer; made right - not with any of that pre-mix bullshit. “Where’s your brother?”

“Hospital again,” Cuddles mutters, tucking into his Paralyzer.

“Ah shit, I’m sorry.” The bartenderess says earnestly; she always liked Scott, and she didn’t like to entertain the notion of him never coming back through those doors.

“Fuck it,” Cuddles declares, waving a hand through the air. “Not even surprised. Shit’s always weird.’

“You can say that again,” says the bartenderess, taking advantage of the brief lull at the bar to slow down a bit and pour herself a coffee.

“Seen any other familiar faces here tonight?” Cuddles asks. “Glenn or Meredith and Kiwi?” He looks around the packed bar, seeking out the familiar faces mentioned.

“Meredith was in earlier to play the machines a bit, but she left around seven. Haven’t seen Glenn or Kiwi today, just these ones.” She jerks her thumb at the Hulking Irish Duo and Cuddles waves at them uneasily before turning back to the bartenderess: He and the Irish guys don’t get along well, but Cuddles is smart enough to avoid picking a fight with them - he knows well enough he’d lose.

“Hey man,” Cuddles instead says to Pinky, meeting his beer with the lip of his glass. “Back for more abuse from this one?” He nods to the bartenderess.

“Nowhere else around here to get a decent beer,” Pinky shrugs. “Speaking of which; who do I have to blow around here to get another one?” He lifts the bottle in his hands and swirls the small amount of liquid left in the bottom.

“Your wish is my command, dickhead,” the bartendress purrs, replenishing her patron’s libation before turning her attention back to Cuddles. “Well I really hope your brother is okay. I’m sorry to hear he’s unwell again. He knows how loved he is, right and - oh fuck.”

Her attention is commandeered rapidly by the opening of the back door and the entrance of three very familiar figures making their way through the crowd towards the bar; specifically a woman who had been sitting quietly at the far end of it for most of the night, nursing a pint of Stella.

The bartenderess hadn’t thought much of it; she’d never seen the girl before, but assumed she was just another traveller passing through, or friends with one of the bands who agreed to come to the show out of loyalty rather than interest. Slightly older than herself, this woman nearly blended into the crowd with her diminutive figure, but as the bartendress watched the three men take up wood around her, her pale skin and dark hair that framed bright green eyes made her wonder how she had been so easily overlooked in the first place. She’d served her without a second thought and hadn’t remembered to check on her since. Not like it mattered… the girl still had half her pint in front of her.

How she knew these three was the real mystery. And the problem.

The bartenderess had no idea they were back in town; it’d been almost two years since their first visit, and frankly she thought she’d never see them again. Why did they have to pick tonight of all nights to wander into this powder-keg?

[unbidden-yidden]

U • GetARide Bus

I just had the wildest dream that I feel compelled to write out as a story.

It had a similar vibe to some of the surreal webcomic posts I've on seen here, but it was about a bus.

Specifically, the U • GetARide Bus.

I'm not sure what possessed me to decide to drive it. I'd driven busses in the past, sure, but it's not like I was hired as a driver or given permission to drive the bus.

I just knew I needed a job, there were people who needed a ride, and I knew I could do it.

And that was enough.

---

When I got on the U bus, a young woman followed me. She needed a ride, and I told her I could help. She asked me where to pay.

Good question.

I looked around the driver's area, but there wasn't a till or scanner or anything.

I grabbed the manual and briefly flipped through it. Ads. Yearbook photos? More ads.

I closed the manual.

"Let's get going and we'll figure it out when we get there. Where are you headed?"

"To Hospitality House, Snyderville."

I'd never been there, but I knew it was a dorm, and that it was a ways away.

"We'd better get going then."

I started the bus. It was just like the campus busses I'd driven before - no keys, just a button and the knowledge of how to drive it.

It was a little smaller than those busses, though. The young woman sat down, I pulled up the GPS on my phone, and off we drove.

Partway of the way out of town, we stopped at another housing unit. Not sure how I knew to stop, but I could feel that there were passengers there.

I opened the doors.

Three more people got on.

"Snyderville?" I asked.

They nodded and got on.

"How do we pay?"

I glanced at the clock on the dash.

"We're late, we'll figure it out when we get there."

They shrugged and sat down.

Clock?

That clock was not there before.

Hmm.

I glanced at my directions again before checking my mirrors to pull out. The directions were no longer on my phone, but on a built-in GPS device.

Hmm.

I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but I swung out of the stop and kept going.

There were a couple more stops before we hit the country.

It had been late afternoon when we left.

Now the sun had gone down and it was getting dark.

There had been a small amount of talking and background babble, but as we turned to drive into the velvet dark of the country, a hush fell over the cab as the passengers turned to watch the quiet moonscape fly by.

We rode into the darkness of the country road in near silence.

With the city lights behind us, all the stars appeared as dusk turned into night.

In the driver's seat, I started to notice how little things had changed. Systems were more integrated. The controls felt more natural. And I - well I was now part of the bus, somehow, like we were one creature.

The lights of Snyderville appeared on the horizon, and the quiet spell of the country that had come over the passengers passed. Some, it seemed, started to wake up.

Wake up?

Last I knew, it was only twenty minutes to Snyderville.

I decided not to ask questions. Bit late for that now, wasn't it?

I pulled into the stop for Hospitality House and opened the doors. The passengers crowded around me with their phones, trying to pay. A flood of new passengers from Hospitality House came forward to get on the bus.

In the midst of the chaos, I noticed that Hospitality House was both like and unlike any dorm I'd ever seen, and the people there were from all generations - young college students, elders, children, their parents - it seemed like a whole village lived there. A sign for an attached Chabad house pointed around the corner of the hallway. Lovely smells from the cafeteria wafted my way.

What?

I grabbed the driver's manual and looked again for directions on how to pay.

Again, I just saw page after page of yearbook photos, although now that I was paying attention, they were all of - drivers? And groups of passengers? Posed, though, as if they were a class.

No one else could figure it out, either.

Finally, I suggested that we all pose for a photo.

Someone grabbed a staff member at Hospitality House to take our picture, who was more than happy to oblige.

"We'll figure it out when we get there," I said, this time with more confidence.

Before we were allowed to leave, we were fed a large and delicious meal by the Hospitality House, which was followed by entertainment, and then another meal. And then leftovers for the road.

(It was only right, that they should show us hospitality, no?)

We finally boarded the bus again and headed back to the city. The bus had expanded to larger than the campus busses to accommodate the number of passengers.

The sun was already starting to warm the countryside along the hills.

How long were we at the Hospitality House?

I knew it would be a long journey, and I made a calculated decision: we were going to take the rough road.

There were no directions for this road.

I hit a green button that had not been there before, and turned off the main highway into what looked like the grass.

But it opened up to being a gravel road that we somehow glided over, almost as if we were flying.

I slowed down as we passed through Hardnook, as small town on the way.

It was a very small and rough looking town.

Locals looked up from their drinks or labors or both to glare at the outsiders from the city who dared to roll through here.

I sped up.

However, I did not speed up fast enough, before a couple of particularly angry men started to approach the bus with a shovel and a gun.

The man with a gun pointed it at the bus, and I slammed a white button that had not been there a moment beforehand.

The bus screamed as shots ricocheted against the side.

With a burst of bright light, so much so that the men covered their faces from it, the bus burst from the ground and leapt into the air.

We were now flying across the countryside.

The passengers gasped in delight and relief. In my exhilaration, I barely noticed how I now had extra limbs that fed into the mechanics of the bus.

We were flying!

We landed back into the city a full loop and a full day after we had first departed.

I opened the doors, and the passengers scanned a QR code that had not been there before on their way out.

To pay?

"No charge," I told them, to their silent question.

They filed out, satisfied.

I unhooked my seatbelt, then unhooked my extra limbs, which disappeared into the driver's seat.

The white and green buttons were gone.

The GPS system was gone.

The controls looked just as they had when I started.

"Hmm," I said.

I scanned the QR code on my way out, and firmly shut the doors.

When I looked at my phone, the site pulled up a page of the driver's manual.

Ours.

Our class picture, just like the others, was now memorialized in the driver's manual.

A second later, a notification for an online deposit came through.

It was exactly enough to pay my bills.

[shieldagent93]

Well, finished reading Marcy’s Journal and I’m not entirely sure how to feel about it. There were some parts I really liked, some parts that hurt with the foreshadowing (basically 99% of the Andrias-related parts), and then parts that felt kinda dragging. I’ll go into a full depth spoiler review under the cut here.

So, parts I liked. The parts involving Andrias all hurt, but were great. I liked seeing Marcy get to build up her own crew in Newtopia (though now I’m sad that they’re also included in the goodbyes the trio never got to have). All the entries involving characters reuniting were great too. You could really feel the excitement of them being back together.

I love seeing more of Marcy’s autistic traits (maybe she wasn’t initially meant to be autistic, but as an autistic person, she just spoke to me this entire book). Her not liking the texture of eggs, how she doesn’t really let her geek flag fly even with Sasha and Anne, her wishing she was better at people, her clinging to Anne and Sasha because she doesn’t think anyone else would really give her the time of day, it all speaks to the neurodivergent experience.

I liked seeing more of Anne’s thoughts regarding Sasha and Marcy in 3A, especially that one where she felt really desperate and was talking in all caps about how no one else was understanding how bad it was and how she was the only one who could save everyone. I wish we could have gotten like a whole episode on that in place of one of the “Wacky Adventures on Earth” eps. 

The story of Anne and Marcy’s first meeting, oh my god, it was so cute! Just little Anne and Marcy at the beach trying (and failing) to protect Marcy’s giant sandcastle 🥺

The True Colors entry was heartbreaking. The hurried handwriting showing Marcy’s turmoil, the darker spots where tears had previously fell, the charred portions of the page, the “WHAT have I DONE?”, the last words that Marcy would write in that journal until after the invasion just being “I’m so sorry” in such small text...

That entry freaking got me.

But I guess onto the not so positive parts.

We still know hardly anything when it comes to Marcy’s or Sasha’s family life. On Sasha’s side, we know that Sasha’s parents both have different partners now and and one of those partners also has kids. Not really anything on which parent she’s living with, the custody situation in general, or the family dynamics. But I can understand the book not going into it much since it was in Marcy and Anne’s point of views, not Sasha’s.

On Marcy’s, we know they held off moving until Marcy came back, had a birthday celebration for Marcy’s 13th, and that they cried when reuniting with Marcy. That’s it really. Given that this was Marcy’s journal and the majority of it was in her own point of view, I expected at least a few more hints.

Then there was the sorta “Episode Commentary” effect once we got to the point in the series where Marcy and Anne reunited. At first, it was kinda nice getting to see Marcy’s (and later Anne’s) inner thoughts to the plot at hand. 

But after a while (probably partway through S2B for me), it was just feeling a little repetitive. And I was definitely feeling tired of it through a good chunk of the S3A bits.

This “Episode Commentary” feel was at its most obvious for me with the S3 entries Anne wasn’t in. 3x07b aka the one where Marcy was possessed? She just happens to be thinking a lot about Marcy then. 3x16b with the Andrias backstory? Now, Anne’s wondering exactly what his deal is and how he became the way that he is. 

I’m not saying that either of those entries were bad (I actually liked both of them), but it’s definitely evident that they put those entries at those spots to act sort of like a placeholder to the fact that Anne doesn’t appear in those episodes and thus doesn’t have a POV to share.

I wish there was more sort of “between the episodes” type content where we could hear more about the adventures that might have happened off screen. That’s what I loved about the first arc in the book, it was almost all new content to us. Names and faces that we either hasn’t seen or had, but barely knew anything about. It gave new depth to the world of Amphibia and its characters.

If not that, then perhaps piggybacking off of events in canon. Like, we know Anne sent those letters to Sasha and Marcy’s parents, maybe there would have been an entry where they got the letters and talked to the Boonchuy parents about it and then Anne’s parents talk about it with her. Still goes with canon while giving us more new content.

Overall, I liked the book. I don’t regret buying it and I raced through it in like two hours. But I do get the same vibes from it that I got from Amphibia S3: it had the potential to be great, but turned out to be simply good. 

That’s just my two cents though.

[chakazard]

I went to see Patti Smith for the third time, because she is far too important a part of my personal mythology not to. Patti Smith is a guide post on my journey to discover myself. She made the world safe for stubborn awkward clarinet playing poet/rock stars and I may not be in her debt but in some small way follow in these footsteps. She is someone who exudes spirituality with every syllable and then turns around, spitting, declaring that she will not sell her soul to god, furious at the presumption of Jesus that he thought he had the rights to die for her sins! Patti butterflies between genres and genders and media without affixing herself to any of them. Considering the river of influence flows both ways, she exists in the center of the Venn diagram between all my favorite flavors of poetry and rock, the two art forms which speak directly to my soul.

Patti Smith is one of the most dynamic, transcendent, and evocative performers alive, and her powers may have only grown with age. The Field Marshal still leading the charge of rock n roll against the enemies of care and creativity. She opened with Dancing Barefoot, and the sound was a spiritual experience. She commanded energy and attention from everyone in the room and fed it back to us filtered through her voice. Lenny Kaye is still standing to her left after all this time and being one of the coolest fuckers to ever touch six strings. For the first few songs, she seemed ageless and eternal, repeatedly abusing her mic stand and commanding the attention of everyone in the room, (Free Money was twice as loud and fast as the record, and while Lenny and Tony Shanhan sing more lead vocals than you might expect, her voice hasn't lost any of its strength). Patti then had to interrupt the show to change her socks because they were bunching up in her shoes and making her uncomfortable ("I'm not dancing like this because I'm intoxicated, I have a sock problem!") which probably made this the most unique show I have ever attended and I loved it. It was a very human and relatable moment and Patti even made changing her socks seem artistic. She then followed that up with a positively beautiful rendition of Because the Night that brought a tear or two to my eye.

Partway through, Patti took a break and her band ran through a medley of songs about time including an unexpected but delightful Cher cover from Shanahan before the boss came back for the last half of Time Is On My Side. Patti sounded like the oldest being on Earth for a cover of Dylan's One Too Many Mornings and then got possessed by the Spirit of Fucking Itself (which popped into Lenny for a fiery guitar solo, then returned) for an unbelievably vibrant and sexual performance of Ain't It Strange. Afterwards, a cake was presented and balloons were dropped. Let me tell you. Nothing is as blissful or addictive as batting balloons around! It doesn't matter that I'm an adult surrounded by strangers. The excitement I felt whenever a balloon came close enough to hit was such a strangely tangible expression of joy. A blistering cover of the Chamber Brothers' Time Has Come Today gave way to an impassioned rant in which Patti got so invested in screaming to encourage the crowd to DO SOMETHING and make this bullshit world a better place, weaving lines of poetry in amongst primal yells, that she missed a few cues and the segue into People Have the Power. That gave her a sin to ask penance for "for fucking up the last 14 and a half minutes… but in my defense it was 14 and a half minutes of pure unadulterous joy!" (or did she say adulterous?). Her daughter Jesse joined the band to took up residence at the piano and they gave us a rendition of Gloria to shake heaven and Earth. Jay Dee Dougherty gave us a blistering drumming performance that was just as mind-blowing as it was in 1975 and Patti left us with one of the greatest things I have ever heard a human say in person. "People! A new year is coming! Be righteous! Use your voice!

Be good! AND BE REALLY FUCKING BAD!" There's my Patti, the one who sees both sides and that neither one is correct but they are two sides of the same thing. I left amidst the sounds of popping balloons, picked up a copy of Patti's new photography book, and headed back to the train, feeling like I had no fears and no limitations, and if I could only keep this feeling then I would look back a year from now and know that 2023 was one hell of a year, for me and for humanity. I talked to my sister a couple of days later and she said she had a friend who also attended and walked away with the same feeling. It was palpable, walking away from the venue, hearing the odd stomp of a balloon being burst. All people find their best selves in different ways. Patti Smith, as a performer, a poet, a concept, and someone victorious over 76 years on Earth, helps me see mine.

[kxlinthesky]

EPISODE 3 LIGHT NOVEL Chapter 2-6 English Translation

The police were ready and waiting at the station when the train arrived that morning. Hude Lou had apparently send a notice to them as well, so they knew something must have happened on board. They were not, however, expecting to see the train roll up with the back ends of the deluxe and second-class carriages battered and singed and the last carriage completely missing, and they fell into a frenzy as they tried to figure out just what on Earth had happened.

Mastema took it upon himself to explain the situation to the gathered police officers, and they really had no choice but to believe what a prominent politician like him said. They’d come to arrest a thief, but the one they ended up arresting was Michelle for the murder of Dr. Johnny. Some officers carried his body away, as well as transported a now-comatose Marie to a nearby hospital. They’d wanted to question her as well about what had happened given her close ties to the case, but as it stood no one knew when she’d regain consciousness.

And as the son of the murderer and another person heavily involved in the case, the police naturally tried to take Low in, too, but his Possession was too powerful for them, and he was instead handed off to the church. With lifeless, almost doll-like eyes, the boy was led into a horse-drawn carriage by Mastema, and Owl saw them off with mixed feelings brewing in his heart.

 Owl’s group of four absentmindedly watched the police scramble around. The reality of the situation, everything they’d felt that had gotten them through the night, hadn’t yet sunk in for any of them. None of them had needed to be questioned by the police thanks to Mastema’s excellent explanation, though no one knew why he’d done that for them. They were all gathered near the carriage waiting to whisk Owl and Ellie away to the McCreech estate.

“Clemens, Elnora, you guys were headed for the church, right? Want us to come with you partway?” Owl asked.

“No, that’s fine, we made our own arrangements,” Elnora replied. “More importantly, what’ve you been looking at?”

She was referring to a bundle of papers in Owl’s hands that he definitely didn’t have when they’d boarded the train. Owl glanced down at them. “… Johnny’s documents.”

“Documents?”

“Most of them burned up, but some of them were still legible.” Owl fanned them out for everyone to see. The pages were fairly scorched in places, but they were clearly the death certificates from Johnny’s suite, plus some letters and medical charts.

Elnora’s eyes bugged out at the sight. “Whoa, hold on, are you okay taking those with you? Aren’t the police treating the whole deluxe carriage as a crime scene?!”

“They won’t know if you don’t tell them,” Owl brazenly shot back. “Besides, these are mine – they’re a present from Hude Lou.”

“Huh? What’re you saying?”

“When I first investigated Johnny’s room these weren’t in there, but the next time I went in there they were. Hude Lou must’ve left them out for me to see. Ergo, these are mine.”

“… I seriously don’t get you…” mumbled Elnora, shaking her head. She turned her attention to Ellie and instructed her, “Don’t do what he does, okay?”

Ellie nodded… then timidly glanced up at Owl and asked, “Owl, are you mad?”

“Mad? Me? No, why?” Owl tilted his head.

“You seem kind of weird.”

Owl fell silent at that. His gaze slid away for a moment before he murmured pensively, “I really am just a kid, if Ellie can see through me like this.”

“What now?” Elnora tapped her foot, scowling. “If something else happened then hurry up and spit it out. And quit making things so gloomy while you’re at it.”

Owl cast a sharp glance at her out of the corner of his eye, then gave a massive sigh and spread his left hand open. His bare left hand. “I lost one of my gloves. Just one, not both.”

“… You didn’t quite lose it, you burned it,” Clemens pointed out.

“Yeah, I did.” Owl sighed, shaking his hand back and forth. “It’s a shame, too, it was really useful, I liked it a lot….”

“Poor Owl.” Ellie gripped his left hand tight and used her other free hand to carefully pat his shoulder.

The detective’s head drooped from the girl’s consolation. “And even though I went to all the trouble of solving the case… I lost my precious glove, and I’m not even getting paid. I got less than nothing from all this.”

With his head bowed and his shoulders slumped, he was a completely different man from the one who had commanded the battle inside the train. He might be just a teenager, but it was still depressing to see the usually aloof detective so down in the dumps.

Clemens and Elnora didn’t quite know what to do. “Oh man, you don’t have to be so sad about it,” Elnora said as comfortingly as she could. “Look, I can get you a new glove. And by me, I mean Clemens.”

“I’ll what now?” Clemens clearly hadn’t expected her to volunteer his services like that.

“Yeah, who else? You can totally make a glove or two, can’t you?”

“I mean, I could make a normal glove, but –”

“What he said! See, Owl, good for you! You better look forward to it!” Elnora tipped Owl a heavy wink.

But Owl couldn’t look forward to it. He gazed at Clemens through his bangs, shaking his head. “That was a custom glove filled with special chemicals, there’s no way Clemens could make a new one… Tristan had to special order it.”

“I’d figured as much,” said Clemens.

“And if I tried to order a new one, I wouldn’t be able to pay rent,” continued Owl, thoroughly despondent. “Byron would start nagging me again….”

“Rather than get so hung up on the details, you could just take on more requests and earn the extra cash you need to so don’t have to avoid paying rent.”

“I wasn’t avoiding paying rent. I just kept talking my way out of it and putting it off, is all.”

“… Well, everything will work out even if you don’t worry yourself to death over it, right? You’re headed for the McCreech estate now, aren’t you?” Clemens poked Owl’s shoulder, a meaningful smile rising to his face. “Salvation exists in the hearts of those who seek it.”

■■■■■■■■■■

Situated on a small hill overlooking a small forest, the McCreech mansion was a peculiar Victorian Gothic-style affair with a circular window installed into the roof.

A young butler stood before the estate’s gate, gazing down the street-lined path before him. He gave a sigh of relief, pressing a hand to his chest as he did. “Ah, good,” he said. “See, that carriage coming up the lane must be them, Hannah. Owl and Ellie will be arriving shortly. I’m quite glad to see they didn’t get lost.”

It was Ralph standing there, and he was speaking to a maid by his side, presumably Hannah. But she didn’t share his cheeriness – her tone was sullen as she replied, “Ralph, you know I don’t have superhuman vision like you. I can’t see who’s coming from here. Besides, why was Owl even called up at all when the master, a state alchemist, is already here? It’s clearly suspicious.”

Ralph chuckled quietly, unmindful of her prickly attitude. “You say that, but just this morning you borrowed the kitchen to bake scones for him.” He peered at her face as she glanced away with a huff, then delicately sniffed the air. “Yes, I smell fresh scones, clotted cream, raspberry jam – ah, apple jam, too. They’ll have quite the warm welcome waiting for them.”

“Wha – shut up!” Hannah whipped her head around to glare at him, face flushed. “Don’t just smell someone like that, that’s rude! Do you want to be collared?”

“My, how scary.”

Hannah sniffed and turned away again.

“I’m sorry?” offered Ralph. His attempt at a sincere apology was somewhat marred by the smile that refused to drop from his face.

“You two seem like you’re having fun.”

Ralph and Hannah straightened up at the new voice. A tall gentleman was approaching them from the other side of the gate. “Has my son arrived yet?” the man said.

“He will be arriving shortly, Master.”

“Good, I’m looking forward to it.”

Tap-tap-tap went the man’s cane as he steadily strode towards them. His smile was calm and refined, but his gaze was sharp as a knife behind the monocle he wore over his left eye. In fact, the monocle looked rather similar to a certain someone else’s….

“Do you think he’ll be surprised to find out I’m also here?” the gentleman asked cheerfully, his head tilted to listen to the still far-off sound of the carriage wheels clacking across the ground.

“I would imagine so.”

“Do you think I should hug him?” The man spread his arms wide.

“I believe he would not like that.”

“Haha, that’s one of his cute points.”

“I would humbly recommend that you not.”

Ralph and Hannah quietly shook their heads.

Owl and Ellie’s carriage would arrive shortly. The instant they passed through the gate, a new story would begin. Awaiting them inside the halls was a joyous bride, unsightly jealousy, and a tale of blood spanning countless long years, and the young detective would once again be forced to break through the thorns twined tightly around the case.

With a creak, the wheel of fate turned once more.

■■■■■■■■■■

The carriage thundered on, but inside silence reigned.

Mastema’s elbow was pressed to the sill, his chin in his hand, humming a tune to himself. A hymn, maybe, or a psalm. His finger wove through the air like a baton as he quietly sang,

 Our God in Heaven

Our shepherd of love

I am your servant

Who won’t clear away your grief

 “… Ah, what a lovely trip.” Mastema cut himself off to whisper to himself, happy as could be. “I didn’t expect to see a vampire, of all things. And to think there was such a powerful individual still around… quite the unforeseen harvest.” His head tilted to the man sitting opposite him. “Well, then, let’s talk, shall we?”

But the other man was silent. His head hung low, pale blue-gray eyes unseeing and hollow.

It was the man who had gone mad on the train and lost everything, he who had become the guard dog of the underworld, Low.

“… I have nothing to say,” Low eventually murmured. Even the wings of a bug were louder than him.

Strong fingers grabbed at his chin and forcibly pulled his head up to look ahead. “Look at me, mongrel. Don’t turn your eyes from me.”

Mastema’s voice seemed to freeze Low to his very core. The pressure emanating from him… the smiling man could easily crush him to a pulp. Low lost all strength in his body under the weight of his presence. “Wh-What are you….” Wracked with violent shudders, Low clung to the seat of the carriage, almost as if he thought it could protect him.

Seeing the boy shrink from whim like a whipped dog, Mastema’s tone took on a gentler touch. “There’s no need to be frightened, Low. You have been chosen.”

“… Chosen?”

“Oh, yes. What if I told you that unimaginable love existed behind the veil of this world? It sounds wonderful, does it not?”

“Wh-What are you saying…?” gasped Low. The poor boy was stiff as a board.

“You desire orders, do you not? Orders you would stake your life on, orders from an absolute master.”

“Uh….”

“That is your happiness, I wager.”

Hearing it said so plainly, Low couldn’t object. Mastema’s words were spot-on, after all. When Low had taken orders from Marie, he had been happy. Unwaveringly, captivatingly happy. Obedience had been his happiness. Yes, he had certainly been happy, because that’s what he’d craved all along – something absolute that would love him, something he could offer his everything to.

… But he’d lost all of that. He had nothing now. And as he came to terms with that, his spirits sunk once more.

 “I can give that to you,” whispered Mastema.

“Huh…?” Low’s eyes flew wide.

What kind of nonsense…? But when Low tried to voice his incredulity, he once again found himself unable to utter a sound. This person, this existence before him, held power more overwhelming than even Marie’s. His was a higher power that simply could not be defied.

Low understood in that moment… and he nervously nodded to Mastema.

“Do your best to be of use to me, my little mongrel.”

Mastema’s answering smile was a slash across his face. His shoulders shook gently from his quiet chuckling.

“The other world is much more fitting for you…. Welcome, to the jet-black darkness.”

And Mastema began to hum once more.

 Our God in Heaven

Our shepherd of love

I am your lightning

A lance to shatter your sorrow

 A slant of sunlight fell on his profile as he sang his hymn, but his feet, where the light didn’t reach… were impossibly dark. The contrast was stunning, almost like a painting. Low found himself captivated by the sight. Something began to sprout in his chest.

“Ah….”

Yes, something that he thought he had lost after his heart had fallen into the depths of despair.

“By any chance, would the person who would return my love… be you…?”

Mastema’s only reply was a fathomless smile. It pierced Low’s heart like an arrow, and the sprout in his chest bloomed to full life in an instant. Pure delight coursed through his entire being. The boy clung to Mastema’s legs, almost as if driven by instinct. “I will do whatever you command…!” Low pledged to his newfound love.

 He knew nothing of what was to come next.

Fin

original written by Nagaya Kawaji here

[phantomrose96]

Joyrider

(Welcome to another warm-up writing piece. cw for mild body horror)

...

The mall food court doubled rather nicely as a battle-dome.

It fit the bill: a flat and circular arena, crowned two-stories up by a hemisphere of glass windows which lapsed iridescent in the maelstrom of ecto-fire.

Spectator chairs sat empty, hastily shoved back and knocked over by the Amity Park mall patrons who knew to leg it at the first sound of explosions and the first sign of the atmosphere tipping dark. Admittedly, the patron evacuation took longer than Danny anticipated, and he backed himself into a corner playing defense for the 50 some-odd people who, worn-out on the every-day mundanity of ghost alarms, took their time gathering belongings, or shutting off burners, or working in a few last bites of a burger.

So with the crowd gone and the stage their own, Danny found himself pressed back against a vat of french fry oil, hands braced against the handle of a broom he held out horizontally, which the ghost gripped with equal measure and shoved her full weight against.

“Oh, why not take a little dip, Ghost Boy? I hear the water’s nice.”

“No thanks,” Danny answered, shoving harder. “I never was much of a hot tub guy. You on the other hand—”

Danny set a foot forward and pivoted, body fueling the torque as he spun the broom, and tore the ghost with him, a pirouette to swap their spots and jam the ghost back-pressed to the fryer.

“—you seem like you’d like it hot.”

The ghost barked a laugh, jaw stretching lower and loose than Danny was comfortable with.

“Ha! You sure? Not very heroic of you to deep fry this girl I’m possessing.”

Danny faltered. His grip slipped. His blood chilled to ice as the information clicked in place – as he recognized the sensation of a ghost talking through someone. This wasn’t the ghost’s own form. This was some girl. How had he not felt—

A blast took him by the ribs. Danny doubled over, immediately kicked back. A foot found contact with his face, driving him down, until the girl’s wet and slippery fingers pinned him down by the wrists.

Danny strained. He could pivot his wrist a fraction of an inch left or right, but he could not break the hold.

“Get off me!”

And a voice answered from behind him.

“I can help with that.”

Danny craned his neck. Upside down, vantage point from the floor, he registered Sam’s combat boots slam into focus. She bent to one knee, a bazooka locked on the other. It charged, whined, and erupted with an explosion of green light.

The ghost shrieked. It took only an instant of resistance before the ghost tore cleanly from the girl possessed.

“Now if you don’t mind me—” Tucker, by the voice. Danny heard the whine of a Fenton Thermos heating up. “—I’d officially like to change my order from fries to soup.”

The beam burst forth, and the writhing, shrieking, yelping form of the exorcised ghost clawed and scratched in Danny’s direction before the thermos consumed her in full.

“Really? ‘Fries to soup’? Even Danny can do better than that.”

“Hey,” Danny answered.

“I was thinking on my feet, Sam. I didn’t hear any witty quips from you.”

The conversation fell away from Danny’s focus as the full human weight of the possessed girl dropped down on him. Gently, Danny gripped her by the shoulder, lifting her as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Your parents’ anti-possession gear is getting good. I don’t think I’ve seen an exorcism work that quickly.” Sam’s voice, now at his side. Danny glanced over, finding her kneeling beside him. “Is she hurt?”

Danny gave the girl a once-over. She was pale, cold, lips seeping blue. A mottled, blackish bruise spread across her temple, partially hidden beneath loose red bangs.

“I don’t… totally know. I didn’t land any hits on her, thankfully. But who knows what that ghost might have done. We should call an ambulance.”

“On it,” Tucker, from behind.

“Do you… do you think the bazooka might have hurt her?” Sam asked.

Danny shook his head. “Mom and Dad have blasted each other with that thing a hundred times. Dad got himself possessed by the box ghost for a trial run. It doesn’t hurt people. …Maybe she just needs a minute.”

“Lay her down, maybe?”

“Good idea.”

Danny eased forward, careful in his movements. Something about his grip slipped, sliding loose and rolling forward, and she fell unceremoniously from his arms, shoulder knocking ground as she lay there partially turned on her side.

“Danny!”

“Sorry! I didn’t—something slipped!”

“Well don’t leave her like—” Sam gripped a hand to the girl’s shoulder, weight behind her wrist to roll the girl fully onto her back. Sam’s hand froze, and then yanked away.

“What?” Danny asked.

“That didn’t feel right.” Sam only stared down, her hand hovering, twitching in increments. “Way too cold… and loose.”

“Loose?”

“Danny, look at her hands. What’s wrong with her hands?”

Danny looked. The skin stretched and wrapped the bones of her fingers as if rotated partway around. Her fingernails sat off-center, twisted around and bunched up like a glove. Sam’s hand came back into view, and she clamped it to the girl’s wrist.

“It’s like jelly. Danny it’s like jelly. Why is she this cold? Danny, I don’t think she’s—”

Something new caught Danny’s eye, a purple discoloration peeking out from the bottom ruffles of the girl’s shirt. His hands seemed to move on their own as he reached down, and pinched the bottom of her shirt, and pulled it back.

Black bruising consumed her torso, caving deep and bloating, pruning around the trails of heavy stitching that ran along the tracks of surgical cuts carving through her abdomen.

Danny yanked his hand away as if burned.

“Danny, she’s not breathing.”

The rest of Danny’s thoughts drowned in the swelling wail of the approaching ambulance siren.

…

Outside the Fenton Portal, green lighting doused the only part of Danny’s form not hidden in shadow, and danced with the fire of his glowing green eyes. Danny uncapped the thermos in his hand, and he trailed his thumb along the eject switch.

A new consuming green light belted forth, lasting only a moment until it vanished with a twin-braided ghost in its wake. The ghost blinked, smoothing over her hair and pulling the ends of her braids over her shoulders.

“Oh, it’s the Ghost Boy again. I thought you’d just throw me back in the Ghost Zone. Are you interested in a round 2?”

“No, not interested,” Danny answered, tone colder than ice.

“Yeesh, you’re quite sour. No more puns?”

“Why were you possessing that girl?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you possessing her?”

The ghost blinked, green portal light mixing murkily with her purple eyes. “No particular reason. It was just a joyride.”

“A joyr—she was dead.”

Another blink. “Yeah I know. She was sitting in the morgue. She was in like a car crash or something and they already took all her organs. They didn’t need her. And I was gonna give her back, but you had to go and make it a whole thing.” The girl swooped forward, eyes wide and roving over Danny. “You seem mad. Wanna call a truce?” She stuck a hand forward. “I’m Melissa, by the way.”

Danny jolted, eyes flashing brighter. “No, you’re not. That girl was Melissa.”

“Oh for real?” Melissa let out a chuckle. “Crazy coincidence. I like don’t even know that many Melissas. Anyway truce?”

“No.” Danny ran his fingers through his hair. “You were possessing the body of a dead girl and you made me fight her! Don’t you see how that’s—that’s so—how fucked up—that you’d even—”

“Well I mean, I didn’t make you fight me. You made that happen. I was minding my business.”

“Doing what?”

“Shopping. Why else would I take a body for a joyride? I stole some cute clothes to wear. Stole some food to eat. Oh! That outfit I was wearing when we were fighting? Yeah I picked that out. She was in like a hospital gown when I found her. Super cute improvement right?”

An ectoblast sounded and connected with the wall behind Melissa, missing her a foot to the right. Danny’s hand glowed, and his eyes focused with a razor sharpness.

“Stop talking like that, okay? It’s pissing me off. I need you to tell me you know this was fucked up.”

Melissa put a finger to her chin. “I mean I guess stealing is kinda wrong. They were all like, big box corporate stores don’t worry.”

“The. Dead. Body.”

And Melissa fell silent a moment, violet eyes probing deep into Danny’s before widening. “Oh. Oh you’re like for-real mad about that. Like actually. I thought you were like, making an ironic joke.”

“Why the hell would I be joking about this??”

Melissa cocked her head to the side. “Well because you’re doing it too, duh. Like, duh.”

A huff of air cut against Danny’s teeth, an involuntary noise, incredulous, a guffaw he didn’t consciously make. The jelly sensation of decomposing flesh was back under his fingers. “I am not—would never—I’ve never even seen a dead body before this thing with you and I’d never in a million years even think for even a fucking second that I’d want to possess a dead body. What’s wrong with you?!”

Melissa bobbed a little in the air, ends of her braids trailing over the straps of her ephemeral sundress. “See this is why I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not. What are you talking about? You’re doing it right now.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “The black-haired boy whose corpse you’re possessing. Why are you allowed to do it?”

Danny froze. He laughed, heavy, with an uncomfortable force. “Myself, you mean? I’m not possessing myself. I am myself. I’m a half-ghost.”

Melissa met his laugh. “Oh what? No way like, that’s your own corpse? How’d you even get back to it in time? That’s crazy lucky like you must have died right near a portal or something.”

An involuntary shiver traced down Danny’s spine.

“…I’m not dead.” His eyes shifted around, and Danny dropped to the floor. He set a hand against the wall, throwing on the lights to the Fenton basement. Rings swept around his form, green iridescent eyes sweeping blue, white hair seeping black. “Look. Literally look at me. I’m not dead.”

And Melissa swooped closer. She set a finger to her bottom lip and hovered a foot in front of Danny, drinking him in. She swept to the side, like a swimmer in the water, sweeping around him in a full arc. She edged closer and pinched her fingers against the exposed skin on Danny’s arm. He flinched.

“Oh wow there’s like, not even any decay or anything. Your human brain even feels like it’s working it’s all like, electro-magnety. How long were you dead before you got back to your body?”

“I didn’t die.”

“Then what did happen?”

“I got shocked by the Fenton Portal, okay? It was just a lab accident and it gave me powers.”

“Oh. Oh.” Melissa’s eyes shot wide. “Oh you didn’t die near a portal… You died in a portal. You didn’t even have to get back to find your body at all. You must have appeared like practically on top of your own body. That’s crazy lucky. That’s so lucky. Your body was like, probably only dead a microsecond before you hopped back in. No wonder it’s so well-preserved.”

Danny swatted her away. “You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Melissa floated backwards. “What do you think is more likely? A bajillion ecto-volts somehow gave you superpowers that exactly mirror everything a regular dead ghost can do? …Or you died, and became a regular old ghost, and did what any regular old ghost can do, which is possess a freshly-dead dead body?”

“…I’m half-ghost,” Danny answered, human heart pounding in his chest. “I know what I am.”

Melissa bobbed back, feet pointed backwards until the soles of her feet skimmed the matrix of the portal. “I see you’ve made up your mind. That’s alright. But it was still pretty mean of you to accuse me like a big hypocrite like that.”

“I’ll destroy you if you ever try that again.”

“Oh I’ll try asking permission next time okay? Promise.” Melissa’s feet sank into the surface of the portal. “But, before I go, I’ve just got one more question to leave you with.”

“Go.”

“Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?”

“Go.”

“Maybe you’ll have an answer for me next time I see you. Byeee!”

A spark of white erupted from the portal, consuming, absorbing, and fizzling out as Melissa’s form vanished into the ether beyond.

…

“Hey! Yo! Danny, come check this out!”

Danny rounded the stairs, unsocked feet creaking the floorboards with each step. Danny yawned, and blinked, and rubbed at his bruised eyes with the sleeve of his pajama top.

“Still asleep? That’s fine! You don’t have to do anything. Just come over here and look at what your old pop’s been up to.”

Danny entered the living room, where Jack sat hunched on the couch surrounded by an arsenal of power tools, rags, oil, soldering equipment, and scrap metal. From beside him he hefted a bazooka into view.

“This is the Fentonzooka 3.2.17. Amped up and equipped with all the latest in ghost-busting and human-saving technology.”

Danny blinked. “3.2.17?”

“Yep. This baby’s got 17 bug patches, tweaks, and internal improvements since the 3.2.0. The 3.2.0 was the advent of the snack compartment in the side. Look!” Jack spun a dial, revealing a chamber half-filled with pistachios.

Danny only stared.

Jack hefted the bazooka onto his shoulder. “Even better, Mads and I finally got rid of the last little sting humans feel when it’s fired. It’s now completely 100% harmless to humans. It feels like the breeze from a standing fan when it hits ya.” Jack turned, and he aimed the barrel at Danny. “Wanna try it out?”

Danny stood, and Danny stared, and Danny said nothing.

What might happen when it hit him?

Would it hit like the gentle breeze of a fan? Wash over him like air conditioning? Tingle cool and pleasant against his human fingers, human face, human skin?

Would it do something else?

Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?

Jack eased the bazooka a bit off center, pulling his eyes away from the sight. He stared directly at Danny. “Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to try it out?”

Danny stood.

Danny stared.

Danny wondered if he’d have an answer for Melissa the next time he saw her.

[hoe-doroki]

ana’s bnha x reader masterlist

first updated 11.17.20 last updated 07.13.21 desktop version found here bkdk masterlist: desktop | mobile

fics [38] drabbles [13]

Thanks for dropping by! I want to note that I no longer write x reader and instead am writing bakudeku shipfic. So! By all means, read, like, comment on my fics here! But I can't recommend that you follow me unless you like bakudeku. Hope you enjoy your time here regardless! <3

legend:

character x character

Title w/ link | [rating] | word count | genre

Synopsis

ratings are bracketed: e.g. [g], [t], [m], [e]

[g] - appropriate for general audiences [t] - appropriate for audiences 13+ [m] - contains non-graphic adult themes [e] - explicit, 18+ readers only

🌸 = personal faves

characters x reader: no ship (1), aizawa (2), bakugou (12), endeavor (1), iida (2), kaminari (1), kirishima (4), midoriya (7), shinsou (2), todoroki (19)

Everything is in alphabetical order <3

no ship

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.6k | hurt/comfort

The results are in and your class is all with you as you process the results

aizawa x reader

Stress Relief | [e] | 3k | smut

There's a new regulation that forces you to take an extra class before you can graduate college. When you learn that Eraserhead is teaching the class, you’re a little more interested.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.6k | hurt/comfort 

Aizawa reminds that you were prepared for this and, together, you can handle it.

bakugou x reader

Can’t Find My Breath | [e] | 4.2k | smut 🌸

At the beginning of the day, Ground Zero was just another hero you wrote articles about. Now it’s nighttime and you’ve just left a bar together. Companion to The Rest with No Sound

Christmas Cold | [g] | 1k | fluff

You and Katsuki manage to make it to your parents' house for the holidays, but you've come down with a little cold.

Doing Something Right | [e] | 1.8k | smut

You’re pregnant and happily enjoying domestic bliss when Katsuki comes in, unable to resist you.

Frustration | [e] | 3.1k | smut

request. After a long day of work, Katsuki comes home frustrated and you, suffering from a different kind of frustration yourself, know exactly what will help you both.

Gorgeous | [e] | 1.5k | smut, hurt/comfort

ask. When you have a negative response to Katsuki touching you in a moment of insecurity, he intends to do whatever he can to alleviate your fears.

version 1: petite reader

version 2: curvy reader

Magic | [e] | 2.2k | smut

request. Katsuki comes home early and catches you...taking care of yourself.

Miniskirts | [e] | 0.8k | smut 🌸

After a long day, Katsuki takes a shower and his thoughts turn to you.

On the Job | [e] | 4.5k | smut 🌸

Super human society has a secret. Aphrodisiac quirks aren’t just of porn and fantasy--they’re common and too often fall into the wrong hands. When heroes get hit, someone has to be able to activate the quirk’s release condition. If they’re single, who might that someone be?

You.

The Rest with No Sound | [t] | 8.5k | slow burn, fluff 🌸

Bakugou thinks that people who wake up not remembering where they are are idiots. This is confirmed when it happens to him, head aching from a night of drinking. Idiot. But when he looks over, and sees you there, he realizes he doesn’t remember anything. So he has to gather the scattered pieces from the day before to figure out exactly how he ended up with you. Companion to Can’t Find My Breath

Stay | [g] | 2.2k | hurt/comfort 🌸

ask. The last thing you want to do on a rough day is worry Bakugou with your problems. So you try to hide it. You should have known better.

Steamy | [e] | 2.7k | smut

request. You're a pro hero, rising in the ranks and, happy though he is for you, Katsuki's old jealousy begins to roil. After you've been paraded around all evening as one of Japan's finest, Katsuki finds himself feeling more than a little possessive, and can't help himself from taking you as his.

Steel and Lace | [e] | 3.8k | smut

The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.

endeavor x reader

When the Smoke Clears | [e] | 17.4k | slow burn, smut

Soulmate AU. After his battle with Hawks against Hood, Endeavor wakes up in the hospital to find that a young doctor saved his life, their quirk being able to counteract the negative effects of his own. His first thought is that he has to talk to you–you might be able to fix the drawbacks of his quirk. His second thought is oh no, not again.

iida x reader

Broken Glass | [g] | 1.8k | fluff, mild comfort

request. In a quirk-related accident you find yourself surrounded by shattered glass. Worst of all, most of that glass is from every single pair of your boyfriend’s glasses.

Flotsam, Jetsam, Lagan, and Derelict | [g] | 1.5k | hurt/comfort

ask. Trying to hide a panic attack from your boyfriend isn’t easy when he’s right next to you. But you’re determined to suffer alone.

kaminari x reader

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

You share your unsteady hope with Kaminari.

kirishima x reader

Silhouette | [e] | 1.8k | smut, hurt/comfort

ask.  Before a gala, you’re stuck in the mirror, caught on all your old body insecurities. Kiri comes in and loves you regardless.

version 1: petite reader

version 2: curvy reader

We’ll See | [g] | 6.3k | gen, light romance 🌸

demisexual!Reader. After a fateful meeting, you and Kirishima keep running into each other. And although he’s so nice, you fear the fact that he might be interested in you. Even though all you want is, for once, to let yourself be happy and maybe fall in love, you can’t seem to be able to.

What We Look For | [t] | 15.5 | slow burn

Last time, you and Kirishima became friends—nothing more, nothing less. The idea of being something more sounds nice. But you can’t. You just can’t. So you won’t. Whatever happens will be on your own terms. Sequel to We'll See

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

Kirishima freaks out while you experience a numb calm. You meet in the middle.

midoriya x reader

Bad Days | [g] | 1.4k | hurt/comfort

Izuku helps you get out of bed.

Sunlight | [e] | 2.1k | smut 🌸

request. An early afternoon in bed with your husband, Izuku.

Surprised, Just Once | [e] | 5k | smut

request. You were planning on just another predictable night out with the girls. What you got was much, much more.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.3k | hurt/comfort

Izuku holds you close while you watch the results.

Multiple unrelated oneshots with Deku with an s/o with an eating disorder | ask

Gratitude | [t] | 1.4k | hurt/comfort

After having been with Izuku a while, you’re suffering a relapse and he helps you through with some gratitude practices on date night.

Picnic | [t] | 1.8k | hurt/comfort

Izuku surprises you with a picnic on your second date, much to your horror.

A Start | [t] | 1.2k | hurt/comfort 🌸

You ask Izuku for help when you realize you need it.

Trust Yourself | [t] | 2.3k | hurt/comfort

Shortly after moving in together, Izuku learns of your struggles and tries his best to comfort and encourage you.

shinsou x reader

Passing the Night Stars | [g] | 3.2k | hurt/comfort

The party was neon and you needed darkness.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

Shinsou helps you prioritize yourself.

todoroki x reader

All Dressed Up | [e] | 4.6k | smut 🌸

quarantine fic. It’s been months since you’ve dressed up, felt pretty, and felt seen by anyone. Your husband’s birthday is a perfect excuse to get all dressed up. And then take it right off.

All the Wasted Time | [e] | 3.2k | smut, fluff

Three months ago, you’d been ripped from Shouto’s side with something less than a love confession, something more than a show of feelings. Now that you’re back, you’re eager to make up for lost time. Siberia sequel, First Snow prequel

Bad Days | [g] | 0.9k | hurt/comfort 🌸

Shouto comforts you when your demons arrive unexpectedly.

First Snow | [g] | 2.2k | fluff

A year after the events in Siberia, you and Shouto are happily together, and it’s the first snow of the year. Siberia and All the Wasted Time sequel

On the Job | [e] | 3.4k | smut 🌸

Super human society has a secret. Aphrodisiac quirks aren’t just of porn and fantasy--they’re common and too often fall into the wrong hands. When heroes get hit, someone has to be able to activate the quirk’s release condition. If they’re single, who might that someone be?

You. Sequel to On the Job (Bakugou); can be read alone

Siberia | [e] | 13.8k | pining/angst, smut, fluff 🌸

On the field, you and Todoroki are rising stars amongst hero pairings. Off the field…you’re kind of in love with him. After a successful capture, you’re boss brings you in to let you know you’re being sent on assignment in foreign country…alone. Before you leave, you have to act. You’re not partners anymore, after all. And with a little liquid courage you do. Then, the next morning, you still have to leave. All the Wasted Time and First Snow prequel.

Worth it | [t] | 0.3k | gen

The morning after with your boyfriend, Shouto.

2021 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.5k | hurt/comfort

The stress of election day comes back swiftly during the Georgia runoff and Todoroki’s quick to notice.

all works below are within the world of the a spare heart series:

A series about a fem, American reader who had to transfer to U.A. partway through second year. You’re there to become a hero, that much is obvious, but why else did you come? And, more importantly, what—or who—makes you stay?

timeline

may, year two:

- reader finishes junior year of American high school early

- reader transfers to u.a. from the united states

The Meeting | [g] | 0.1k | gen

Reader meets Tokoyami for the first time. Sequel to first impressions from my wip list

Hollow Victory | [g] | 9.6k | gen, action

chapter 1 | chapter 2

You transferred to U.A. from America two weeks ago. No one has found out your quirk yet. Today, they’re going be meeting it head on and you have the advantage: surprise.

june, year two:

Illiterate | [g] | 2.1k | fluff, comfort

Being unable to read Japanese makes you feel so stupid. And who comes into the common room after midnight just as you’re about to cry? The boy who hasn’t spoken to you in three weeks.

sequels

The Offering | [g] | 0.4k | fluff, gen.

The Mission (Shouto POV) | [g] | 0.3k | fluff, gen., silly

september, year two:

Impetus | [g] | 2.1k | friendship

Ever since Shinsou found out what your quirk was, the two of you have been each other’s best friends and confidantes. But when he turns a casual training session into a tease over your supposed crush on someone in your class, that trust might just break.

january, year two:

This Clock Never Seemed So Alive | [g] | 1.2k | fluff, comfort

You and your boyfriend, Shouto, always walk to class together, but today you haven’t yet left your dorm. When he checks on you, he finds you awake, but curled on your side, suffering from period cramps.

sequels

The Questions (drabble) | [g] | 0.1k | gen.

The Sweetness (double drabble) | [g] | 0.2k | fluff, comfort

february, year three:

Between Fear and Guilt | [t] | 2.5k | light angst, comfort

You and Shouto only started being intimate a couple months back, but you’re already experiencing a dry spell. Today you’re going to figure out what’s up with your boyfriend once and for all.

fifteen years after graduation

Something Perfect | [e] | 3.7k | smut, fluff

After years of questioning if Shouto would ever want children, he’s finally decided that he really does. Overjoyed, the two of you decide to get started.

[cowboy-canoodler]

Can’t Teach The Mad Dog New Tricks, Chapter 1 (Majima Goro x GN! Reader) SMUT

This work is for 18+ readers only, minors DNI ! ! !

You’re the captain to The Majima Family of The Tojo Clan of Kamurocho, a diligent worker who balances out Majima’s own brand of crazy.

You trust him and he trusts you, but does that trust go deeper?

Are there feelings you previously hadn’t thought about?

And just how far are both of you willing to go so the other may survive?

Tags: TW: Blood, knives, stab wounds, bullet wounds, doctors, fighting, smoking, “c-word use” Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Smut, blowjob (giving), dry humping, whining, bottom Majima, praise kink, edging, throat fucking, almoat public fingering/handjob, possessive sex, dirty talking, private fingering/anal fingering

Notes:

“Seiko” is a nickname for the reader, not an OC or a specific gender, it’s a moniker like Hawke or Shepherd in their respective games.

Set during the year off in Yakuza 3-4

Also:

When the reader is having sexual things done to them I have included separate vagina and penis versions just read the one that accommodates you. Chest and body descriptions are left gender neutral; it's only genitalia that’s different. If you’re unfamiliar with the way I write I try my best to be as inclusive as I can for the reader. This includes writing separate paragraphs for each genitalia (penis and vagina) while also including non-descript hair, skin, chest, and body sizes. If you feel that I haven’t done a very good job at that in particular parts of this fic please let me know and I will alter it to the best of my ability.Slowly working on this while balancing life.

Also this chapter has no smut but the rest of the work does

“We all know what you and Majima-san get up to you behind the closed doors” the lieutenant of a small family said out loud as you collectively waited patiently for the officers meeting to be finished.

You were there with a calm, level headed, expression. Your eyes fixed on the painting on the other side of the hallway as you stood by for Majima to either be told to leave or for him to walk out on his own terms when it got too boring.

“It’s no wonder a newbie was able to be promoted so quickly in their family,” another snide comment from a different lieutenant, once again from a smaller family but a family that was getting too big for its britches, “sleep with the patriarch and you’re sure to move up in the world.” A couple of them laughed as you took a deep breath in, your calm composure falling ever so slightly as a sensitive topic was touched upon.

It was true that you had moved up quickly within the ranks of The Majima family but you hadn’t gotten to where you are now by sleeping with Majima himself. He had always seen how diligently you had worked, sticking to The Yakuza ideals and always keeping a level head when doing your work. Right now, however, you did not have to work, there was no reason to keep these low-level lieutenants happy with you, or the family you belonged to, as you thought of that your hand slowly slipped into the back of your suit and grasped the dagger that was tucked away, ‘always for safe keeping’ Majima would say to you. This, however, did not mean to keep it safe, but to keep you safe, always.

“Gotta admit” the one who had spoken up first walked towards you, a cocky smirk on his face as he strode towards where you were patiently stood, hidden dagger in hand. “Someone who’s so good at keeping level headed does suit Majima-san the most, like that Nishida guy, gotta keep someone calm to balance out the craaaazyyy” his last few words had been drawn out in a mocking manner, a hand raised to his right temple and jokingly twirling in the air to represent his words.

As the other men laughed you pulled out your dagger, grabbed his hand, and turned the tides, pinning his face down against the wall where you had previously stood while twisting his arm and pressing the dagger against his neck. “Mock me all you like,” you whispered into his ear as the other men gasped, “but mock Majima-sama and we have serious problems,” you pushed the dagger further into his skin, a slither of blood dripping down the blade as he swallowed his pride, along with his saliva, “I don’t think your family would survive against ours, would they?” Your tone was one of feigned ignorance, calm and inquisitive as you asked the quivering coward simple questions. “Perhaps you should think before picking a fight with someone you can’t handle, particularly me and Majima-sama, hm?”

Before your victim could reply the door swung open and Majima came into view, his brow furrowed and an angry glare emanating from his good eye. Immediately you stood back, placed your hands firmly at your sides and bowed to greet him.

“Sir! I wasn’t-“

“It’s nothing Seiko-kun, musta deserved it. What’d he do?” A small grin made its way to Majima’s lips as he admired your devotion, he knew you only got that way when someone had insulted him, or the family, personally.

“Nothing that concerns you, Majima-sama , believe me-“ you glared over at the guy and held up your dagger to him once more, “it’s not worth your precious time” you placed the dagger back into its sheath and hid it behind your back once more

“No sir!” The lieutenants bowed as an apology before Majima shrugged and began walking down the hall.

“If ya say so, let’s go Seiko-kun” Majima began walking away and you followed closely behind, your eyes upfront and calm as you made your way out of Tojo HQ and into the car, you in the driver's seat and Majima behind.

A couple of minutes had passed in silence, both of you enjoying the calm of each other's company as you focused on the road and Majima focused on you. His eye bore a hole into the back of your head and you saw it every time you checked behind the car in the mirror, but you chose to say nothing. He was obviously in a bad mood from the meeting, him escaping partway through with a scowl was enough to tell you that, but usually there was chatter in the car as you rode back to the office.

“So what happened?” Majima broke the silence after a couple minutes of staring out of the window, he must have grown bored with the passing cars.

“They said things I didn’t agree with”

“Like?"

“Do you really need to know?”

“Now,” Majima tutted as a smile made its way back to his face, a finger pointed up and waving side to side, “is that any way to treat your boss?”

“Tch-“ you looked back in the mirror and saw his smirk before moving your eyes back to the road, you hated how he knew your weaknesses, “they said we were sleeping together, and that was the only reason I had been so successful, and so quick, with my promotions in the family”

“Ohh, no wonder you were so harsh on ‘em, I woulda been, too” Majima leaned back and looked out of the window as he crossed his leg, his right ankle on his left knee and his lightly hands resting on the inner of his thighs. “Having your achievements pinned on something you didn’t do that woulda been a lot easier, sure as shit ain’t nice to hear- ah- I didn’t mean it like that-“

Knowing Majima had your back always brought a smile to your, usually calm, face. A small display of emotion that was usually kept hidden, on show just for him. “I know what you mean, don’t worry about it, to be honest, I would have slept with you if I could but you were always so damn busy”

“Oh? You woulda?” Majima’s gaunt cheeks reddened a little as he looked over at you, smirking and staring at him in the mirror, “oh- you’re joking” he rolled his eyes and sighed looking back to the window at the passing cars.

“You got really happy at that Majima-sama, something you wanna tell me?”

“Eat shit”

You sat there staring at each other through the mirror as the car sat at a red light before bursting into fits of laughter

The light turned green and you drove off towards the office once again, the last few minutes sat in a happy silence between you both, appreciating the content atmosphere you had cultivated with Majima. Your eyes often wandered back to the mirror to watch him in his small and comfortable world, one of the few places he could let his guard down a little before heading back into his role as Patriarch and Senpai to the family, plus his jacket did nothing to cover himself and you did so enjoy watching him breathe.

“We're here, sir” you said before stepping out of the car and opening his door for him, once more bowing as he exited.

“Thanks Seiko-kun” Majima smiled at you before walking to the doors, hands in pockets and his guard back up once more in the characteristic sway of his hips. You stood and watched him walk away amongst his family members who were all bowed with their head low to greet their patriarch, and you. Another member ran up to you and bowed as you stood aside to let him take over the car and park it in The Family’s usual spot.

The feeling of walking amongst your peers as their captain was still a strange one, while you had filled in the role easily and commanded their respect it was still very alien to you being their commander. Listening to the shallow breathing of the men at your side as you walked past calm and collected, sticking to the Yakuza code and showing them the amount of respect you were supposed to, was rough and something you had never fully agreed with. These men were willing to die for Majima and the family, the same way you would, and probably will, and not being able to show all of them what that means to both you and Majima was insulting. A code that doesn’t value the people who uphold it, not just the top brass who are in charge but those grunts who do the hard work, is a code that will die. It was inevitable.

As you came to the doors you looked back at the men, still bowing low and waiting for you to enter the building, and then down at the pin on your lapel. A familiar, warm feeling spread through your chest as you felt the comfort of your found family before turning back around and proceeding into the offices.

Majima usually took time to himself after a meeting he didn't agree with, usually they were asking him to do something he didn’t wish to do or demanding The Majima family lay their lives down for some bullshit cause. Everytime a Patriarch dies, or a family has to disband Majima, more often than not, would get up to 200 hundred new recruits into his own, making it the biggest of The Tojo Clan so he’s always asked to lay down his men's lives for the sake of Daigo or the greater good. It’s really one of his biggest peeves about being tied down into the Tojo Clan, while he was, ultimately, in charge of his family he had to obey Daigo’s orders no matter what. Yakuza code to uphold and all, and Majima always upholds his moral codes even at the cost of his dignity, freedom, or life.

-

A couple of hours passed and you had kept yourself occupied looking over paperwork concerning the finances of The Family, sorting out spending, repair work for damages made to Majima family turf, and collection payments from said turf. This was the work that you liked, the filing and organisation of it all, keeping things behind the scenes running smoothly. It was what you were good at, the best in the family if your title was anything to go by, and you often felt proud of the work you did, and how little you made mistakes.

Of course there were others who handled the wages and every day frivolities, you were there to check any major problems or spare work whenever you had a moment to breathe away from Majima… but you hadn’t heard from him, not a hair or even a whisper of what he was doing right now.

“Hmm...” you hummed, quietly putting your documents down and looking out of the window, “he’s been too quiet tonight… maybe I should check in on him” the statement seemed to be questioning but you had already placed your documents into the drawer before speedily heading to the door.

The halls of Millennium Tower were always so quiet, the slightest cough or sneeze ringing and echoing through the walls of your floor. Just like the footsteps you were making that erupted through the desolate silence. As you walked down you nodded to the guards, men were stationed at each door, 2 at yours and Majima’s, and 1 at the lieutenants along with their respective groupies inside the rooms when needed.

Your footsteps continued to echo through the halls as you passed various doors, the guards bowing in respect as menial mumbling chatter rang through the cracks of each room until you came to Majima’s corridor, you walked up and signalled his men to move further down the hall. Still on guard but with a little more privacy. You took a moment to yourself before knocking lightly and waiting for a response.

“Who‘s banging at my door this fuckin’ late?”

“It’s Seiko, sir”

“Oh… justa sec-“

A pause before you heard something heavy drop behind the door and Majima exclaiming painfully.

“Majima-sama? Are you okay?” More groans of pain made your heart quicken in worry, the beating echoing into your ears overpowered your, usually, calm composure, “I’m coming in!” Hastily you opened the door and saw Majima sat on his couch clutching his foot, and a bowling ball on the floor slowly rolling towards you.

“Ah,” you chuckled to yourself, “I think I see what happened”

“Just tryna have a happy memory and it’s gotta do that shit to me?!” Majima sighed and leaned back, legs apart and knees spread wide with his arms stretched out along the back of the seat. You smiled and closed the door behind you before picking up the ball and walking over to him, bowing for respect, and placing the ball back into the open bag on the coffee table, his eye following you every step of the way.

“Are you hurt Majima-san?”

“Naw- well... my pride maybe? Having you see me like this sure is a kick in the dick” he rolled his eye and looked away from you, sending his pout out of the window.

“Better than an actual kick in the dick though, right?” His response was nothing more than a click of his tongue and a sigh as he rolled his head, and his eye, back, “I hadn’t heard from you tonight so I thought I’d check in. After today’s meeting you seemed preoccupied, maybe even a little stressed-“

“I ain’t stressed Seiko-kun” his tone was short and guarded as he raised his head to meet your gaze.

“With all due respect Majima-sama, you are. I know you very well, better than most, and I know something happened in that meeting today” you sighed at his silence and sat in an adjacent chair, placing your chin on your fist and staring at him with bored eyes. He looked at you and scowled before averting his eye back to the window, but you continued to stare and crossed your legs.

“Tch- it’s just- it’s shit The Chairman’s got me doing, now that he’s healed and able to lead again, plus losing Mine and shit, everything’s just gone to fuck and I’m the one who has to put it together again”

You could see how annoyed it made him to be tied down like this, he just wants to do his own thing with people he trusts surrounding him but every time something happened in The Clan Majima was usually the one who had to clean up the mess and with every mess he got tied down even more.

“Unfortunately, this isn’t like in 2006 when you were able to just break away and start on Kamurocho Hills… although-“ he looked back over to you, eye soft and pleading behind his dagger-like glare, “-technically there’s not much stopping you from doing the same right now, if that’s what you choose to do, sir”

“Nothing but a promise”

“To whom?”

“Kiryu Kazama"

You both sat in silence for a moment, the muffled sounds of Kamurocho below echoing into the dimly lit room. The silence was suffocating, unsaid feelings and context ripping the two of you apart before you gathered the courage to break it.

“I see, you do hate breaking promises, sir"

“You really do think you know me don’t you Seiko-chan? Huh?!” Majima stood up and balled up his fists, the soft squelch of leather rubbing against itself filling the angry atmosphere. You sat there and stared at him silently, your eyes telling him you weren’t buying this façade he was putting up. “Ain’t nothing worse n’ a guy who can’t even keep his word. It’s too much that we let Yakuza get this fuckin’ soft all this time, only caring about makin’ money and being on top. Ain't shit without the strength to back it up.”

Majima turned around and sighed before walking over to the window, he placed his elbow above his head and stared down at Kamurocho like a lion watching and guarding over his pride.

“Is this about Makoto Tateyama-san?”

Once again, silence.

You could hear Majima’s breathing getting heavier as he thought about how he wanted to approach this with you and you sat there ready to take it all, he needed to get his emotions out and into the open. Carrying a torch for someone for 21 years wasn’t exactly healthy and the only way Majima knew how to take his mind from it was filling his days with menial tasks, or finding people to fight to prove to himself

“It’s been 4 years since she left the country with her family” you could see Majima’s fist tightening and the scowl on his face getting even angrier as he continued to stare out of the window.

His voice was low, almost a growl, and nothing like his usual scratchy tone “you should know when to shut up and to keep her name outta your mouth”

“I can tell you how she’s doing if you wish, I have people checking on her and her family often to make sure she’s safe”

Majima’s breath hitched in his throat and he looked over to you, his eyebrows still knitted together but now in a combined look of anger, curiosity, and affection. “Why? I never ask’d ya to do that, how’d ya even know?!” He took a step towards you, his arm falling down to his hip and hands still balled into fists. You stood up and clasped your hands behind your back keeping eye contact with him.

“When I joined the family I had my sights fixed on becoming your captain as fast as I could so I dug into your past. The things that happened with Shimano-san and Saejima-san, Yuki-chan and Makoto-san.” He stopped and stared at you, eye wide with awe and mouth slightly agape along with his still knitted brow, “I’ve made it my goal to make sure no loose ends come and bite you in the ass in the future, and that the people you care about are taken care of no matter what. I had hoped to keep your mind at ease.”

“At ease?” Majima’s voice was barely a whisper, the words only just crawling their way to your ears as you stood your ground. “Finding out one of the only people I trust is going behind my back to get info on me, that’s supposed’ta put my mind at ease? Huh?!” Majima’s voice rolled into a roar as he took a step towards you, the anger radiating off of him and his mad eye shaking around as he bore a hole into your skull with glare alone.

“Yes.”

Your reply was short and abrupt, the final tipping point before Majima ran towards you and grabbed your collar pushing you back into the wall. You both grunted at the impact as books fell off of his shelves. Your hands came up and gripped his arms in a futile effort to keep him at bay, there was no way you’d be able to take The Mad Dog in any kind of fight, not that you’d want to but you had to try to calm him down somehow.

“The fuck you think you are?! Huh?!”

“The one person who’s always on your side no matter what Majima-san!” He didn’t budge, “I didn’t do it for blackmail or for any kind of leverage, if I wanted that I wouldn’t have worked so fucking hard to get to where I am now. Here! Right by your fucking side where I plan to stay!”

Tears blinded your vision as you poured your heart out to him, the things you admire most about Majima flashing through your mind as his grip on your collar loosened.

The way he never backed down from fights.

His loyalty to the people close to him, especially his family.

The promises he never breaks no matter how hard it is to get to the result.

How hard he fights when he lets loose, especially when he fights Kiryu.

His smile.

His laugh.

His nose.

His lips.

Him…

“Sei- no… (Y/N)-kun…” him saying your name made your heart skip a beat and the breath in your lungs disappear. His hands lay on your chest, slightly smoothing down the fabric of your creased shirt and he averted his gaze, almost sheepishly, as he realised what he had done.

“Unless you throw me out yourself I don’t ever plan on leaving you, Majima-san. Not for all the Yen in Japan, not even to start my own family-“

“You’d be a great patriarch, y’know”

You smiled and lightly sighed, “not nearly as great as you.”

A small gasp made it’s way past his lips once more before his gaze made its way back to your own, eye slightly watering as you studied him making sure to remember every little detail you could. Only now could you feel how close he had gotten, Majima’s breath a small breeze upon your lips, both of you breathing in eachothers air.

All the blood in your body became intimately known to you as well as where it was rushing to. The heat rising in your cheeks and the small, rushed, beating of your heart echoing into your eardrums.

Majimas voice was barely above a whisper as he leaned his head forward, eye now focused solely on his gloved hand smoothing down your shirt. “Seiko I…” he let out a breathy sigh before a small smile made its way into his lips, Kansai accent slipping from his words, “I haven’t felt this comfortable alone with someone in years, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to feel… not anymore”

“I know” you were in no position to give him advice about how to feel when your own emotions were hardly ever in check, “I’ll be here whenever you need to feel comfortable. No matter how far away I am, even if another family has me locked up. I’ll fight my way to you with every fibre of my being, nothing will keep me from you Majima. Our world has no enemy I won’t kill to make my way back to you.”

He leaned his head down slightly, eye closing as he became more and more vulnerable the closer he got to you, and you felt the same about him. Your breath became shakier as your heart continued to beat out of turn, you leaned your head forward and pressed your forehead against his, feeling how hot his body was, your noses barely touching and your hand resting on his bicep.

Kamurocho stopped in those few seconds, no sounds, no lights, no traffic, just the two of you alone on this earth.

Majima was the first to move, his hand creeping up to the side of your neck and his head tilting to the right as he brought your lips closer together, your breath trapped in your lungs as you anticipated his lips upon yours. Your eyes had been focused on anything but his gaze until now, you looked up and he had already been studying you. Just as your lips were about to touch there was a knock at the door, both of you jumped and parted before someone walked in and bowed, looking like he had bad news.

“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt but there’s a phone call from The Chairman, he says it’s urgent”

Majima sighed and turned away from you, the lingering heat from his hand on your chest slowly fading away as you averted your gaze. All of the trapped air in your lungs made its way out and you stood there out of breath and embarrassed.

“You should get that! I’ll leave you alone. Thank you for seeing me Majima-sama, have a good night.” You bowed and Majima opened his mouth to protest but before he could you quickly made your way out of the door and down the hall to the elevator, face red and still short of breath.

Once the elevator doors closed, and you were alone, everything hit you and you couldn’t stop yourself falling onto the wall for support, the cool metal of the lift. All breath left your lungs as the emotions took over, arms wrapping around yourself and eyes fixed on the floor as you tried everything you could to calm down the thoughts in your head and the thoughts in your heart.

You remained that way until the elevator came to the floor of your office. You stepped out, having regained your calm persona, and walked down the halls with your hands firmly by your side, the right one almost burning as you remembered the feeling of Majima’s bicep in your grip. Your chest aflame with his handprint as you continued trying to keep your composure, determined not to let any of The Family see you like this.

You spent the remainder of your night awake and alone in your office, laying down on your couch with a pillow for company and the Kamurocho sounds, and rain, for ambience. Each thought was of him, how close the two of you had gotten, and how much closer you were about to get before you were interrupted.

[savagetrickster]

Smirk Upon Me.

Mirio Togata (NSFW) | BNHA

Request: Hi! I saw your bingo event and I would like to give you a suggestion for the prompt “Stolen kisses”. How about Pro Hero Deku, or Mirio, x Vigilante! Reader (NSFW possibly)

anime | character:  bnha   |   mirio togata 

word count: 1.3k+

prompt: stolen kisses

themes/warnings: 18+, Pro-Hero!Mirio x Vigilante!Reader, sex on the street,  public sex, wall sex, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex

a/n: I haven’t been writing nsfw pieces for a while so I’m a little nervous about this one. I’ve made it less explicit but still retained the spiciness (I think) ‘cause writing this made me quite…fired up. I hope reading would make you so too ;) pardon me for any errors i failed to catch; this is not beta-ed. 

special mentions: this idea concept was inspired by the many nsfw bnha fics that carried this ‘hit by libido quirk’ concept i.e. one of them was @/shoutodoki’s Libido

Taglist: the bottom of this post :D (if you’d like to be added, just drop me an ask.)

Mirio had never felt this aroused in his life before. 

Like any other man, “Lemillion” the Pro-hero had his own moment of needs, but this burst of lust right now was too much even for him. 

He won a victorious battle against that perverted villain but the libido quirk of hers still hadn’t let up one bit. 

Fortunately, he was lucky to be in a rather secluded resident area where most houses were already dark and quiet with slumber, and the streets still with occasional passing vehicles. 

The last thing he needed was civilians to see Lemillion struggling to tame the massive erection bulging through his skin-tight hero costume. 

The merciless ache to release the urge gripping him had crippled his ability to think straight.

It was apparent that all rationale thoughts had been wiped clean of his mind when he jumped at your offer.

Life as a vigilante was never boring. You’d dealt with many interesting cases. 

But nothing could be more amusing than bumping into the all-famous ‘Lemillion’ battling, no, more like struggling against his libido evident in the not-so-subtle tent stiff in his suit on your way home.

You’ve never liked Pro-Heroes; they’ve always come across to you as a bunch of narcissists who only did ‘hero’ work to validate their own existences and inflate their egos. That doesn’t mean you liked villains either, of course. Hence, you were a vigilante partly due to Stain’s idea of a hero. 

Lemillion was one of the Pro-Heroes who didn’t irked you, and honestly, you’ve been harboring an attraction toward this man ever since you ‘accidentally’ ended up fighting alongside him months ago in a villain attack.

So you had no qualms helping him with his problem.

Besides, you were familiar enough with this libido quirk to know that the victims of this quirk wouldn’t be able to muster thoughts properly until the libido effect faded off by itself, which could take hours. Or the victims released it with sexual intercourse.

And of course, you wouldn’t want to give the latter with Lemillion a miss. The sight of Lemillion and his erected cock bobbing at you in his tight suit was enough to make you soak through your panties.

You were reminded once again about the other effect the libido quirk had on its victim, or rather a related effect from not being able to muster proper thoughts when he urgently pushed you up against the wall right there and then, in the middle of the goddamn street. 

The sexual frustration pent up from trying to suppress his lust was enough to make Lemillion toss what remaining traces of reasoning he possessed out the window.

He got naked fast, and the splatters of pre-cum flung into the cool night air brought your eyes down to watch his cock spring stiff before him. Slippery fluid of his pre-cum cascaded from its flushed head, coating the slightly curled, generous length in dribbles.  It should not be surprising to find a cock of such thickness and length on a man like Mirio Togata, but nevertheless it took you by surprise.

Theorizing about this man’s girth from the way it bulged under his suit and seeing it in flesh was worlds apart. 

Shoving your dress up and yanking down your soaked panties, a satisfied groan escaped Mirio the moment he pushed his aching cock into your drenched fold in a needy haste. The guttural groan dragging through his throat ended with a strained comment of how tight you felt around him as your velvet walls stretched to wrap around his sheathing cock. 

You couldn’t help chorusing after him at how well he stretched you, fitting between your heated walls perfectly. He was so big and hard; you could feel every bit of his arousal pulsing in the stiffness of his cock.

The man didn’t spend a second more to think about the possibility of being caught thrusting himself into you by any peeking eyes from the windows nearby. 

Going at it with the Lemillion on the street was far too thrilling for you to care either. 

Legs spread apart by the crooks of his elbows, you bit into your bottom lips as you watched him hammer himself into you like a starved man. 

Your moans mingled with his as you savored the pleasure scrunching up his face and the feral way he pistoned his thrusts between your legs. 

Every thrust left a blazing trail of pleasure in your clenching wall. The ruts he plummeted into you were with fervor and deep — deep enough for his swollen tip to graze your womb every single time.

Your hands draped over his broad shoulders slid down his back, clutching onto him like he was your lifeline as white, hot flashes began to blind you in the building heat between your intermingling fluid. 

The tight, clenching muscles ridged across his back as his cock delved desperately into you, its bulging girth pushing apart your sopping folds in a frenzied speed. The wet, squelches slapped violently in the silence of the quiet street as he arched his back with his hips in a emphasizing angle, as if dedicating all his willpower and absolute strength into his thrusts. 

Like he was a man on a mission as he pounded his cock into you.

Breathy groans from you were accompanied by low growls rumbling in his chest as you stared at the dark houses behind him between weakly fluttering eyelids and lips hanging open in a euphoric daze.

One particular brutal prod of his engorged cock against your womb hit the spot, prompting the heat curling in your core to snap.

A sinful moan slipped feverishly from your lips as a hot burst of pleasure surged through you, lighting every nerve in an electrifying euphoria. 

High on the orgasmic thrill convulsing inside you, you felt your clenching walls grip his cock in a choking hold and heard him drag a broken groan through his throat at the peak of his own orgasm.

Mirio couldn’t help the delirious sigh sifting giddily through his lips, relishing the relief he desperately sought earlier engulfing him as his twitching cock released its bulging load in spurts of white, thick ropes onto your walls.

The moan from your high withered to a whimper as he rocked his pelvis languorously against yours, jutting his cock into you over and over until there was nothing left to ejaculate. 

You were surprised no one woke up despite how vocal and raunchy you two sounded.

The carnal heat between was quickly dissipating in the cool air as quivering, ragged breathing heaved and fell with your joined bodies.

“…Did I say you could cum inside me, Mr. Lemillion?” You teased between your harsh pants. You could feel his seeds pouring between your legs, leaving you in warm trails of trickles down your thighs.

Amusement tugged a side of your lips, carving a playful smirk as you felt his body stiffen under you. You heard him curse just as you were leaning away from his shoulders.

“M-My bad, I’ll take responsibility if anything happens. I swear I will—” 

You pressed your lips into his and your tongue slyly darted into his opened mouth mid-sentence, sensually sucking on his. 

Your lips quirked into a smirk once more against his as you drank in the delicious moan you felt rumble from the depth of his chest.

The brush of his hand against your cheek made you break away before he could do anything more. 

The smirk never left you as you gazed down at his flustered face.

“Just kidding, I’m on the pill.” You tilted your head haughtily at him.

You laughed and pushed yourself off him, walking away in the direction of your house, but paused partway.

“Oh yeah, feel free to steal back a kiss anytime, Mr. Lemillion.” 

You threw him a wink over your shoulder.

”You know where to find me.” A curt gesture at a certain house ahead, you turned to go.

“The name’s Mirio Togata!”

You heard him call after you, and your lips curled. 

tags:@shoutodoki​, @princessbunnie666, @glaringlights​, @platinumbelle​, @shamelessyouthqueen​, @lowermoons​, @xaki​, @shippingangel​, @itachianddazai, @khemz1312​, @kageybee​, @toothirsty4main​

[jincherie]

TEASER: sunshine riptide

genre: hybrid au, ot7, fluff, animal crossing insp wc: 2.6k

“So in exchange for three months paid stay on the island while you get back on your feet, you will work part-time at the Rabbits Den three days a week, and man the desk in the Resident Services Building on Sundays. Is that okay to you?”

You nod eagerly, the ordeal seeming too good to be true and something you’re afraid will be retracted if you don’t act with haste. Mr Bang returns your motion with a little less fervour, the same kind look never leaving his face.

“Perfect, it’s settled then! We’re glad to have you with us, y/n.”

Something lifts from your chest in that moment, as though you’d been walking beneath the cover of a lead blanket and it has finally slipped from your shoulders. You feel a little breathless, and you know the grin that slips onto your face is stupidly wide. Embarrassingly, you feel salty pricks at the corner of your eyes.

“Thank you so much,” you say, and you mean it. It hadn’t exactly been a well thought out plan, moving here with nothing to your name but your most basic possessions, but you’d just needed to escape and start anew and this… this had been the first opportunity you’d seen. The best opportunity you’d seen. “Really, thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome, young lady.” Mr Bang’s expression grows even softer, if possible. “This is a place people come to find refuge, and happiness. You’re welcome here.”

You clear your throat, turning your head to the side and pretending that you need to cough so he doesn’t see the tear that slips out. You have a feeling he knows, though, as you turn back and find him smiling at you, floppy rabbit ears framing his round face. He reaches out, patting you on the shoulder.

“Now, lets find you a room for the night. I’ll send word to the house I have in mind and make sure they have it nice and tidy before your arrival tomorrow. Sound good?”

It hits you only now how tired you are, more emotionally exhausted than anything, and nod while allowing him to lead you down the hall. That does sound good, actually. That sounds amazing.

O – O – O

You’d arrived on this island in the early hours of the morning yesterday, the late-night ferry the only one that runs to this island on the outskirts of the archipelago. It’s likely due to the fact that the captain is a nocturnal hybrid, and hence prefers to run his business under the cover of night. You hadn’t been able to sleep on the trip over, so when Mr Bang had shown you to the room he was happy to lend you for the night, despite it being barely ten o’clock in the morning you’d passed out the second your head hit the pillow. It was more of a nap than anything, but you suspect that the events of the past few months all caught up to you at once because you woke only for dinner and then fell asleep once more. Mr Bang offered no judgement, and simply left a note instructing you where the bathroom is and where you could find towels so that you could freshen up once you awoke. He also left you a coffee bun in a container, since you’d missed the afternoon tea he held the day before.

You hadn’t even been on this island a day and already the kindness of one of the residents was almost bringing you to tears.

Due to the fact that you’d slept far too early, you end up waking up at an ungodly hour the next day, the day you are meant to be moving in to the sharehouse that Mr Bang told you about. Laying in the bed, nestled in the warmth of the covers and watching as the suns rays slowly begin to stain the ceiling and the curtains in rich marigold, you do your best to get yourself together. You can breathe easy now, any anxiety you’d felt previous now nothing more than an echo in your chest. You feel refreshed, and not just from the ridiculous amount of sleep you’ve had in the past twenty-four hours. There are of course some nerves pertaining to meeting your new housemates, but it’s manageable. You have faith that everything will turn out well. It’s a good feeling.

Mr Bang is kind enough to offer you breakfast, and likely would have pushed you to stay for lunch had you not shown up down the stairs with your baggage already in tow. So begrudgingly, he allows you to head on your way, informing you that your new housemates knew of your arrival and had endeavoured to tidy up as much as possible. You thought it was a little funny he was telling you that—just how messy is the house usually?—but he simply shook his head with a smile that told you the answer would come soon enough.

The island isn’t big, but it most definitely isn’t small. The sun is warm and the air cool with a tinge of salt and sea trailing along the breeze, and the path you walk along that skirts the beach is peppered with sand and the odd shell. It makes you happier than anticipated, because just being out here makes you feel so free. Mr Bang told you that the house where you will be staying is on the other side of the island, past the little cluster of shops and small businesses and perched at the edge of the sand, backing onto a river that flows into the ocean and skirted on one side by a small cliff.

“It’s their own little alcove,” Mr Bang had snorted, a mixture of fondness and amusement evident on his features. “They get up to more trouble than I can keep track of over there, but they’re good boys.”

Ah, that’s right. You’d almost forgotten; your new housemates are a bunch of boys. You hope that Mr Bang is right about their character and you won’t be living in discomfort for the next three months.

The path wound and curved a bit, following the edge of the island, and before long you were walking through a section of light forestry. You suspected the house would be on the other side, and were in the midst of thinking just what it would look like when a small squeak! catches your attention and you halt, almost dropping your bag.

It’s silent, save for the way the breeze caresses the leaves around you. You peer around, eyes unable to spot anything in the foliage. Did you imagine it? It’s a little early in your stay to be going crazy. Hesitantly, you adjust your grip on your bag and resume your trek.

Squeak! S-squeeeak!

No, you definitely heard that. You freeze, having gotten a better sense of where the sound is coming from now and turning towards a large tree smothered in vines of varying thickness and clinginess. For a moment, you don’t see anything, eyes squinting hard—it’s like one of those I spy books you used to rave about as a kid— and just when you think you might be looking in the wrong place, you catch movement.

There, in a cluster of the vines dangling from one of the tree’s thicker limbs, is a tiny creature, all tangled up and squeaking in distress.

“Oh my goodness,” you drop your bag, immediately moving closer.  “Poor thing—hold on just a second, bub. I’ll get you out. Promise not to bite me?”

The creature offers a squeak and logically you know it isn’t answering your request, but you pretend it is anyway. Carefully stepping over plants and twigs, thanking past you for wearing more practical boots, you reach where the creature is stuck, dangling just below eye level.

The vines it has managed to get all tangled up in aren’t particularly thick, but there are a lot of them, and it has managed to get a few of its limbs stuck in place. Carefully, you snap a few of the more central ones and ease the tiny thing out, getting a better view of it the more you pull from its body. It’s squeaking all the while, though with much less distress and more of an energy that simply feels chatty. It makes you smile.

“There you go,” you murmur, cradling the tiny baby in your palms and cooing, trying to calm the heartbeat and hurried breaths you can feel racing against your skin. You stroke along its back as lightly as you can manage. “Oh, you’re a little sugar glider! You’re so pretty, such a cutie. Look at your markings, wow… so pretty.”

Almost as though it can understand your praise and is basking in it, it flicks its bushy tail and rolls in your palm, like a cat rubbing against something with its cheek except this little glider is doing it with its whole body. It’s awfully friendly, you note. Perhaps much of the wildlife here is more peacefully accustomed to human and hybrid activity.

“Okay, you’re free now. I’ll stop ogling at you and let you go,” you say, holding your hands up to a part of the tree that isn’t covered in vines lest there be a repeat of the earlier situation. The sugar glider merely blinks, eyes still on you, and doesn’t move. Brows drawn in confusion, you move your hands closer to the tree, “Well, aren’t you going to—oh!”

Faster than you can react, the little thing darts from your hands, leaping to your bicep and scurrying up with tiny claws in your shirt to your shoulder. Once at its apparent destination, it rushes to the crook of your neck and makes itself at home, nestling against you and securing itself with its tail partway around the back of your neck and its little paws clutching your shirt edge. You giggle, still in shock and trying not to jostle it off as you fight the ticklish sensation.

“Okay. I guess you can come with me. I’m not sure if you can stay the whole while, but I’m sure it will be okay while I walk.”

So off you go, bending and retrieving your bag carefully so you don’t dislodge your tiny new companion. You’ve seen a bit of sugar gliders, but the way this one is acting is quite peculiar. If it sticks around until you arrive at the house, you’d love to snap a quick picture because it really is so pretty, so cute.

The trip is faster than anticipated, now there is something else to occupy your thoughts. Before you know it you’re out of the forestry and approaching a large, modern three storey building that is probably just a few yards short of a mansion, nestled between the ocean, the river, and a short cliff-face just barely higher than the roof. This is the place for sure.

The little glider seems to perk up, the closer you get, something that surprises you since it was so quiet you thought it was asleep. With a soft noise, it grabs onto your hair with tiny paws and scurries to the top of your head, likely making a mess of it in the process but it’s so cute you can’t bring yourself to mind. At least it will be an interesting first impression.

As you approach the front door, you think you see movement in one of the windows on the ground floor. You almost dismiss it as you reach the eve, until you catch the hurried patter of feet against hardwood from beyond the door.

You barely manage to blink before the door is flying open, a man with raven curls and two fluffy russet ears peeking between the locks presenting you with the biggest grin you have ever seen on anyone’s face. It’s boyish and cute, a direct contrast to the mature, sculpted features of his face.

“Hello!” he says, and you catch sight of a long, fluffy russet tail whipping behind him and betraying his excitement—not that he was doing much to hide it. “You must be the new roomie! It’s nice to meet you! We’ve been waiting all morning, and one of us actually went to pick you up but… I’m not sure where he is.”

You’re a little overwhelmed but easily recover when he simply keeps looking at you so happily, returning the man’s bright smile. There’s rustling in your hair at the back of your head but you ignore it, adjusting your grasp on your bag. “Ah, thank you. I’m y/n, it’s nice to meet you…?”

The man pulls back, a sheepish look on his face that accompanies a light flush in his cheeks. “Oh, right. I’m Taehyung. Sorry. My hyungs tell me I tend to get a bit ahead of myself sometimes.”

You keep the smile on your face. “That’s okay, we got there in the end. It’s nice to meet you, Taehyung.”

Taehyung brightens, tail curling happily behind him. He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted from a voice to the side.

“Are you going to make our poor new housemate wait outside all day, Tae?”

The light blush colouring Taehyung’s cheeks deepens, a sheepish laugh escaping. “No. I was just about to invite her in!”

He steps back and reveals the person behind him who had spoken, a tall man with dimples and silvery hair that did little to conceal the large, rounded grey ears atop his head. He seems a little awkward in his stance, like he has more body than he knows what to do with, but still extends an arm in greeting with a kind smile. “y/n, is it? Welcome, please come in. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here with us, however brief. We’re happy to have you.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry! If you cry now you can never show your face here again. You clear your throat, returning his smile as you step inside and out of the sun, the difference in temperature against your skin immediate. “Thank you, I really appreciate your generosity in letting me stay here.”

“Nonsense,” Taehyung snorts, “Namjoon-hyung has been saying for months we should find someone to fill the spare room, and now you show up on our doorstep! It’s perfect.”

The taller, who Taehyung had referenced as Namjoon, seems a little bashful, his cheeks heating. Does everyone in this house blush so easily? You hope it’s not contagious.

There is movement in your hair again, the glider apparently needing to breathe, and you have your mouth open ready to explain when Namjoon beats you to it.

“Oh, I see you’ve met Jimin already!”

What?

The glider leaps from your head and onto Taehyung’s outstretched arm, climbing to his head before leaping from that too and gliding through the air, all the way around the corner. There is a small clutter, the sound of a light swearword entering the air, and then the ever-familiar patter of feet against hardwood. Another boy rounds the corner, ashy-blond hair tousled and parted by two small grey ears, bushy tail curling behind him.

He skids to a stop in front of you, dipping in a brief bow before rising and shooting you a bright smile. “Hello! Thank you for helping me! I’m Jimin, welcome home!”

It takes all of your willpower to keep the happy tears at bay as you tilt your head back and laugh, already feeling lighter than you ever remember feeling before.

[isabelinlove]

Title: Love in the Year 3000

Word Count: 713

Summary: Isabel and the Doctor ring in the new year. Well, a new year.

The year: 3000. Well, half an hour from 3000 to be exact. Isabel and the Doctor had found themselves at a New Year’s Eve party nearly a thousand years in the future and a billion miles from earth, orbiting the planet Llezephus in a leisure ship designed specifically for grand celebrations. Music was blasting, drinks were flowing, and the atmosphere was filled with excitement and anticipation. After all, it wasn’t every night that one got to ring in the dawn of a new millennium. The ship was appropriately decorated for the event, with tinsel lining the walls and hundreds of shiny silver stars hanging from the ceiling, and a number of unusual guests roamed the room. At one table, several women with very tall, eccentric hairstyles gossiped, and at another, a group of gelatinous orange aliens were playing poker. The crowd was so diverse and unusual that Isabel hardly felt out of place, despite the fact that she was, by all means, a stranger in a strange land.

Across from her at the bar, the Doctor was conversing in his usual charming manner with a group of purple aliens with tentacles. His face lit up and his arms moved wildly as he spoke, and they seemed very engaged in what he had to say. Isabel smiled to herself as she watched him. She had always admired how he could become friends with anyone he talked to. Being much more reserved than him, she had never possessed that skill herself. Partway through the conversation, he noticed her looking at him and shot her a grin and a wink. She smiled back and gave him a little wave, hoping he didn’t notice how much she was blushing. Even though they had been together for quite some time, he was still too damn good at flustering her.

As the Doctor continued his conversation, Isabel turned her attention to the window in front of her table. The atmosphere of Llezephus swirled wispy green as the ship orbited slowly by, and the stars seemed to shine more brightly than usual. It was odd; here she was, on a New Year’s Eve just like any other, with living beings not unlike her friends back home, but so far away from anything she had ever experienced before. It was so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time.

A hand on Isabel’s shoulder quickly brought her out of her reverie.

“What are you thinking about?” the Doctor asked, smiling down at her.

“Oh, nothing. Just how strange this all is,” she said, turning to look up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, here I am, ringing in a year that I wouldn’t have ever seen in my lifetime. I’d have been dead and buried for nearly a thousand years. But now I get to experience it just like anyone else at this party. It’s just… crazy.”

“Are you alright?” the Doctor asked, looking at her with concern. “I know this can all be a bit… much sometimes… and I really wanted you to have fun tonight, I didn’t mean to send you into an existential crisis… you know, if you want to go home, we can leave right now-” he started to ramble.

“Doctor.” she said sternly, cutting him off. He looked at her with wide eyes. “I’m fine. More than fine, as a matter of fact. I love traveling with you. You’ve given me everything I could ever want and more. I can’t imagine how boring my life would have been without you.”

“Oh. Well, erm, that’s good to hear,” he replied, beginning to blush.

“Trust me, Doctor. I can handle it. The weirdness, the craziness, even the occasional existential crisis. I promise. It’s all worth it. Especially if I get to be with you.” That made him blush even harder. All of a sudden, the clock began to chime. It was almost midnight.

“Well, shall we?” the Doctor asked with a grin.

“Absolutely,” she replied.

They counted down the seconds with the rest of the crowd. When the clock struck midnight, Isabel pulled the Doctor down by the tie and kissed him passionately.

“Happy New Year, Doctor,” she said, looking up at him with a smirk.

“Happy New Year, Isabel,” he replied before kissing her back.