#oh yes also click for BIG very BIG resolution

[homoesia]

soukoku dance (insp by episode 507)

[adelheidvonschicksal]

The Love and Deepspace Boys Trying to Get You to Sleep ⋆｡°✩

Tags: Fluff, teasing, needy boys, mild sexual content, gender neutral reader (I had to re-write so please let me know if I messed up.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Xavier is surprisingly softer than you expected when you first met him on your mission together. He’s an incredibly powerful hunter but possesses a quiet and gentle, almost oblivious, aura when navigating everyday life, like a ghost floating through the space he takes up. It should also be understood that this very nature of his makes him affectionate, so much so, that he won’t unwrap his arms around your waist and stop pressing his head to your shoulder as you sit at the kitchen bar, typing on your laptop.

“Are you planning on staying up later than the stars?” he mumbles.

There’s a gentle yawn against your skin from the sluggish man, highlighting just how long he’s been trying to coax you into going to bed.

“I wanted to finish this report for work.”

“The report will be there tomorrow,” he says. You swat away his hand that reaches for the power button on the laptop causing him to pout. He grumbles. “You should go to bed. Otherwise, I can’t sleep.”

Smiling to yourself, you decide to tease him. “Oh, so you’re really trying to get me to go to bed for your own benefit?”

“Well, you can’t very well expect me to do it by myself anymore.” Xavier nuzzles his head into the slope of your neck, cuddling you. “It’s your responsibility since you ruined my sleeping habits.”

“Ruined?”

“Ramshackled,” he repeats quietly, causing you to giggle. With an airy sigh, he presses his weight into you more. “How do you expect me to sleep when I can’t hold you?”

Defeated, you save your work and close the laptop. You swivel in your chair, enough to meet his eye, and cup a hand to his cheek. It never stops being endearing to you how he cutely closes his eyes and angles his head to snuggle your palm.

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to beg.”

His eyes flutter open, and the smile on his face grows as he wraps his fingers around yours. Carefully, he pulls on your hand to bring it up enough to begin to lace your wrist with affectionate kisses, tracing your pulse.

“I thought you enjoyed my begging.”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” Xavier mutters into your skin, pressing another light kiss.

“It is.”

“So, you're resolute about that position?” he questions “innocently”. There’s something mischievous about the glint in those arctic eyes, which makes your face warm. You find yourself breaking eye contact, or else you’d lose it.

“Yes.”

Xavier chuckles then begins to lead his kisses down your arm. “In that case, care to explain the difference in detail, love?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sleep.”

“But—”

“Sleep.”

Zayne narrows his eyes at you from his side of the bed. You can’t blame him for being a little annoyed right now but the movie you put on to fall asleep was much better than you expected; and instead of falling asleep, you were more awake than ever at a very late one in the morning.

“I’m almost done with the movie,” you tell him, hoping he’ll cut you a little slack this one time.

“Everyone dies at the end of their own stupidity,” he bluntly states and grabs the remote. The television turns off with an overly loud click, and you pout. “Now, sleep.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huff. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m fine with that title if it gets you to rest,” he explains with a smooth yawn. “Poor sleep habits lead to bad decision-making later. You’re more likely to develop high blood pressure, and with your heart in particular—”

“I get it. I get it,” you say, wanting to be spared the lecture. Zayne is a good person and a better doctor, but you wish he didn’t worry about you so much just because you might have a little big heart problem. Sighing, you squiggle onto your back and pull the sheets up to your collar, kicking them a little childishly in the process (totally not to let him know that you were not pleased with his spoiling). “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Very.”

Zayne turns over onto his side, away from you, and you frown at the loneliness. Softly, you poke him in the back, once, then twice then a third time before you finally get a hum in response.

“Am I really not getting a good night kiss?”

“Do you need one to sleep?” he asks, his voice deeper from the lack of sleep, urging you to convince him to kiss you even more.

“Duh,” you explain. Slowly, he turns back over to look at you, propping himself up on one arm with a look that says “Is that so” as you continue to ramble. It makes you a little flustered when he watches you so intently. He’s always had this silent dominance that makes you obedient, but you could get what you want from him just as easily with the exact opposite strategy. Cutely, you puff your bottom lip out at him. “There has to be some health benefit to it. Kissing makes people all happy. Happy is good, right?”

It takes a second for him to take in what you say, those smokey eyes closing in on you with thought before he climbs over you. He places both hands at your sides and quickly boxes in your upper thighs with his knees.

“You’re thinking of dopamine,” he says.

“Huh?”

“That makes you “all happy”,” he explains and presses a deep kiss to your lips, leaving you thoughtless and breathless all at once. He moves to your jaw, and you begin to squirm from the pressure of his impassioned lips.

“And Serotonin.”

Another kiss, lower.

“Oxytocin.”

He’s at your shoulder when he starts to nip your skin, and one of his hands moves to ski up the back of your thigh.

“Reduced cortisol.”

Flustered, you grip his arms.

“Zayne, stop, it tickles,” you whine, but it’s the last thing you actually want as he readjusts his position and hovers above you.

His usually neat hair is messier and his breathing a little heavier judging by how his chest laboriously rises and falls. Groaning, you bite your bottom lip as he knowingly leans in and whispers,

“You need it to help you sleep, isn’t that what you said?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Why don’t you just say you don’t love me anymore?”

You look up from your phone screen at the sudden accusation. You’re resting on the couch, your back propped up by the armrest and legs splayed out on the other cushion while Rafayel looks down at you with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased scowl on his face. You’re entirely confused as to what you could’ve done to make him think something like that.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been playing video games for what—the last two hours?” he says, uncrossing his arms to grab your phone. It’s too late to warn him as he glances at the screen, clicking a few times. “What are you playing anyway? An…otome? Sheesh, go ahead and say you want me gone. Come on, tell me you actually hate me.”

Holding in your smile, you shake your head and affectionately roll your eyes. It takes an enormous amount of effort to not laugh as he continues to rant. “So, it’s one of those things. I thought I was actually in trouble.”

And by those things, you mean his dramatics.

“Hush, my complaints are perfectly legitimate,” he demands as he pushes your legs aside and sits on the couch. Leaning over, he flashes the screen at you to show the evidence he has that you’re completely unfair, unfaithful, and downright mean. “What’s this game giving you that I’m not? Are my dashing good looks and even better personality not enough? Is that it?”

Gently, you take the phone from his hand and set it down on the end table. “You’re plenty, perfect even.”

He scoffs and refuses to look at you. “Apparently not. Don’t you ever think about anyone else? What if I want to cuddle with you one day but you’re too busy to notice because you’re playing silly games?”

Ah, there it is. His real want. You never know why he can never just come out and say it.

“Rafayel, do you want me to come to bed and cuddle with you?”

“Want is a strong word,” he remarks but you can see his resolve (can you call it that when he planned to give in all along?) crumbling as he slowly turns back to meet your gaze, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Not that you deserve it or care.”

Humming, you sit up, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and pull him down onto you. Lovingly, you snuggle him, stopping to only take in how red his neck and ears start to get when you squeeze him and start to stroke through his hair. You’re not sure if Lumerians can blow happy bubbles like he claims, but he definitely hums and relaxes his entire body weight to lay on top of you like he wants to sink into your skin.

Teasingly, you coo at him. “You’re so needy.”

“I’d rather say you humans aren’t needy enough,” he fires back as he wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the corner of your lips. “Ah, the sweet taste of victory.”

Giving out a gentle and short laugh, you lightly tap his back. “Go to sleep.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[cartoon-brainrot]

So for the child of evil AU

I find it absolutely hilarious on how scrooge thought of Louie as his child with just 2 things being the eye color and louie just calling goldie mom without thinking about any other possibilities like "oh maybe she took in an orphan" or something

Also do you think Boyd would also be friends with louie in this AU, considering how doofus (his new profound big brother) is friends with him.

What about webby? Does she ever gets a chance to be introduced to doofus and becomes friends or do they not know eachother during this AU

If they do meet eachother and they become a friend group I wonder what adventures they would have?

Also have you ever thought of how the villains needing to help one another to take care of Louie, like let's say louie is being left with Mark beaks AND Don Karnage

SO SORRY ABOUT THE DELAY, SCHOOL’S BEEN CRAZY BUSY! I promise I’m working on all your asks <33

But yes, Scrooge definitely went on with a little more than “he called her mom” especially because he knows he isn’t the only one Goldie seduced in her life!

Talking about BOYD, Doofus and Webby, they’d definitely be a friend group! A chaotic one at that-

Doofus will be jealous of BOYD because they’re both attached to Louie, yes, but Doofus is more chaotic than BOYD, and we all know how Louie is about chaos!

They’d definitely get along, though! BOYD and Louie still meet at Doofus’s party, but this time Mark Beaks stops Doofus from setting BOYD on Louie, and fixes his code! Which, goes down the drain the moment BOYD learns how to write his own code!

Webby and Doofus are certainly interesting, because they’d surely be enemies at first, both competing for Louie’s N. 1 Friend spot, especially since they’re both new to friendship- and BOYD doesn’t really get that concept yet.

And regarding the villains…

Goldie definitely trusts Ma Beagle and Mark Beaks more, mostly because Ma Beagle is an actual mother, and knows the basics of caretaking- and Mark Beaks is easily manipulated, so Louie can make him do whatever he wants!

But if she really has to pair the babysitters up, she has the pairs picked out!

Ma Beagle - Glomgold

Magica - Mark Beaks or Don Karnage - Mark Beaks!

Don Karnage rarely gets to hang out with Louie, because Goldie knows he’s a part of FOWL and Magica because she was horrible to Lena so she does NOT trust them at all, which is why she leaves both with Mark Beaks because, weirdly enough, he’s the one she trusts more!

Finally!

This took me so long, it’s probably the longest ask I’ve received!

(Don’t mind the fact that I can’t seem to decide which style to use, I am STILL figuring it out)

(Song BOYD and Louie are singing is “All You Need” from Sofia the first)

(Also click for higher resolution <3)

(Also so sorry for the late responses, I promise I’m reading all asks and working on each one of them, school is just keeping me VERY busy)

[ikroah]

Pistol packin' mama, lay that thing down before it goes off and hurts somebody! —“Pistol Packin’ Mama,” Bing Crosby (1943)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #24 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding III

Collaborative Issue! Guest Artist: @yesjejunus

«« First | « Previous || Next » | Last »»

Read IKROAH on Archive of Our Own

Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

Oh noooooooooooo :(

These pages might get shrunken a little by Tumblr for some reason so either right-click to view at full-size or just read it on AO3 at the link above. And give a round of applause to my wonderful and wonderfully talented friend @yesjejunus who returns to guest art duty with this new issue, which is just another car crashing into the pile-up that is happening to Agnes in the closing half of Volume 2. Issue #25 will be all of my own art again, and I've been working for a long time on reinventing the look, feel, and production of IKROAH's artstyle so I hope you'll all be as excited as I am. Some really big things are about to happen.

Original Pencils

Here's another reason why mr. jejunus deserves a round of applause: patience. I talk often about how IKROAH is a very long-term project but this issue marks the longest collaboration in the history of the comic: the original pencils for this issue were drawn in August 2021. This was also when yesjejunus and I first discussed him doing guest art for this issue, and it would have been a lot sooner, of course, but you know, things (like months of burnout) can just happen. By the time this issue was finally next in the queue, I had committed to increasing the resolution of IKROAH's pages just to ease my own production, but these pencils were still formatted for the old size. I had to reformat these pencils for the new size and aspect ratio.

The tumblr editor keeps crashing every time I try to include them, so here's links instead: [1] [2] [3].

The thing about working with yesjejunus on comic issues like this is that at this point we're so deep in each other's heads that I barely even need to give him feedback. He understands the assignment completely because we're both sickos pressed against each other's brain-windows going "Yes…ha ha ha…yes!" and drooling. It's the kind of friendship as well as creative partnership that you really just treasure.

Transcript

INT. BENNY'S BEDROOM, THE TOPS CASINO, NEW VEGAS.

AGNES SANDS stares down, exhausted, at BENNY, the leader of the Chairmen and the man who shot her in the head.

BENNY does not stare back. He is dead. His eyes have rolled up lifelessly and blood is oozing from the gruesome wound in his skull.

AGNES looks away.

Suddenly—

SFX: KNOCK KNOCK

VOICE FROM OUTSIDE (off): Hey, Ben-man! Everything alright in there?

AGNES jerks up in surprise. She searches her surroundings frantically, looking for a way out. The gun that she shot BENNY with—the gun that BENNY shot her with—is still in her hand. She sees a side door, barely ajar, leading out of BENNY'S BEDROOM with a dim light coming from behind it.

AGNES sprints forward, her arm outstretched to shove open the door, and barges in. Then she freezes in her tracks. In front of her is a large and ambulatory machine, with claw-like arms and a computer monitor in its center. The monitor displays an unchanging vector of a happily smiling face. It speaks.

THE MACHINE: Hello! I'm Yes Ma—

AGNES raises the gun with both hands and fires repeatedly, her eyes wide and mouth agape in terror. She empties it of every single other bullet that was left in it.

THE MACHINE (shorting out): I-I'm sorry…!!

THE MACHINE crumples from the repeated shots, which shatter its monitor-face like a glass window and send it falling backwards. Its robotic corpse snaps and cracks with electricity and malfunctioning hardware as AGNES remains stunned in the doorway.

SFX: KNOCK KNOCK

AGNES looks up as BENNY'S men pound harder on the door to the suite.

VOICE FROM OUTSIDE (off): Benny! We heard shots! We're coming in!

AGNES drops the gun and flees through the hallway's secret private elevator.

VOICE FROM OUTSIDE (off): Oh, shit, somebody iced 'im! Get security!

[rey-jake-therapist]

Thanks for the tag, @writing-for-life! I recently followed you AND I also write fanfics, so it was the right call and a fun game!

To be honest, I rarely think of tropes. It's always only after I start writing a fic that I realize, "oh! it's x trope!". When I pick a fic to read, I'll be more careful about avoiding tropes I really dislike, than about finding a trope I like... If that makes sense.

Anyway, enough babbling!

Rules: How much do these tropes affect your decision to click on a fic?

• -10 -> very dissuaded

• 0 - don't care either way

• 10 -> very enticed

• nope -> if it's a hard no and you'd never click on a fic with that tag or or you even have the tag blocked or you'd insta click out of the fic if it wasn't tagged

Bonus points for explaining the rating and whether it's conditional.

Age Gap: 0

I can't say I'm turned on by a big age gap especially, but I don't mind if there's one and it serves the plot. If it's just an excuse to write Daddy kink smut, I'm not interested.

Codependency: -10

Not a hard no because context matters, but as in most cases codependency is depicted as very romantic as codependency is often confused with "real love", I generally avoid fics that involve this trope.

Enemies to lovers: -5

I think it's a trope that can be really great and thrilling to read and write, but for me to work it has to be rather: enemies to friends - friends to lovers. I really don't like it when the characters hated each other but suddenly fall in love for no reason whatsoever, or when the reason is crap such as "oh in fact they're soulmate!" (Reylo I'm looking at you). So, I'm rather on the fence about this one and I don't think I'll ever try my hands at it personnally.

Enemies With Benefits: nope

I don't even understand how it works tbh. Maybe because I'm demisexual but it's unconceivable in my head. You hate eact other but you fuck? how does that work?

Fake Dating/Relationship: -9

I tend to consider this trope as lazy writing, maybe because I never read a good fake dating relationship story?

Found Family: 8

This trope never fails to make my heart melt!

Friends to Lovers: 5

My first ship was the ultimate Friends to lovers ship aka Mulder and Scully from X Files, so... Even though I often end up finding the trope boring and predictable, I keep a soft spot for it.

Friends with Benefits: nope

Sorry, boring.

Hurt/Comfort: 10

I LIVE for this trope!

Love Triangle: nope

It's probably the trope I hate the most. I really don't like the concept of a competition for someone's heart, and it always ends up with someone being lonely or miserable or worse, dead. Hard no.

Mistaken/Hidden Identity: 10

I love writing these stories and reading them! I love trying to find out why the character hides their identity/are confused with someone else, who they are in reality, their motivations, their loved ones' reaction to the truth, the resolution... There's so potential for development it's really one of my favorite trope.

Monster Fu... Relationship: -9

Meh... I'm more interested in *human* monster fu... than in actual monster fu... I'm a Will/Hannibal shipper for example, but if say, Hannibal turned into a werewolf at night, that wouldn't work for me...

Obsession, Possessiveness, etc.: 0

I have to clarify: if it's framed as something possessive, it's a hard NO. But I don't mind a good thriller type of fic :)

Opposites (like grumpy x sunshine, etc): 5

If it doesn't rely too heavily on stereotypes (not a big fan of the grumpy x sunshine stuff for example), I'm in.

Poly: nope

'nuff said.

Pregnancy: -2

I tend towards the negative because too often pregnancy is used as a solution to every problem that the characters might have at the moment, like, erm, a blatantly abusive relationship for example, in which case I hate it. But I write it sometimes, and if done in a realistic way that doesn't undermine the female character's arc... I don't mind.

Second Chance: 8

I believe very much in the concept of second chance so yes, I'll probably read it.

Sex to Feelings: 1

It really depends on many things, like if it's a real story or just smut without plot with a sudden happy ending (in which case it's not my thing), and of the story of course! if the plot is the trope, it's not my thing.

Slowburn: 10

As I said Mulder and Scully were my first ship.... Seven years of slow burn, friends, SEVEN YEARS!

Soulmates: 7

I never believed in soulmates in real life, but for some reason I absolutely love to read it, and write it too! It has to be well developed for me to be really into it though.

Thanks again for this! it was very pleasant ^^ Tagging now @arawen898, @alrendriablaze, @endlessbittersweetdreams, @sylverfaeland, @thepaintedlady00 : if you have already done this game or are not interested, feel free to ignore of course!

[forsworned]

[♥] collegeau! to date or not to date {rengoku kyoujurou x reader}

Genre: Comedy, Slight Fluff, Slight Sensual Themes

Categories: F/M

Relationships: Renguko Kyoujorou/Reader

Word count: 2,791

a/n: continuation of unintentionally roomates which you can find here ,,requests are open

➽────────────── ────────────── ──────────── ❥ 

It had been some weeks since she had gotten used to Kyoujurou being her roommate. So far neither of them had walked in on each other naked--yet. He was pretty tidy and would call her out in a teasingly kind of way that she'd sleep with her mouth wide open which made her pretty insecure, but he insisted it was "very cute." Which didn't make it any better. He could concur that it probably wasn't a good idea to show her the picture he had taken of her (he actually would look at it when he was having a bad day or he just wanted a good laugh; he also nearly made it his homescreen but decided that was maybe a little too far).

Mid-terms would be coming up soon and Kyoujurou wanted to do something fun before all the stress would settle in from piles of homework assignments and study guides. He suggested that the both of them should go to the amusement park and [name] was more than delighted to go, but there was a small issue with this. She didn't know if it was a date or just them simply hanging out. He just brought it up so casually when they had just finished a round of Super Smash Bros. and [name] was trying her hardest not to be a flustered mess about it.

"Just ask him." Shinobu's usual singsong voice was now monotonous. She had had enough of [name]'s shit to say the least. Always inquiring about Kyoujurou since Shinobu and him had been in the same graduating high school class and friend group. Not to mention mid terms were coming up and pre-med was no joke.

[Name] visibly sulked at her friend's tone. She didn't like being a nuisance to Shinobu, even though it wasn't hard to irate her nerves, but this time she seriously needed help and Shinobu was being nothing less than unpleasant.

"Shinobuuuu," [Name] whined. "This is a big deal for me. Please give me advice and I won't bring it up ever again."

The ravenette's eyes darted to the [h/c] pleading gaze, and it was enough to make to [name] squeak. Shinobu let out a sigh before speaking.

"Fine," [name]'s expression brightened, but Shinobu's finger pressing into her forehead made it falter a little. "but you don't need to stop talking about him. Just do it a lot less. I need to focus on exams."

[Name] cheered in triumph and fist pumped into the air, which in turn made Shinobu laugh. She wanted to be there for [name] in anyway she could, just within some restrictions and limitations. Shinobu's face suddenly went gravely serious.

"So here's the game plan."

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

[Name] took a deep breath before looking at her reflection. Her outfit was subtle yet cute. A simple blue top and beige skort to prevent panty reveals yet still have the illusion of wearing a skirt. Hair was pinned and pulled back abover her neckline since the sun would be beating down and she wanted to take every precaution to avoid any excessive sweating. Make up was light to circumvent it from melting off her face. Yes, [name] was over meticulous because she was resolute in this hang out/date to be absolutely perfect. And if Kyoujurou had decided to reject her than at least she'd look hot getting her heartbroken.

He had already left over an hour ago since he had to tutor a student in history at the tutoring center. A work study job that he picked up to help cover his tuition and endlessly spoke about when he got back to his dorm when you two were winding down from your day.

[Name] spritzed her best perfume to all her pulse points to extend the life of her scent as it hit her body. She threw it in her bag along with her make up just in case she needed to freshen up. One last look in the mirror and she was finally off to her date, er, hang-out thingy.

The autumn air was irregularly warm and humid. Well, not irregular for Okinawa at least. It was a sub tropical climate which meant mild winters and the moist summers were what [name] favored most about it here.

As she walked out of the dormitory and into the student parking lot, she was nearly blinded by the blond tresses sitting on the bench. Like quite, literally blinded. The sun was bouncing off his fiery hair more than usual and it was causing [name] to squint at him when she approached him. For some reason (she had an exact reason being that she looked super hot), [name] felt bold, and advanced toward Kyoujurou with hands concealing his vision. He visibly tensed and she couldn't help but feel a smile tug at her lips.

"Guess who."

His body now relaxing at the sound of her voice and she felt the apples of cheeks rise into a grin against the palm of her hands. "[name], you're finally here!"

She released her hands as he got up to face her and his jaw went a little aslack as he oggled at her profile. [Name] was stunning, indeed. His adam's apple bobbed up and down as he dryily swallowed. His hair that was now pulled back in a high ponytail let his bangs frame his face beautifully, swayed in the small gust momentarily. She could've sworn that he was blushing at her, but then again it was quite hot...

"You look--um, quite sharp!" He stammered. Kyoujurou mentally socked himself in the face. Sharp? That was the best he could come up with?

[Name]'s expression was now in a state of bemusement before she laughed melodically. To him it was a beautiful melody that he always tried to sway out of her with corny jokes and memes. "Well, thank you Kyoujurou. You look quite sharp, too!"

[Name] wanted to die. She looked sharp? Sharp?! No, she looked Hot! With a capital freaking "H".

Nonetheless, [name] shook it off. She was determined to make this flawless even if it was off to a rocky start. Thankfully the ride to the amusement car was starting to make up for it. The both of them jammed to the playlist they had put together earlier and discussed which rides they were excited about most.

"$50?!"

"You really don't read things thoroughly do you, [name]."

[Name] ignored his attempt at poking fun at her. It was always like this whenever she freakishly exclaimed about information that was news to her, but had been there for well however long the inital post had been there for and Kyoujurou had always made it a point to call her out for it.

"Well, I can't make you pay for it." She deadpanned. And she absolutely meant it. Kind of. Not really. It would mean that it would technically be a date, right? Right? A guy paying always meant that it was a date. [Name] mentally nodded at herself reassuring herself.

"Well, that's too bad." He inserted his card into the chip reader and thanked the attendant while grabbing his receipt.

[Name] bit back a smile as they walked side by side into the park. "Well, I'm going to pay you back."

He looked at her with an uncharacterstically sultry gaze. "No, you are not."

His voice demanding, dropped an octave and it sent a shiver up her spine. [Name] would be lying to herself if she said that it didn't make the her stomach knot up. Kyoujurou pulled out his phone pointed it towards her, trying to get a good angle and lighting.

"Now, give me a smile!" He beamed in his usual cheery tone. [Name] smiled posing her usual peace sign as he clicked away at his phone. Had she just imagined that?

The day seemed to slip past them as they took pictures with their phones and disposal camera they bought at the one of the stands for a whooping $25. Which was a total rip off, but then again bottled water was $5. The pair were laughing as they looked through the pictures they had taken throughout their trip.

"Oh, no. You are not keeping this one." She reached over to tap the trash can on his phone screen to get rid of the terrible photo that was her inhaling funnel cake. But before she could, Kyoujurou moved his screen away from her as he chuckled at [name] getting flustered. There was no way he'd let her get away with such a cute picture.

"I am definitely going to be framing this as soon as we get back." And that made [name]'s face inflame in embarrassment and shock. She was definitely, not going to let him do that.

"You delete that, right. Now!" She tried her best to extend her arms in every which way Kyoujurou was flexing his arms out but to avail. [Name] knew she wasn't going to get her hands on his phone, but she kept leaning over in an attempt to get an advantage on his long arms. That was until she clambered into his lap, face first into his crotch.

Kyoujurou froze and his breath hitched as he lowered his arm down and let unholy thoughts pass through his head but he quickly shook them off. "A-are you alright, [name]?"

Nope, now [name] was definitely going to die. She slowly rose out of his lap and plopped back into her seat, trying her best not to make the situation even more awkward. She shot him a smile in a strive to shake off the graceless action of diving face first into the crotch of her crush.

"I'm all good." She took a deep breath before looking up at the darkening sky. Kyoujurou couldn't tell what she was thinking, but it looked almost as if she was unfazed which he was very thankful for.

"Let's go on the ferris wheel before we leave!" That snapped him out of his thoughts. A grin now making its way back onto his face and a sound of approval emitted from his lips. "Let's do it!"

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

[Name] snickered to herself as they entered the ferris wheel seating after letting several people ahead of them. It was all going according to plan, well, not the face planting into Kyoujurou’s lap. That was definitely not in the plan she and Shinobu had concocted.

“So, here the game plan.” Shinobu stated matter-o-factly. Her name were in a crouched position as if in a very important football team meeting. “You’re gonna look hot. Like I’m talking Jennifer’s Body hot. And then—“

”But i don’t have clothes like that.”

“Shut up. We’ll go shopping. And your make up has got to be perfect like I’m talking no melting off your face looking like the Corpse Bride. Oh, and you’re drowning yourself in sexy perfume every thirty minutes.”

”But I—“

”Speak out of line one more time and I’ll kick your ass.”

“Fine.”

“Back to what I was saying. You’re gonna take loads of pics start it off friendly and lighthearted and then bam! You get him on that ferris wheel and get your flirt on. End the night off with a kiss at the top of the ferris wheel.”

Shinobu was extremely gifted in giving pep talks and revving them up. Which was probably why she was captain of the cheer team at their university.

[Name] felt like she was a crazy high. She could practically run four miles nonstop with the attitude she had in that moment.

Shinobu and her high fived, one leg kicked up in to the air with the most triumphant looks on their faces. “We got this!”

She shook her head as if to shake away the thought.

”You, ok?”

She smiled at the slightly dampened Kyoujorou who’s cheek were tinted pink from the heat. Beads of sweat has slid down his temples, but that only seemed to add to his sex appeal.

”More than ok. I love ferris wheels. They’re so romantic.”

Those words left her lips and turned in a smile that was as sweet as candy. Kyoujurou’s heart leapt in his chest as he eyed her intently.

”You could say that.”

He done fucked up again. Kyoujurou wanted to kick his own ass at this point. Why was he so terrible at flirting? It made him look like he didn’t pick up any social cues at all. Which wasn’t entirely untrue. There were many times where Tengen would point out that a girl was being extremely flirtatious with him but it would simply go over his head. He would usually reject the notion claiming they were just being nice which in turn would lead to Tengen face palming. And he thought he was doing such a good job at the start.

The silence was deafening as they reached the top of the ride and it suddenly came to a jerking stop. The view was wondrous. The sun kissed at their faces and grazed the tops of trees and the peaks of roller coaster rides. Brightly colored lights flashed simultaneously down below, but [Name]’s  stomach felt like it was caving in the longer she stared. Very romantic, indeed.

Her face must’ve looked a little green because Kyoujurou’s expression turned into a worried one. “You sure you’re okay, [name]? Have some water.”

She grabbed the bottle he handed to her and instead of water falling like she usually did, she pressed her lips against the same place his had been. Kyoujurou’s eyes widened in surprise as she absentmindedly guzzled his drink down and gave it back to him. His hands turning into fists as he flexed as hard he could to keep the warmth that was rising away from that region.

“Thanks.” She gasped. [Name] wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she leaned back against the seat. So much for her game plan. She sighed to herself as she collected her thoughts. What difference would it make if she just told him right now.

”Kyoujurou.” The name left her lips so effortlessly. He loved the way she said his name. He would think about it mostly in the shower, but more innocently before he went to sleep.

He raised his eyebrows fully attentive now. She turned to face him as she leaned forward. A different look on her face. Soft and flustered. “I like you, a lot.”

His body stiffened for a moment and a cool breeze swooped past their longing gazes. The sudden realization had dawned upon him that those words weren’t just make believe. She had really uttered them into existence. He hadn’t noticed how close her lips were to his until he felt her minty breath fan against his nose. He didn’t pull away.

[Name] closed the distance between their lips and Kyoujurou instinctively leaned in more as soon as they made contact. His hand cupped her cheek to deepen the kiss and she sighed in delight. A smile now etched on her face had now infected him and he pulled away to look at her. He caressed her cheek as she giggled and he gazed her puzzled.

”Did I do something wrong?” If he kissed her wrong he definitely wanted to know. One thing about Kyoujurou was that he was always open to constructive criticism. She shook her head. The content look on her face still evident.

”Not at all.” She leaned in once more. “I just didn’t expect you to be so frigid.”

She giggled again at his surprised, yet embarrassed mien. However, [name] stopped giggling when she saw the determined look on his face.

”Well, I can do better.” He suddenly captured her lips and she instantly melted at his hot touch. His hand loosely on her waist and she moaned a bit as their kisses turn into feverish open mouthed ones. His lips detached from hers as he felt the the ride coming back down. [Name] felt like her whole body was in flames and there Kyoujurou was sitting there as cool as a cucumber.

The ride shifted the shuttle as the two got up and his hands slipped in hers as he lead them out. She couldn’t believe  the stunt he just pulled. Her fingers on her lips still feeling the ghost of his. He laughed heartily at her reddened face and that captured her attention.

”Don’t worry. We can continue that when we get back.”

[Name] was speechless, but somehow was even more flushed than before. Kyoujurou chuckled at her again as he pulled her in for a side hug as they headed back to his car. The smug look never left his face.

[tokimihyachi]

Love Is War [ AU ]

Pairing: Nacht Faust X Reader 

Warning/s: None

Includes: Kaguya-sama references </333

The prestigious school of Clover Academy with its ancient and noble origin, was founded to educate its students born in the crusts of upper society. Despite its nobility class system being abolished due to the efforts of a certain man, distinguished families from all over the land, who will one day take lead continue to enroll in the said academy.

But of course, they would not let anyone rule the school in its grounds of education.

'LOOK!'

'It's the members of the Student Council!'

Proud, conserved, and prudent. These where the characteritics of [Y/N] that allured all the rest of their dignified school's students, staff, and even members of the council.  

She was viewed as the powerful Vice-President who's connections are far more vast than the ocean's wideness itself, her intelligence beyond comprehension, and above all else, her beauty exulding nothing but that worthy of a regal woman who's shares  with their own company is far superior than anyone else that attended the school. (yes we ain't broke here)

And the man who she supports dedicatedly; Nacht Faust. Unlike  [Y/N] [L/N] , the student council president is well respected as he is first in every academic-related contest, event and affairs, earning the high and fear of his peers. And of course, would could not let slide how charming this man is.

'They're like gods walking around!'

'Do you think they're dating?'

'Why don't you ask them?'

'No! That would be too embarassing!'

Joining the power duo is Mimosa Vermillion, the student council secretary, Asta, the treasurer and Noelle Silva, their trusted auditor and also the public morale committee head.

These five students make the strongest foundation an institute could ever ask for, but even the strongest of pillars have its weaknesses...

Pouring in a sum of coffee, deliciously brewed by the Vice-President herself, [Y/N] smiles gently, holding the kettle with its contents streaming into the porcelain cup of the President, who looks over the book he held with his right arm to thank the girl for her unwavering kindness.

"So it seems that the students have been gossiping about us lately, President." Nacht hums at her statement, delicately raising the cup to his lips and drinking the pleasant morning coffee, "They're wondering if we're a couple or not." the girl giggle softly, trailing back to the cabinet of ceramic plates and dishes.

Nacht closed both of his eyes, and responded with a furtive grin, "They're probably at that age of curiousity. It is best to ignore them, if it bothers you." the last sentence he uttered was hesitant in his perspective, but to her, it was filled with much confidence.

Despite the thick tension in the air, [Y/N] maintained her composure, "Oh? But it does not mind me at all." the President was surprised at her boldness, was this perhaps... a sign that he should take initiative?

Feeling a surge of new found bravery, he opens his mouth to commend them and undobtedly push the woman to her limits when the door opens, and Noelle, Asta and Mimosa walk through the doors.

'Curse them/!' the two thought simultaneously

Asta, the energetic boy that he is, loudly entered the room and jumped onto the sofa next to Nacht, while the two girls were giggling to themselves and went to the direction of the Vice-President. Mimosa shyly tugs [Y/N]'s uniform and hands her a letter.

"Is this next month's budget for the activites?" she inquired, slowly opening the letter.

"NOPE! I THINK IT'S A LOVE LETTER!" Asta yelled from the sofa, causing Nacht's eyes to open. His calm and serene eyes looking at their course with an amused complexion painting his face.

[Y/N] opened it, and was surprised with the contents of the letter: It was a confession, a very passionate one from a boy named bokuto, "It is." the girl thoroughly read every bit of it, as it clearly stated that he wanted to meet up with her at the cafeteria during lunch.

Noelle, clearly irritated that it wasn't who she was shipping with her senpai, flipped her hair and scoffed, "It's not like you're going. Am I right, [Y/N]-chan?" the silence that followed such question, echoed in Nacht's mind.

The President always knew that [Y/N] was, and is a woman of class and dignity. He felt that whoever confessed to him, must've been an over-achiever, or a big ball of pure dumbness, as they confessed to a woman who spent most of her time staring at him lovingly.

"Of course I am." her simple reply shook them to the bones. Miss [L/N] who's standards were well-known all over the school for being completely high and too out of reach for anyone to even qualify for, decided that she wanted to hear the boy confess? She has never done that, as far as any student can remember.

The silver-haired girl shakes her head as if she's heard the most absurd thing in her life— No, this is by far, the most ridiculous thing she's heard her say. Who was it that confessed to her that even made her change her strong belief!?

The Vermillion beside her, squealed in delight and clinged herself to [Y/N] who uncomfortably felt her 'mountainous' chest pressed against her arm, as the girl's throughts suddenly drift to how flat-chested she actually is.

[Y/N] gulped before kindly detaching Mimosa to herself, "They clearly poured all of their own to the letter, it would be rather unfair of me to not even show myself up." Nact sighed in relief, as his mind sat on the edge, thinking of every possible way to stop her.

"OHHHHH! Finally! [Y/N]-chan is going to have a boyfriend—"

Asta's enthusiasm however, was cut off by the President, "I will not allow it." the black-haired boy tensed at his own words feeling how resolute he seemed, "As the student council president, I will not allow such illicit sexual affair in this academe." the smile dancing on [Y/N]'s lips widen, as she tried to surpress her mirth.

"Illicit? sexual? affair? Whoever said it would come to that?" she grinned at her reposte, biting her inner lip to prevent herself from laughing at how hilarious and discomposed the President looked like.

"Then I'm not sorry to inform you that I will tell of the teachers about this then. You may be suspended over this." Nacht's demeanor slowly returned as he believed his statement should be enough to silence her.

But she was not willing to back down so easily, unless the President would beg obediently for her to not meet him.

"And I, am not sorry to inform you as well that if it comes to such love as this, then I am prepared for suspension. I don't even mind if I am faced with expulsion." other members of the student council held their gasp from her choice of words. 'E-E-Expulsion!? What kind of man would confess to [Y/N]-chan that would even make her go as far as that!?' Noelle thought as she looked at the letter the girl pressed against her chest with a look of love emitted from her presence.

'What? Huh, I wonder which weed I have to pluck out...' Nacht's intelligence was put to test.

The satisfaction flowing vividly inside of [Y/N] with her imagination running wildly at how the President may actually bow down to his knees for her was enough of a thought to make her blush in place, which the others misinterpreted. 'She's serious!'

The school bell rang, signifying that it was lunch time. The moment of judgement has finally presented itself, and [Y/N], despite knowing that no lowly normal person was worthy of her except Nacht, is fully commited in pushing through with her plans.

"WELL! I HAVE TO GO SEE YUNO NOW AND ASK WHAT'S HIS SCORE ON THE SCIENCE EXAM! SEE YOU AT AT THE CAFETERIA [Y/N]-CHAN! I'LL SAVE A SEAT FOR YOU TWO— MIMOSA! NOELLE!" the ash-blonde boy yelled, passing through the corridors to run off to his rival.

The darkening presence of Nacht as though being surrounded by a scad of shadows, frigthening both Noelle and Mimosa who, from the look on their President's face, knew that he wanted to be alone with her, "H-Hey [Y/N]-senpai! Mimosa and I will be going now!"

"What? We will? But I thought—"

"See you laterrr~!"

[Y/N] merely chuckled at the two who, presumably, went to look for Asta. But as the door of the room clicked, it dawned to her that she is to face whoever this 'bokuto' of a simpleton he may be if the President does not act in a few minutes. This was a risk she was willing to do and make, but it may as well be a chance of meeting and casting her eyes away from the President who has shown very little interest in her.

The girl has taken into account all of the words which their President spoke to other people; on normal conversations, a lengthy half an hour, but with her, Nacht seems to have upset his stomach and would only converse for a few minutes. When it came to eye contact, he would not, and one would even say, he dared not to look at her for more than a minute as well. And yet did not break it with any others.

With all these thoughts in mind, [Y/N] realized she may have been fooled by the appeal of the President, falling into their trap like a mindless stray dog, "Well," she sighed, "Lunch time. I-I, I should go." the lump in her throat was unbearable, and to make matters worst, Nacht seemed like he didn't care at all.

She smiled wistfully to herself, taking her things that were next to the President himself and prepared to leave, but was stopped when asked a question, "If I confessed, would you still go?" [Y/N] looked at him, shock evident on her face, "Hypothetically speaking, If I did, would you." he added, further saddening the girl.

"Well, it's only a hypothetical question...So, I would not have an answer. See you this afternoon then, President." with a heavy heart, [Y/N] slowly marched towards the doors, her hold on the door knob trembled, as if waiting for him to stop her, but how delusional she was as he did nothing but stare at her back.

And so she went outside, and carefully closed the door. Every step she took was like a burden since the farther she went, their distance would be forever tainted in her heart.

After a couple of steps, a hand made its way to her wrist, and was surprisingly, unexpectedly faced with the President himself, "[Y/N]" he breathed out, his hand cold and shaking lightly.

"Hm?"

"Don't go."

The girl sighed, removing her hand from his grasp, "I will, if there is no reason to stay. You should go and eat lunch, President. There may nothing be—

"I like you."

The girl chuckled, "Of course you do— wait, what?" 'Does he really? Did he just...? Or was that a fraction of my imagination yet again? Can, can you repeat it, just to be sure?'

"If it means that I get to be with you, then I will gladly concede,[Y/N]. To hell with this little competition. As long as you tell me you'd like the same..." Nacht's voice was almost pleading, wailing for her to stay, to say that she felt the same as he did, despite such being unnecessary.

"I thought you'd never ask. Of course, I like you—" Nacht closed the distance between them, and claimed her lips which he always dreamt of placing his against, "Are you not ashamed o-others are watching!" she yelled at him, a deep blushing forming on her cheeks as Nacht held her face with such gentleness and love. His eyes piercing her soul as its coldness was no longer traceable with his features softening while looking at her.

As if not listening to the girl, he placed his hand behind her neck and connected their lips again for another kiss, not willing to give a care for the students who were happily eyeing them with much anticipation as they've always wanted to see such scene happen, "Then let them watch so they know what is mine."

[the1918]

2020 for the1918

Am I the last person to make this list? Maybe. Do I regret that? Yes. Am I making it anyways because my cognitive behavioral therapy is teaching me fix my avoidance issues? Also Yes.

Let’s do this: @The Trees In Front of Cevans’s House and @Bucky’s Arm... you da real MVPs.

But other than them...

Thank You to Everyone that Truly Made My 2020:

@cantabile-l  Jo (Daddy Dumpster™ Co-Founder) — I have to list you first. How could I not? Every friendship I’ve made in this fandom comes back to you. We literally bonded over porn lookalikes and started this craziness called the Stucky Porn Lookalikes Archive ( @stucky-lookalikes-archive ) to preserve the porn, and it now has now has 85k hits and 500 bookmarks (!!!?!!). But it’s more than that, even more than starting the Daddy Dumpster™ and bonding over culihos. Bespoke got finished because you got me excited enough to want it, just like half a dozen other fics. You were also the basis for many, many other friendships that I list below. Your nesting head canons were the inspiration for so, so many A/B/O moments in my fics. We’re so on the same length on an intellectual and spiritual level (I feel like you and me and @ixalit are three parts of one whole ❤) and I am in love with you for it. Culihos forever.

@hanitrash​ Hani (O.G. Dumpster™ Citizen) —I’m so, so damn glad you’re in my life. We share that sick sense of humor and refusal to adopt a filter. You add flavor to our Dumpster™ with your wit, and I feel so warm when you share pics and updates about the family with us. You were the first person I ran to when I “discovered” HTP and you held my hand 😂 And Jesus—your talent. I could go on and on and on about Through The Darkness I Heard Your Voice and Private Showing, but also one of my New Year’s resolutions is to start reading your work as Loralynne Summers. Thank you for making me smile every day of last year since April.

@trekchik Jini (O.G. Dumpster™ Citizen) — I can’t speak to the number of laugh-out-loud, belly-grabbing, cackling moments I have had in a year that could easily have been shit otherwise, all because of you. I feel like you’ve truly become a member of my family; like, I see you posting in the Dumpster™ when I wake up in the morning and I think to myself, “Oh, what’s the fam up to today?”. I know I’ve gone on and on about your talent (absolute queen of dialogue and pacing) before, but I don’t thank you enough for keeping the Porn Archive alive when the rest of us are slacking. Your Stucky Tumblr Drabbles (especially the meet cutes) puts a smile on half the fandom’s face regulary, and I’m excited to re-read the wonderful Anagnorsis & Peripeteia soon. Here’s to another year of weird dildo pictures.

@thegodswife Amanda (Dumpster™ Citizen) — I feel like we were literally destined to become friends. The love I feel for you and your little family is real and immense, and I feel like your victories (in life and in writing) are my victories. You have made a slow but steady convert of me to Shrinkyclinks with fics like peaches and because it's christmas, and I am in awe of your talent for writing charged dynamics with jaw-dropping moments. This fandom is lucky to have such a gem as you. 2021 is going to be the Year of Amanda (*clinks Lindeman’s Framboise glasses 🥂*)

@ixalit Max (Dumpster™ Citizen) — My relationship with you has and continues to be lifechanging for more reasons than I can even go into on tumblr. You make me laugh. You make me cry (usually in good ways). You make me horny by supplying the #porn-and-fun as the dutiful resident horny teenage boy of Dumpster™. I remember so clearly when we first messaged talking about your Evanstan thoughts and fics, and I knew your writing was special then (omg, Hiraeth?? How dare). You deserve all the success you earned in 2020 and every bit more success that you will continue to have this year. There is no one else I would rather have with me as we make this ~journey through Song of the Rolling Earth together. 

@becassine Bex (Dumpster™ Citizen) — What can I say about my lucky charm? 🍀 I found our friendship later in the year and I feel it was truly central to the way I finished out my year with a bang (lol). Your encouragement to finish Bespoke supercharged me, and I’m still riding that high in writing SoRE. But for every bit we talk about you being the Queen of Hype (Becassine, First of Her Name), I am also stunned by your own gorgeous writing. The Way I Feel For You is a gift to this fandom and it’s gonna keep rocking our world, along with any other creative endeavor you choose to embark on. Thank you for the treasure of your continued friendship.

@darter-blue​ Bec (Dumpster™ Citizen) — My gorgeous, gorgeous cunt of a friend. What ever am I going to do with you? I feel like you and I have clicked so perfectly and so instantly, and I feel such a strong connection to you. I have been enamored with your skill and your style since I first stumbled across your Sergeant Barnes and Colonel Rogers: A Love Story series and then rapidly gobbled up your other writing. Getting to collab with you on No Vacancies was a dream come true. You make me feel so connected to the outside world and humanity even in this bizarre time and even though you’re on the other side of the world.

@kalee60 Kel (Dumpster™ Citizen) — You flawless sass-master. You brilliant human. You tricky little bastard. What a perfect addition to the Dumpster™ you have been! And your talent, Jesus... just being around you makes me want to write. I have truly never seen someone with as much talent write so prolifically, and I am in very real awe of it. If I had to pick “Fic of the Year” for me, I would not hesitate to pick Push The Button—it turned my world upside down—but for as much as we talk about that epic, your AU Extravaganza is really miracle to behold. And I am so, so pumped for you during this exciting time coming up in your life. Here’s to magnificent year for you in 2021!

@andysmountains​ Andy Gator Lord 🐊 — You’ve changed my life. I’m sitting here and I honestly don’t know how else to put it. You’re hilarious and you’re a ball of sunshine and you have kept this breeder feeling rooted to reality (in a great way) and remembering how to smile during some of the shittiest times I can remember. Newts. You’ve helped me explore my identity, and I’m not sure what greater gift you could have given me. Also, I’ve never heard true love whispered more sincerely than when I see 🔪—and I would give you nine hundred and ninety-seven 🔪 now if not for the fact that you have literally beat me to it.  

@ceratonia-siliqua Cera — We’ve shared so much. I feel so privileged that you’ve picked me to be a person that you want to talk to during hard times because you’re such a special guy, and because you’ve got talent that the world needs to see forever and ever and ever (I continue to blown away by what you did in Sunshine, and none of us are ready for Quilt Fic™) and I hope you never stop writing your whole damn heart out. I truly love you. I do. Thank you for reminding me that there is endless humanity and prose in this world.

@howdoyousleep3​ K — I feel like 2021 couldn’t be starting off better now that you’re in my life again. Last year was largely defined for me by the time I spent with you, and I’ve truly been changed by you and your writing. You are an endless amount of inspiration for me and this whole community; I would bet real money that the number of Daddy Kink converts that owe their new *interest* to finding your Daddy Steve Rogers/Baby Bucky Barnes series numbers in the hundreds (not to mention your other AUs). But fics aside, I had so many smiles and laughter throughout 2020 because of you, and I owe such a big part of my happy heart to you and your presence in my life. You have a huge, caring heart. Cheers to Cevans continuing to be a giant, bro-ish man slut and us never stopping giving him shit for it — and here’s to Trucker Bucky and his bug.

@lullabybeauty Bee — I’m not sure I would still be writing if it weren’t for you. The interest you took in my fics and endless support you’ve provided have turned me into a real-life 🥺🥺🥺 face so many times I can’t count them. But more than the hype you provide, you are an amazing person, and I hope you never stop putting (and ceaselessly keeping) the word out in our community through your blog that Black Lives Matter and black women matter now and forever; it’s far too easy for those of us who are white to let that truth fade from our minds when there’s not something terrible happening in the news, and I’m so thankful for your posts filling up my dash with reminders I need to be a good ally and giving me information to share with others. Thank you for the gift of yourself.

@ywecanthavenicethingsanymore Caroline—You sort of swooped out of nowhere for me and boosted my confidence through the roof. Your comments and your hype and your hilarious tags remind me every day that writers are only half of the fanfiction equation; all we do without supportive friends like you is sit in the corner dreaming of stories we don’t have the confidence or feel-good to put to words. Thank you for your constant support and for being so. damn. cool.

@littlesurfergrl Heather—Oh, Heather. Queen of the A+ tags. Sender of inbox updates about what time you get off of work and why you’re vibrating to read a fic. All-around beautiful person. Your love and support is magic in my veins.

@hoeforthegays Baby J—I am so damn excited for this creative project you’ve taken on; you are so talented. I look forward to our thirst talks all the time. You make me laugh with your screaming and even your advice. Such a source of sunshine in my life.

@capbvckyrogers / @tae-withsuga Cam — You were the first person who ever reblogged a farmer daddy post. You were the first person who ever sent me a prompt. Honestly, you were the first person who ever bonded with me over a character. There zero (0) chance I would have enjoyed fandom (or certainly any kind of creative success) the way that I did in 2020 if not for you. Thank you, endlessly. 

@justice-for-plums​ Kenz — Another “late in the year” friendship find that I am so grateful for. I love our talks! I am so thankful you felt comfortable to reach out and talk about writing. Our workshopping has helped remind me of what works and what doesn’t for me, and I love the creative collaboration on head canons! Excited for more in 2021.

Shrunkyclunks Bitches®, or those not mentioned already above: @dreadlockholiday (co-founder of the Bitches® with @justice-for-plums​ and #1 reason I blushed last year), @oh-i-swear-writes​ @wayward-lives​ @allegedlyann and others I either am missing on tumblr or forgetting (but not because I don’t love you) — Here’s to Cap Steve and modern Bucky and 1,000,000+ words written during our writing sprints in 2021. [Bitches® server membership is open by the way! If you love Shrunkyclunks, contact Dready @dreadlockholiday​].

And to the endless list of others who made me smile, laugh, sometimes cry, feel proud, but always feel that incredible Stucky love — a list that includes but is certainly not limited to @fishcustardandclintbarton,​ @hawkeyeandthewintersoldier, @willbakewithstucky, @hannah-stagram​, @thewaythatwerust​, @bigbraiiin, @musette22, @luninosity​, @fandomfluffandfuck​, @maddiewritesstucky​, @hbalbat, @doctorenterprise​, @epicstuckyficrecs, @k347 and the massive important people I know I am forgetting (...like some BIG ones)

To everyone above and anyone else who has scrolled this far:

Thank you.

Let’s all have a fantastic 2021 🥂

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH12

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 12: Resurrection Overture (XII) {cw: brief suicide mention}

After this day's hellish diving training, Qi Leren, who was as heavy as lead, had no strength to climb aboard. He was floating on his back beneath the boat like a miserable little mermaid under the gaze of Chen Baiqi's disdain. Finally, Chen Baiqi dragged him back onto the boat.

On the way back, Qi Leren slept as if dead. When he was woken up by the coastal evening wind, Qi Leren suddenly sat up and the coat that had been covering him slipped down. It was Chen Baiqi’s.　

"What time is it?" Qi Leren asked in a hoarse voice. He remembered that it was about five o'clock when he’d come back, but after entering the border of Dusk where it was sunset all day, it was difficult to tell the time.　

"It's seven o'clock," Chen Baiqi said without looking back as she kneeled on the bow against the wind. "You can hurry home after you wake up, but don't expect me to carry you back."　

Qi Leren responded. After a short sleep, his spirit was much better and he could walk.　

The two people got off the boat together. Chen Baiqi put her hands in her pockets with a cigarette in her mouth and looked at the distant sunset with empty eyes, her expression unreadable.　

"Thank you," Qi Leren suddenly said.　

"Hmm?" Chen Baiqi was puzzled.　

When he first woke up, Qi Leren was slow to respond, but now he had recovered. How could it take two hours to sail from Undead Island to Sunset Island’s port? The ship had already landed, but Chen Baiqi hadn't woken him up after seeing that he was tired enough to sleep. She’d smoked on bow for two hours, waiting for him to wake up. In this world where time was life, she had expended two hours for a person who wasn’t even a formal disciple… No, it took far more time than two hours. This kindness was tantamount to a life-saving grace.　

"Nothing, just wanted to thank you." Qi Leren said sincerely, "For many things... I should thank you."　

The two of them having arrived at an intersection, Chen Baiqi was going back to her store to have dinner with her sister, and Qi Leren was going back to Dr. Lu where he was still spending the night.　

Chen Baiqi stopped and stamped out the cigarette butt: "It's no use thanking me. Come and show me your potential."　

"I’ll work hard."　

"I’ll watch it, too," Chen Baiqi said, then turned and left, waving goodbye at him over her back.　

Qi Leren stood in silence for a moment, looking at Chen Baiqi’s back. She really was a woman with many stories and many worries, but she refused to sell her own stories and was reluctant to share her past. She was tightly wrapped in secrets, and no one knew her age. Even the name Chen Baiqi didn’t seem to be her real name.　　

What had she done in the real world? What kind of experiences had she had in the Nightmare World? Why did she want to adopt a player's child and love her as a sister? How was her half-field broken? Qi Leren didn’t know any of this. His understanding of Chen Baiqi was limited to the words she had revealed—she had once worked in the Heresy Court of the Trials Court, was an assassin who mainly focused on intelligence and assassination, and had a summoning book that sealed many strange creatures, which were accumulated when she traveled in the Nightmare World.　　

He wondered if he could be as strong as Chen Baiqi once he had spent eight years in the Nightmare World. He should be able to, at least, as long as his luck didn’t stop him from reaching his eighth year. Qi Leren gave a wry smile in his heart, got rid of the idea, and set foot on his way home.　　

When he returned to Dr. Lu's clinic, Dr. Lu was treating a familiar young man and nagged, "Jumped from the third floor? I see you’re young, why do you want to die like this? Do you think you’re a superhero? Doesn’t it hurt to jump from the third floor in one breath? Sometimes people jump off buildings. If you can stop it, stop it. Otherwise, forget it. What kind of hero is that? Hey, you’re back? I'm starving for dinner right now."　　

The young man who was being treated by "Doctor’s Orders" also turned his head and leapt up from his chair in surprise: "Qianbei! Long time no see! How have you been recently? I thought about it, and the house should be returned to you. It was originally your house. I'll find another residence. I have a lot of time to live now!"　　

"It doesn't matter, I live here as well," Qi Leren said in a reserved way.　　

The last time when he signed the confidentiality agreement with Du Yue, he’d felt that he was very sorry for the other. How dare he take the house back?　　

Recently, he had had to buy an extra bed. Otherwise Dr. Lu, who was grudgingly made to sleep on the sofa, would have continued to look at him bitterly and even dare to be angry at this “evil guest” who had taken over his nest. 　　

Du Yue looked at Qi Leren, who refused to move back, as if he was wronged. He lowered his head like a big dog who had been reprimanded by his master. Dr. Lu looked at him pitifully and invited him to have dinner with them. Du Yue immediately perked up: "Good, good, I have no place to eat!"　　

So the meal became three people together. If Qi Leren's training ended early, he would come back to cook. If it ended late, Dr. Lu would do it. Dr. Lu's culinary skills were not bad. You could see it from how Du Yue ate three bowls in one go.　　

After dinner, Du Yue rushed to wash the dishes. Qi Leren and Dr. Lu had a brief exchange about today's events.　　

"Du Yue had come several times even before you came back. I'm telling you, he's a personal event trigger! Almost every time, it was a courageous injury. Walking on the road the day before yesterday, he witnessed a robbery. He went up and beat the robber who then stabbed him. Today, he met a pregnant woman who wanted to jump off a building. He saved her but fell off himself. Fortunately, only his arm was broken..." Dr. Lu gushed about Du Yue's glorious deeds, and he was very optimistic about this young man.　　

"Are you talking about me?" Du Yue came out of the kitchen after washing the dishes.　　

"Yes, talking about the series of accidents that you’ve encountered almost daily," Dr. Lu smiled.　　

Du Yue scratched his head and said with a silly smile: "It's okay… It’s not every day."　　

"Does it have to happen every day?" Qi Leren vomited a sentence.　　

"Is the pregnant woman you saved today okay?" Dr. Lu asked smoothly.　　

"Okay? Ah, Her friend persuaded her to go with her after a while and asked for my contact information, saying that she would like to thank me next time," Du Yue said.　　

"If you want an abortion, between the Village of Dusk’s medical facilities plus the monthly tasks, isn’t it only too easy?" Dr. Lu said.　　

"Yes, that's what I told them."　　

A young man who had just grown up and a young man who looked like he was underage talked seriously about the problem of pregnancy and childbirth. This picture was a bit funny. After listening for a while, Qi Leren suddenly remembered the laptop. He quickly got up and said, "You two take your time talking, I’m going to go for a walk."　　

After leaving Dr. Lu's clinic, Qi Leren followed the address that Chen Baiqi had given him before, and went to find the house of the tech savvy player who was still alive.　　

The place where the player lived wasn’t far from Dr. Lu's clinic. Qi Leren was still worried that he still hadn’t come back after leaving for his task. However, this time he was lucky. After ringing the doorbell, a mechanical voice that sounded like a young girl came from behind the door: "Master is busy. What can I do for you?"

"Hello, I was referred by Chen Baiqi. I need to make an electronic appliance please," Qi Leren said.　　

"Just a moment, please."

After a few minutes, the door opened and Qi Leren saw at a glance that the three foot tall robot on the ground looked like a moving trash can. It opened the shoe rack and found a pair of shoe covers for Qi Leren: "Please come with me."　　

It was indeed a high-tech house. Qi Leren sighed with emotion in his heart and followed the little robot all the way to the basement.　　

The basement was very big. After Qi Leren went in, he suddenly saw a screen on the wall facing him!　　

However, it wasn’t like the HD display screens common in the real world, it was like the oldest gray TV screens in an antique shop. There were constantly black and white pixels moving on this display screen, which was actually playing a simple shooting game like a computer in the 1980s!　　

As Qi Leren approached, the man who had his back to him as he watched the screen suddenly lost the game, one hand coming down on the table: "Shit, lost again!"　　

"Hello." Qi Leren made a noise.　　

The man's back froze and he turned slowly. He was a young man with glasses who looked a little dull: "...Oh, hello."　　

Qi Leren felt that he was more nervous than him. His voice was a little shaky and he stuttered a little, obviously the type that didn’t have contact with others often.　　

After Qi Leren stated his purpose, the techy suddenly got excited: "Did you bring your laptop into the game? Sell it to me, I’ll pay a high price!"　　

Qi Leren suddenly broke out in a cold sweat, not to mention that the laptop was still in Schrodinger's state, appearing and disappearing irregularly. Even if the laptop was in his item bar now, he couldn't give it to others. But if he refused this person's request, would he still help him make the charger or transformer? He had to find a suitable reason...　　

Qi Leren secretly gritted his teeth and made a decision.　　

"No, there’s very important information on it. I can't give it to anyone," Qi Leren resolutely said.　　

"I can print the information for you!" the techy said enthusiastically, without stuttering.　　

"This... is not that kind of information." Qi Leren looked embarrassed and his eyes wandered. "It's the kind of... hundreds of G, you know..."　　

The techy’s eyes grew brighter: "Dude! I haven't seen a movie in such a long time! Sell it to me! Lend it to me without selling it!"　　

Qi Leren coughed twice: "To tell you the truth, all I watched were pure men's shootouts..."　　

The techy was stunned for a moment, then resolutely insisted: "It's okay, anti-Japanese drama, gun battle film, American blockbuster, I watched all of these."　　

Qi Leren covered his forehead: "I'm talking about GV, GayVideo, a film made by a group of men, understand!"　　

"................I understand."　　

In order to keep the laptop far away, Qi Leren, who did not hesitate to destroy his image, showed a kind smile: "Do you want to see it? I have quite a few varieties there, from gangbang to S/M to people and animals-"　　

"No, I, I, I, I, I still like girls."　　

"Oh, that's a pity," Qi Leren said regretfully.　　

After he dispelled the techy’s idea of buying the laptop off him, Qi Leren quickly finalized this order with him: to make a mobile power supply that could be externally connected to a laptop, which was equivalent to a large charging battery—"When I go to a copy task without electricity, I also want to watch these films to reduce stress." Quote by a serious Qi Leren.　　

"By the way, make another transformer, because the voltage in the Village of Dusk is different from that in the real world—of course, you should watch movies to relax when you’re in the Village of Dusk." Quote by a still serious Qi Leren.　　

The techy wanted to warn him that "a little joy hurts his body". In particular, he looked at Qi Leren walking a little bit. He looked like he was worn out and exhausted. He was finally defeated by Qi Leren’s kind smile and closed his mouth silently.　　

Out of the techy’s house, Qi Leren gave a long sigh. Today, he once again made himself into a gay man with strange taste. He was still a wretched gay man who watched hardcore porn every day. It seemed that the path to building an upright image only grew longer.

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Editor’s Notes: Happy first day of pride month, everyone! 🌈

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[rightsockjin]

Here’s Number 13 with Yoongi! I hope y'all like it! 

Summary: A road trip with your life long friend takes an unexpected turn for the best...

Rating: T (Teen- suggestive)

Genre: Fluff and like a hint of what could be smut...

Warnings: The ending... that’s it. Nothing triggering I think. Oh someone gets smacked in the ass. So there’s that... um... partial nudity. Underwear. ok yea.

Submit a request!

Prompt list

“Can you just get in the damn car?”

Yoongi wasn’t exactly a patient person.

From the day that you met him in middle school-

Well really you had met him sometime in Primary school but you had both at some point agreed that the story you would tell people when they asked when you two had met was that you met in middle school.

That being because well... you guys hated each other.

Kind of.

Yoongi hated you and you... well you didn’t take well to being hated.

That being said, when you guys did end up becoming friends, it was Yoongi who had proposed it after years of what he put as “rivalry”.

He’d asked you to share a Sunday with him and you guys spent the whole afternoon talking.

One thing led to another and from then on you were inseparable.

“But look at the sky,” you said, pointing at the stars as they had begun to ebb away with the moon.

It was slightly purple and pink and a little orange.

The sun was still too low to be seen but it was painting the sky prettily.

“We can look at the stars some other time. We’re gonna be late.”

You rolled your eyes as a shiver went through your whole body.

It was your annual winter road trip and every year, without fail, you refused to bring a thick enough coat.

“Late to what? We don’t even have a destination dude.”

Maybe it was because you-

Pft.

You couldn’t even think of a good excuse for yourself anymore.

In all honesty-

Which is something you had started to do recently.

Honestly.

-you realized at some point on the last road trip that it was because you liked it much better when Yoongi groaned... then smiled... and gave you his.

“Late to the beginning.”

Ooooooookaaayyy?

Whatever what meant.

“Yoongi... are you sure that you got enough sleep?”

Yoongi shrugged.

“Probably. I slept from like three until six,” he said, as you ripped your eyes from the beautiful sky.

“That’s three hours,” you gaped through the rolled down window.

The car hummed softly. The warmth emanating from the engine transferred from the aura surrounding it into your bones.

But not your teeth.

They... were chattering something fierce.

“Yo-you’re fucking joking right?”

When he didn’t answer you made an ugly noise somewhere in the back of your throat and hit the roof of his-

1988 maroon thunderbird

(And don’t you forget it)

(...it’s his baby)

(It even has a name)

-car.

Yoongi’s hooded eyes shot wide open in surprise and what you knew to be anger because- well-

Let’s face it.

Yoongi has one facial expression and it’s usually somewhere between annoyed and indifferent.

He was the picture of a human grumpy cat with softer eyes.

Dark hair...

Soft...skin....

Where were you?

Oh yeah!

Yoongi glared at you. His nostrils flared.

“Did you just hit Jisu?”

His voice was even.

It wavered not.

And neither would you.

He was a big softy. Yoongi was all bark and no bite. Even his bark was reminiscent of a Chihuahua.

And not one of those feisty ones. More like one of the rat things that had no hair and barked under their breath when you tried to pet them.

...without teeth...

...with their tongue sticking out....

“Yoongi... it’s a car.”

“Y/N... it’s my pride and joy.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Whatever. I’m not getting in your death trap when you haven't had a proper eight hours, Yoongles.”

“Listen, Squirt,” he began and waves upon waves of distaste rolled over your spine. Your skin pimpled as a blush rose to your cheeks.

You HATED when he called you...

*shiver*

*gag*

Squirt

“...and you know that I do NOT like when people hit her! She’s beat up enough as it is without having people like you smacking on her-“

SMACK

You’d hit the front hood a little harder than you would have regularly just to shut him up.

A small wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. His lips fell open like he couldn’t really be bothered to hold it closed.

His pink tongue poked out slightly over his teeth.

He clicked, then-

“Okay fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yep.”

...you-what?

“Yes what?”

He pursed his lips and crossed his arms behind the stealing wheel.

“The road trip is canceled.”

You gaped at him.

D:

Like that.

Yoongi’s expression didn’t change. Instead, he uncrossed his arms and turned the engine off.

Slowly, but resolutely, he opened the driver’s side door and stepped out of the car.

“I-wha- Wait! Yoongi,” you ran around the front to where he stood.

He slammed the car door shut but he wasn’t angry. He patted the roof of the car affectionately, his back turned to you.

“...you can’t cancel-“

“Well you won’t get in the Jisu with me behind the wheel and you don’t know how to drive a fucking stick shift... what else is there to do?”

He was teasing you.

There was no way that he would cancel.

It was tradition after all.

And he would NEVER break tradition.

Well ok-

Yoongi wasn’t usually traditional.

Unless it came to you and your friendship.

He’s violently loyal to the point that one time-

When some guy had asked you out, upon your confirmation, promptly spanked your ass in the middle of home room, he’d stood without hesitation and slapped the dude’s ass back.

He’d gotten detention for a month.

The other guy, a month and a slap to the ass.

There was also a time when a nasty rumor was going around the school that that same guy and you were in a very... presumptuous position and your reputation had been shot.

Most of your other friends had believed it but not Yoongi.

Yoongi went around shooting nasty looks at anyone who dared say a bad word about you.

That’s when things had changed.

In retrospect.

For you at least. You doubt anything had changed for Yoongi.

But for you... that summer... the one of your junior year... changed everything.

No one was talking to you anymore. Your girls were now-

The Bitches ™️

And the only friend you had was Yoongi.

Your yoongi.

He’d become that then.

Yours...

Even though it wasn’t your place to make him so.

But you couldn’t help it. He’d changed. He’s grown an inch.

He’d started to work out-

And then stopped at the request of his mother because his clothing wasn’t fitting him and honestly Yoongi’s family didn’t have enough money to buy new threads-

-and for some ungodly reason, his father had given him his car and his now favorite cowhide leather jacket.

Vintage.

Let’s get that straight people.

It is vintage. Not old.

It was something in the way he listened to you.

With gentle nods and sarcasm at the ready.

It was his fake laugh.

And his laughter...

And the beautiful mornings

The way his gums popped out when you were falling asleep after pulling an all nighter under the stars.

It was his essence.

“I-well... but the road trip is-“

“Over unless you miraculously acquired the ability to drive stick or...”

He paused, looking at you over his leather clad shoulder.

“You get in Jisu, settle the snacks and apologize.”

You huffed. Your breath is visible in the early morning sky.

“I...” it was like being gutted.

Like a fish.

A cold dead fish...

“Am sorry.”

Whew.

That was tough but now you didn’t have to worry about him being salty all the way to-

“Not to me,” Yoongi said, interrupting your thoughts.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

“Apologize to Jisu.”

“The car?” You said under your breath.

“Yeah,” he whispered back, a smug gum smile in place, “the car.”

You deflated.

He wasn’t kidding.

That was the worst part.

He genuinely wanted you to apologize to…

Jisu

The car.

With embarrassment filling your empty stomach-

Well save for your heart which was digesting nicely!

-you sighed and said:

“Jisu... sweet... old... rundown-“

“Watch it,” Yoongi groaned.

“Fine! I’m sorry I hit you. It was rude of me. Will you ever forgive me and let me ride you?”

There was a pause in which you processed your own words.

You hadn’t meant to.

And really, if your mind wasn’t in the gutter it would have meant nothing but your Innuendo hung in the freezing air around you.

Damn were you good at saying stupid shit.

Yoongi cleared his throat and moved closer to you.

Your heart-

Now in a puddle.

-skipped a beat.

Your cheeks rouged.

He wasn’t touching you but you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. The warmth contrasted strangely with the coolness of the morning.

God... what you would give for his lips to touch you.

For his hands to graze your skin.

To wrap around your waist-

“WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT JISU DOES NOT ACCEPT YOUR APOLOGY AND FEELS HARASSED!”

D:

You jumped a foot in the air.

Your arms flung around you in fear. Your elbow hit against something.

Pain shot through your arm.

You turned only to see Yoongi holding his shoulder-

The one someone had nearly run over a couple years ago and he’d had problems with since.

-and your panic soared.

“Oh my God! Are you okay? Why did you fucking yell in my ear dumb ass!”

Regardless of your harsh words, you rushed over to his side as his face screwed up in pain.

Pain you caused.

Fuck.

But he was laughing.

He couldn’t be that badly hurt could he?

“If your next question is if I’ll let you ride me the answer is a hard yes.”

Humiliation and anger rushed through your veins and into your fingertips.

Of their own accord, they began to smack every part of him they could reach.

“HEY! Why does Jisu get a better apology than me?!”

“Because Jisu is a girl and not an ass!”

It was in the way you always got the same taco from the corner stores and also rolled your eyes when he mentioned your addiction to strong coffee.

It was the way you snorted lightly-

And sometimes not so lightly.

-as he drove into the day.

It was the way you were drooling in that exact moment as the sun hit your pretty face and the seat was pulled back as far as it could possibly go.

Or maybe it was none of those things.

Or all of them.

Yoongi had lost track if he was honest.

Of all the things that made him wish he could tell you how he felt.

That he loved the moles that covered your body.

The shine from your hair after it was freshly dried.

He loved your musky perfume and the lotions you’d purchased in bulk because:

“If I like it might as well buy 12 of them.”

He loved your logic and the lack thereof.

He loved your style.

The way you refused to “ruin” an outfit with a jacket if it didn’t match and how- without fail- you always wore whatever jacket he handed you completely disregarding what you always said.

Like the one that he had lain over your trembling body as you slept when he’d stopped to use the restroom.

It was his dad’s.

It was old-

Vintage as you liked to say.

(Or bugged him by saying any time he tried to say it was old.)

It was riddled with discoloration.

It was his most prized possession.

Right after his car.

And you.

Though he’d never admit it.

And seeing you inside the car with his jacket draped over you like a blanket was doing things to him that he couldn’t comprehend.

It was like being enveloped in silk and velvet after a nice hot bath filled with lavender and rosewood and vanilla.

It was like soft musk caressing the folds of his brain, sending dopamine straight to the pleasure center of his cranium.

What he would give to touch you.

... in a less than platonic way.

The way your jaw stayed placidly open was also doing things to him.

This much less... soft

And a lot more

Well there’s no sugar coating.

Hard.

You stirred in your slumber.

His thoughts jarred to a stop.

You blinked then woke slowly. Confusion was evident in your eyes.

Quickly replaced by realization.

You looked down at the leather on your body.

The slightest smile pulled at your pretty lips.

You didn’t sit up.

You curled your small hands into the leather and snuggled against the softness.

“Morning,” you said, your voice slightly higher pitched.

A shiver ran through his nerves. His skin pimpled.

“You mean midday,” he corrected with a chastising roll of his eyes but the corners of his lips pulled up.

Fuck.

You.

...WAIT NO!

He shook his head, trying to keep his eyes forward and his mind on the road.

“Same difference,” you grumbled, pushing your arms through the sleeves of the jacket the wrong way.

Your short fingers stuck out at the edge.

A brief image of those same fingers pumping and wrapped around his-

“When’s lunch? I’m starving.”

He swallowed thickly.

“Well we ate maybe like four hours ago... “

“Exactly. I need food,” you said, righting your seat.

“We have snacks,” he said.

“But like... I want a burger.”

“Isn’t it too early for your road trip burger?”

Because every single road trip without fail, you both stopped at your favorite burger place and ate but it was only once in the whole road trip and you usually liked to save it for the road trip back to wherever you had come from for that year so you had something to look forward to.

“Mmmm, I’m feeling a shift in the matrix,” you said.

“Do you even know what the matrix is? Have you seen that movie?”

Offended, you turned to Yoongi.

He stayed facing the front.

“I LOVE Tom Cruise.”

“He’s not in that movie genius.”

You were silent for a second. Your eyes were wide.

“Hm... could have sworn....”

He smiled at the sun almost right above the car. There was not a cloud in the sky and he didn’t feel the least bit tired.

On the other hand he felt completely rejuvenated.

After a couple of miles, Yoongi let his smile settle and he cleared his throat as u set up your favorite road trip playlist.

You glance at him.

“You might wanna wipe the drool from your cheek by the way.”

“Fu-damn it Yoongi, why didn’t you say something earlier?”

It was raining.

Heavily.

Sadly, no men in sight aside from your long time friend.

Though...

Maybe not so sadly.

It had only been a couple more hours.

You had stopped for your burger.

And the sun was up and then-

BOOM

Thunderstorm.

Honestly, you were slightly worried.

Yoongi had been driving for a total of about ten hours that day and he’d been running on three hours of sleep.

You guys still had a couple more days of road trip to go.

Usually they lasted around three to four depending on how annoying you are being. And that’s counting the drive back home.

But at this rate... you guys might have to turn back early.

Now, you had no real clue where you guys were headed.

You never really did.

Yoongi never told you.

But it was cool.

Cool cool cool cool cool

Totally cool.

You trusted him and he had never led you astray.

Though... that one time when you guys got lost for nearly a week because he refused to check the GPS was kind of astray....

Anyway.

You never doubted he had good plans.

He’d taken you to amusement parks and landmarks and historical sights just for the hell of it.

He’d taken you wonderful places so you had never questioned him.

This time... you really, really wanted to know if a thunderstorm was even worth it.

You opened your mouth to ask but were instantly shushed.

Taken aback your eyes widened.

Again you tried to speak but one of Yoongi’s fingers came up to your lips to keep you silent.

“Look it’s coming down hard and I really cannot focus when you speak.”

You crossed your arms, his leather jacket rumpled slightly as it rubbed against itself after you had put it on correctly.

It smelled so much like him.

The leather smell permeated through your nostrils. But under it was something else. Something woody and fresh that was so... Yoongi, it made your head spin.

You frowned but settled in your seat with your mouth shut.

Soft lo-fi filled the air in the car.

You were no longer cold.

For obvious reasons which didn’t include the heating because it was broken in the car.

But you felt a shiver of fear run down your spine.

Yoongi’s black hoodie seemed darker now that the sky was cloudy.

It was pulled up to his elbows, his forearms out in the open-

As if that wasn’t illegal or some shit.

- and flexed slightly. His veins, prominent.

Another chill ran down your body.

This time... for a reason completely unrelated to your circumstances.

It was going to be a long drive.

The car broke.

Jisu broke.

It was about time it did too.

Though Yoongi was having a hard time.

Honestly... he was tearing up.

Or at least, you thought he was.

But he refused to look at you as the tow truck dropped you off at the nearest motel.

It was still raining ugly and you were still unbelievably cold.

Though maybe you were playing it up a little so that Yoongi would put up with you cuddling into his side.

It was partially for you but it was also for him.

He didn’t want to admit it but you knew.

You knew he needed something to ground him.

What better to do that with than with yourself?

“We’re here,” the driver said, squinting through the downpour.

“Thanks again for the lift,” you said since you knew Yoongi wouldn’t speak in fear of his voice breaking.

“Well you gotta pay darlin’” the driver said with a wink in your direction.

“But you’re welcome nonetheless. I can try to get you closer if you would like. Wouldn’t want you and your boyfriend getting a cold.”

A deep crimson blush filled the blood vessels in your cheeks and neck.

Your throat closed.

You coughed.

On instinct you pushed Yoongi away and made a disgusted face.

Yoongi’s nose twitched, his shoulders slumped.

“We- were not-“

“She’s single,” Yoongi said, his voice much stronger than you expected it to be.

“Friends,” he clarified.

Disappointment flooded your mind.

Friends. And that was that.

“I’m sorry but we only have one room available for the night,” the clerk said.

There was only one room?

“Does it at least have two beds?” Yoongi asked, giving you a worried look over his shoulder.

His hair was slicked to his head.

Waving slightly.

“I’m sorry sir,” the clerk said, “it’s a single queen bed. That’s really all we have.”

There’s only one bed????

What the fuck kind of fan fiction were you living in?

What are the damn odds?

Being friends since forever ago did not mean that you had shared a bed before.

There had always been a line that you didn’t-

Couldn’t

Wouldn’t

-cross.

This was by no means normal.

You glanced around the lobby trying to avoid looking at your friend.

“Well... okay. Shit. Yeah give me the room,” Yoongi said under his breath as if you, not hearing him, would make up for him taking the room.

He didn’t want you to think he’d planned this.

He hadn’t.

Why would he have?

How could he have?

He can’t control the fucking weather.

Regardless, as he got the key to the room he couldn’t help but feel sleazy.

He paid then thanked the clerk.

You were shivering.

Damn you and your insistence on not wearing a damn jacket.

His wasn’t enough.

You needed a shower. A warm one.

Your lips were nearly blue.

Without hesitation, he picked up his duffle and your rolling suitcase.

He casually walked up to you and wrapped a protective arm around your shoulders.

The leather was wet.

And now ten times colder.

He led you to the hallways of rooms on the first floor.

It was the last room in the far corner.

Yoongi had thought of multiple scenarios in which you guys ended up in a room together but never had he thought it would be while you guys were “just friends”.

You shivered under the weight of his arm.

“Come on, Squirt. Let’s get you in dry clothes.”

There were two things you hated:

Being cold,

And

Yoongi calling you Squirt.

Yet, this time... you were grateful for the cold.

And for the nickname.

Was it-

*gasp*

Growing on you?

Yoongi opened the door and with it came the strong scent that inevitably came with hotels.

To you, it had always been kind of comforting.

Like family trips and new adventures.

Today though, it smelled very much like nerves and fear and something shifting in the air.

It felt like nothing was moving.

Even as you stepped into the room and onto the slightly too dark green carpet, it felt like the world around you both had stopped turning.

Yoongi’s arm fell from around you and you mourned the loss.

You listened rather than watched him bring the bags in.

It was somewhere between 60-70 degrees and the wetness of your hair was seeping into your scalp.

Still, you refused to take off the jacket that was growing heavier and heavier as the rain soak in.

“Hey Y/N, give me the jacket.”

You spun around as he set down the luggage. He held a hand out.

Suddenly, you really didn’t want to get rid of it.

It felt like your second skin.

“Uh... but I’m cold,” you argued.

“And if you stay in that jacket you’re going to catch a cold. Hand it over.”

He curled his fingers in a “come hither” motion.

Your throat went dry.

Then, as if under a spell, you pulled the slightly heavy leather off of you and handed it off.

Yoongi watched you remove the jacket in a trance-like state.

You were staring at his hand.

He felt the fabric fall into his palm but he wasn’t looking.

He was staring, mouth open at your shirt.

Your white, long sleeve, wet, shirt.

And you know.

We all know…

What happens when a white shirt gets wet.

And now, Yoongi had the full boob-

PROOF

(dude that doesn’t even sound the same)

He had the full proof.

He blinked owlishly, glued to the way the fabric stuck to your chest.

He could see the skin tone bra that you were wearing.

The lines of your stomach visible lightly.

All the blood rushed to one of two places.

You know which.

Don’t lie.

He pressed the cold jacket against his body so that it covered what was quickly growing.

You watched him curiously as his mouth shut with a click.

You followed his gaze as goosebumps covered your arms.

That’s when you saw it.

And embarrassment wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what you felt.

You crossed your arms over your chest but you couldn’t turn away.

There was something else running through your veins aside from the humiliation.

Hope.

Because Yoongi wasn’t turning away and you weren’t stupid either.

You could see the strategic way that he was holding the slightly dripping jacket right in front of his…

Area…

And he had taken his eyes off your chest and now wasn’t even looking at you.

In a sudden burst of confidence-

And let's be honest, probably terrible judgement.

-you shimmied out of your shirt and balled it up.

Without letting yourself think of it too much before you chickened out, you tossed it right at his chest area.

Since it was wet, it made a wet-

PLOP

On his shoulder.

Confusion was clear on his expressionless face as he looked at the fabric.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes in question then did a double take.

You licked your lips nervously but tried to keep your nerves at bay.

This was normal.

You always hung out in your bra with your oldest friend.

Everyday things…

Pft.

Easy.

“Wh-what are you doing,” Yoongi asked, his voice wavering.

“The shirt was soaked through. I thought that I should get out of it as well.”

Then mustering all of your courage, you unbutton your jeans.

The pop of the button was unnaturally loud in your ears.

The zipper was deafening.

“W-wait! Y/N what the fuck?”

You looked up trying to keep your ‘this is totally normal’ look on your face.

“Getting out of my wet clothes. Isn’t that what you said for me to do?”

“I said to get out of my jacket,” he said harshly, using it to gesture at you half naked. Your fingers hooked on the waistband of your jeans.

“Well the logic follows, doesn’t it? Wet jacket,wet shirts, wet pants…”

You pushed them down your legs without looking at him.

“Off.”

You heard him hiss under his breath.

Fear gripped you as the cold air of the room hit your skin which was a little moist.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at,” Yoongi began.

There was anger in his voice.

“But whatever it is. It’s not funny,” he finished throwing the jacket onto the floor.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked into the restroom.

Your heart sank.

D:

It was later in the night and you were huddled under the white blankets of the queen bed and Yoongi had yet to come out of the restroom.

You had thought you’d heard some low grunts coming from the restroom but then the shower had turned on and you heard nothing but the rain and the water.

Of course, unbeknownst to you, the grunts were very real.

Very much soft-

(in volume)

- for a reason.

And very much because of you.

It was when it was getting too intense that Yoongi decided to take a cold shower to calm down his hormones.

Still, he had decided to stay in the restroom for most of the night.

He was a night person anyway.

Always got his best thinking done when the moon was full and up.

This was no different.

He sat on the toilet seat, his legs spread wide and his elbows on his knees.

He was in his underwear and the shirt he had worn all day.

He hadn’t gotten the courage to walk out.

Not with the humiliation of having beat one out

(well not completely just a little bit)

(not that he was...little…)

To you in a bathroom while you were partially naked in the next room.

He couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

Were you just so comfortable with him that you guys had crossed the friendship line to the point of no return?

Or were you attracted to him and that was some grand gesture?

Either way, he was terrified to guess wrong.

Why had he thought that this year would be different?

Why had he thought he could sweep you away on some romantic road trip in his crappy old car when he didn’t know the first thing about being romantic?

His idea of romantic was throwing a vintage-

Old.

let's call it how it is.

Old jacket on you when you were asleep.

It was spanking that asshole who had smacked your ass all those years ago.

And sticking by you when your other friends turned away from you.

It was branding them the Bitches and making sure that you knew that you hadn’t been at fault for the rumors.

Romantic Yoongi held your hand through your first year of collage and held your hair back the first time you drank too much.

It was him tucking you in when you guys spent all night out looking at the stars.

It was taking care of you when you were sick.

It was…

Throwing his prized jacket on you when you were cold…

And sacrificing his jacket so that the rain didn’t hit you directly even thought that might ruin it…

...

So he could see how you guys were confused.

Because isn’t that what friends did all the time?

Take care of each other?

And now, he had crossed a line he couldn’t get back from.

It was too late.

He’d missed his window-

If there was any window to begin with.

He’d missed it.

And maybe he just needed to be okay with that.

When you woke up, it was still super dark.

You half expected it to still be night but when you reached for your phone you realized that it was nearly noon and Yoongi hadn’t woken you.

You sat up, forgetting that you had slept in your underwear.

The sheets slipped from your top, the bra still on.

Suffice to say, your chest hurt.

Instinctively, you reached behind you to unclasp the bra but-

“Hey-hey-hey! Man in the room,” you heard from somewhere.

Your hands halted, still groggy, you blinked in the darkness.

“What man? All I hear is a grumpy Yoongi,” you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyelids.

A sigh.

A groan.

Then a lamp turned on before you.

The light hit your sensitive eyes. You blinked against the brightness and when you could finally comfortably open your eyes, your jaw dropped.

Yoongi-

Your Yoongi was sitting in the beige armchair.

His pale legs were spread wide.

His boxers-

He was wearing boxers…

!!!!

-were far too loose and hung on his thighs.

From your position, you could see his bulge though it was clearly not hard, or at least not entirely.

Still, the fabric was pulled over it.

His chest was covered with a white T-shirt.

His arms were on the arm rests.

Your mouth fell open.

Water…

God you needed water.

You looked around you but there was not a single glass in sight.

“I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve realized, Squirt but I am very much a man.”

You avoided his eyes.

“I try not to think of you that way.” you mumbled, pulling the sheets up to your chest.

Lying through your teeth…

You know..

Like a liar.

There was a pause.

“Why are you so shy all of a sudden? Last night you had no problem stripping in front of me.”

You froze.

What...what was happening here?

“You- you seemed less than happy about that if I recall correctly,” you said then when he said nothing you added, “and don’t call me Squirt.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

And ran a hand through his hair.

It stood on end.

Fuck.

Fuck….

He looked so hot.

“Only because you caught me off guard. Now,” he gestured between himself  and you, his fingers conveniently pointing towards…

“We’re even.”

Even?

Even?

“So if you were to take off something else, I’d have to as well. For fairness. Of course.”

You-

Did he-

D:

“We-Fair? Do- Do you hear yourself right now?”

You scrunch your nose.

You smelled something fishy.

Veerry...veeery fishy.

“Yes I speak korean, Y/N. The question is,” he stood, his boxers settling over his long legs, his shirt was tucked slightly into the elastic at his hips.

Where were you supposed to look?

The muscles on his arms.

His thighs, begging you to ride-

Or somewhere in the middle?

He had to know what he was doing to you.

He had to know that walking around in the loosest pair of boxers would draw your eyes straight to the center of his legs.

He wasn’t stupid.

So what angle was he playing?

(Acute ;])

“...Do you?”

He was by your side now. Your face was level with his stomach.

How does one react when your closest friend of your whole life is suddenly very close to naked in front of y-

…

Ohhhhhhhhhh....

“This is about me stripping yesterday...isn’t it?”

You held the covers up to your chest awkwardly.

Suddenly, you felt really stupid.

You shouldn’t have stripped without his consent.

You just really thought that...if you pushed a little, He’d see you as more than just “That girl that he hated in elementary school and is now stuck to him like gum.”

Did you just make that up?

Yeah.

Okay.

Moving on…

“What do you think,” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. The muscles flexed under the white. Behind him, through the mirror, you could see his back side reflected.

Sculpted.

Fucking damn it.

If he was going to reject you couldn’t he have done it with pants on??

“I think…” but you couldn’t think. It was too much.

Too soon.

Too quickly.

You were on the edge of spilling the beans.

Teetering on a cliff and you couldn’t see the ground.

Was it ocean below?

You didn’t know.

You shook your head and forced yourself to look into his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Yoongles… I’m sorry,” you said.

His smug smile fell.

A small frown pulled at his lips and his shoulders slumped.

Yoongi had made a choice. He’d decided he was going to push.

He’d decided it was time to tell you.

This coming after he got a call fairly early in the morning about the car needing a part that wasn’t available and they wouldn’t be handing him Jisu that day.

Meaning… you guys were stuck together for another day.

In a motel.

Alone.

With nothing to do.

This was why he’d decided to wait for you in his boxers.

You’d made the first move and now it was his turn.

He’d hoped you would reciprocate.

But he had clearly been wrong.

It wasn’t that you were trying to seduce him.

No…

You had simply grown too comfortable with each other and your state of half dress had nothing to do with hidden feelings for him.

Well, he supposed that at least he hadn’t declared his love for you like he’d planned to do initially…

...as much as  saying “Hey, I kind of wouldn’t mind going out with you”-

(this was a big deal because Yoongi avoided leaving his house at all costs… in all honesty, he hated road trips but you made it bearable and even a little fun)

- could be considered declaring his love for you.

He didn’t think he could handle the look of disgust on your cute face as he told you he had feelings for you.

Feelings…

What a joke.

Maybe this was for the best.

If you stayed friends, then it was probable that you guys would never stop talking to each other.

Another thing he couldn’t handle was losing you.

“It’s no fun if you just apologize, Squirt,” he said after a brief pause, choosing to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

You sighed.

He’d confirmed your worst fear.

He didn’t like you.

Not in the way you liked him.

And you’d made him uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to take it back and give you the wrong answer then? You know, for your pride?”

Yoongi sighed then chuckled.

“Would you? It would really make my day.”

You smiled up at your friend.

Like two pieces of a puzzle you had fallen back into your old dynamic.

It was almost like you guys weren’t standing half naked in front of each other.

“Anything to make your day, Yoongles.”

In a second, Yoongi had scooted you over. The other side of the bed was cold but you didn’t mind.

He slipped under the covers next to you.

He’d settled under them, his body faced towards you before he spoke again. A small smile on his soft baby lips.

“Is it weird that I’m starting to like when you call me ‘Yoongles’?”

You mirrored his position, putting a hand under your head. Your chest was slightly exposed, still covered by the sheets but he didn’t look down and you didn’t mind.

“No… is it weird I’m starting to like you calling me Squirt?”

“No,” he confirmed with a slight shrug.

A comfortable silence built up between you. Your eyes started to feel heavy.

Tentatively, Yoongi reached out and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His soft touch made you fall further into the land of sleep.

When your breath had evened out, Yoongi tapped your nose then traced your slightly parted lips.

This road trip hadn’t gone how he wanted it to.

Not by a long shot.

But he couldn't say he was totally disappointed.

As you slept, he felt his own eyes begin to close. His eyelids were heavy.

He fell into the comfortable darkness not too long after you did.

You guys were friends.

And maybe, he just had to accept that.

Maybe it was for the best.

And maybe… just maybe… he could grow to be okay with it.

Some day.

Don’t hate me....

Masterlist

[daisylincs]

It's time to see what I can do! To test the limits and break through// no right no wrong no rules for meee// I'm freeeeeeeeee (and i was glad lincoln died)

*silence*

*utter, shocked silence*

Well, Birdie, I only have one thing to say to you --

Why Lincoln Campbell Shouldn't Have Died: A Small Essay By Lily [Redacted]

#1. It’s Lazy. There was all this fuss about how “heart-breaking” Lincoln’s death was, and how it was the most shocking choice, and I’m just like... really? Was it? Because frustrating as it is to me, it’s true that Lincoln didn’t have any significant relationships on the show aside from his with Daisy, and he also didn’t have the time/the writers didn’t invest the time to make him a character the audience could become really close to. 

And I don’t see how that’s a shocking choice at all? That’s just taking the easy way out of things. If they had really wanted to make a heart-breaking death, it would have been so much worse to choose literally anyone of the OG team.

Or, heaven forbid, not to make anyone die at all!! (Yes, I hate the Fallen Agent arc. Yes, that’s a conversation for another day.) But think about it: it would have been way more original, way more shocking, to have Lincoln not die, or find a super original/Fitzsimmons-esque way to get past the vision. It could’ve been way more shocking and ultimately satisfying if the whole team had worked together to avoid someone dying, and succeeded in avoiding that. It would have made excellent bonding.

And it wouldn’t have been lazy, because Lincoln staying alive would force him and Daisy to have some tough conversations, i.e. Hive and SHIELD and what’s next. It would also have meant an equal amount of tricky conversations with the rest of the team - especially surrounding the whole Hive debacle and methods used during it (*coughs in murder vests*). It would’ve actually been much harder than just having Lincoln die... and isn’t that what good storytelling is supposed to do? Make the harder choice for an ultimately far more satisfying resolution? 

Because choosing Lincoln to die makes it feel like that was his only purpose on the show, and I can’t help but rage against that. I know that’s how a lot of people actually do see Lincoln, and it just makes me so furious, because that’s actually such a disservice to his character?? He was so much more than just Daisy’s doomed boyfriend, and he could have been even more. Which brings me to my next point - 

#2. Wasted Opportunities. I’ll always believe that one of the biggest missed opportunities on the show was that we never got to see Lincoln properly bond with anyone on the team - it was like the writers started, but then decided he was going to die, and then went all, oh, RIP that. Which, honestly, is stupid - because they created this amazing character that had so much potential, and then decided to drop it just like that. 

And I mean, dammit!! Aside from Daisy, Lincoln had prime opportunities to bond with at least five other characters on the team - May, Coulson, Jemma, Fitz, and Mack, and that’s not even starting on the other Secret Warriors. 

He had a little bit of bonding with May when Lash/Andrew was still a thing - but then, whoops-a-daisy, unequivocally dropped. And like... Lincoln and May could’ve been such a good friendship?? Imagine May initially terrifying the living daylights out of Lincoln, but slowly seeing that he’s not actually that different to Daisy, and he makes her happy? And maybe inviting him to t’ai chi with her, to help control her powers? And him in turn helping give her some closure over Katya Belyakov/telling her that she really did make the only choice? They could’ve developed a mother/son bond just as beautiful as Daisy’s, if AoS had only tried. 

Then there’s Coulson. Daisy’s (basically) dad. We got to see a little bit of this, especially in the 3x14-15 era, but I would have loved to see even more of Coulson not-so-subtly threatening Lincoln, but grudgingly coming to accept him as a good agent (and, though he’d never admit it, kinda liking the guy.) Ugh, it could have been so funny and GOOD!!

Fitz and Jemma, to do them in a package deal, could also have been a GREAT BroTP with Lincoln if they had only actually developed it. I would have loved to see a) FitzSimmons initially distrusting Lincoln and being like “if you hurt Daisy...” and then eventually growing to bond with him over science and, well, adoring Daisy, b) a Lincoln-and-Simmons-specific friendship starting after Maveth, for example, Jemma can’t really be around her friends because they keep pitying her and trying to help and she doesn’t want that, so here’s someone new who’s nice and can also distract her with a common interest, and finally c) Lincoln and Fitz bonding over, oh, Daisy, and being ridiculously in love. Just. C’mon. It could’ve been WONDERFUL - and, just think about it, the picture of a Fitzsimmons-and-Lincoln triple alliance out-science-ing Daisy. FAB.

And Mack!! Someone who’s basically Daisy’s older brother, and, I do believe, another one for the Don’t-Hurt-Daisy pile. But Mack’s also very just, and an excellent judge of character, plus he was literally listening in on their first kiss, lmfao. So I think he’d be that “ugh AGAIN you two stop *eye roll*” big brother, but secretly be very happy for them. (I would’ve LOVED to see it, ahhhh.)

Then, of course, the Secret Warriors!! If anyone would listen, I could R A G E for days about how we only had one episode with the Secret Warriors, and that only barely before it all blew apart. But what snippets we had in that one episode!! Lincoln comforting Joey when he gets stressed before a mission. That’s canon. Now imagine Lincoln learning Spanish for both him and Elena (and so the three of them can fuck with Daisy.) And him encouraging them to follow Spanish traditions, because he picked up a lot of “traditions are important” culture from Afterlife. And, of course, them all going to Pride together to support Joey...

My point is just, there is so much MORE AoS could have done with Lincoln’s character, but especially his bonds with the other main cast. Instead of highlighting his relationship with Daisy, I would’ve preferred a lot more focus on his bonds with the rest of the gang. Because, most simply put, he’s a nice guy and loves Daisy - but that’s not all he is, and also, that love for Daisy would mean he WOULD go out of his way to bond with her family. (Point made.)

#3. It Conflicts With The S5 Time Paradox. During the Fallen Agent arc, all we’re hearing about is how time is fixed, and a death is inevitable. And then in season 5, we have the same thing with the time loop... except, they manage to break it then. We’re literally told, “there are many different futures.” And, cool. But, uh... that’s exactly what you guys didn’t say in season 3!!

Because someone saw a death, a death had to happen. My question is just: if the loop could have been broken in s5, why couldn’t the death have been avoided in s3?? It wouldn’t even have been that hard to make it still fit with the vision - Daisy can quake the controls to destroy them, then Lincoln pulls her out of the quinjet, but she leaves the jacket behind. Hive dies, but no-one else - and the best part is, that even still fulfils the original vision, because someone did die. Hive. Click boom.

And if I can figure that out, then, come on, surely AoS could have done so much better!! It just... really frustrates me, hrrrg.

#4. It Becomes A Plot Point To Hurt Daisy. We all like to joke about how much AoS hurts Daisy, but... this is extreme?? Like?? She only just went through probably the biggest trauma of her life, being freaking possessed, and now you want to make her lose someone she loves too? Cruel. 

The only real reason the Fallen Agent arc ever existed was, let’s be real, to force Daisy into that spiral of hurt and depression. And, like... she already had more than enough trauma just from Hive. Nobody would have blamed her for running away then - in fact, how very Daisy it would have been, leaving before she could hurt anyone else she loved.

And then, of course, we could have had Lincoln and the team working together to find her and bring her back, and, heyo, bonding!! It could also have been such a good point for Staticquake’s relationship, what with Lincoln helping Daisy recover after depression/withdrawal, because who better suited, and Daisy slowly forgiving herself and them becoming that much more of a deeply caring, solid ship.

So in short - though, 🙈🙈🙈, I suppose I should really say in long, because it would seem I am incapable of doing anything in a short fashion - I don't think anyone should be "glad" about Lincoln's death. If anything, we should all be FURIOUS, and super frustrated, because if he had only lived, there could have been so many excellent storylines, both bonding-wise and regarding THE ACTUAL PLOT (his powers could have been SO HELPFUL, just, argh). Lincoln Campbell should not have died, and I will stand by that till the day I die.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[foxy-exy]

23 + andriel 👀

Bloom (forget me not)

Prompt 23 from here: “No, we’re going to talk about this now.” (and tattoo artist/piercer Andrew AU also came from Syd!!) TW: lots of talk about scars i’ve been mia working on my very-close-to-my-heart and very-long-compared-to-what-i’ve-been-writing-lately aftg big bang fic (WATCH OUT FOR THAT PLZ) but syd hit me w/ tattoo artist/piercer andrew right when my need for just one (1) tattoo and many (MANY) more piercings was highest so here we are (also my aftg server was talking about flower tattoos on jean and i was like oh worm flower tattoos on aftg characters you say??? so they are also partially responsible) also i may have never actually gotten a tattoo before but this is definitely Not How It Works, unrealistic, unprofessional, and general bad clienting but shhh you can also find this fic on my ao3 here!

Andrew’s pencil scratching is the only sound in the parlor — he thinks maybe his phone died an hour ago and with it, his music playlist. He should probably get up and plug it back in.

The cat eyes glare at him from his sketchpad page, though, and he can’t leave the face half finished now. He swings his chair back around to look at the picture on the shop’s computer screen that he’s sketching. God, this cat is ugly. He wouldn’t want this cat as a sleeve, but what the paying client wants, the paying client gets.

He blocks out the nose and jaw, shakes out his aching hand, and glares back at the drawing as he leans back in the chair and shoves the pencil eraser into his mouth to chew on.

“Hey.”

Andrew sends his sketchpad flying and nearly tips his chair over to turn back around. Nobody ever shows up for random walk-ins this early, it’s why he’s usually the only one on the schedule. (They retain more clients when Andrew is not the one who talks to them. Because Andrew is, as Nicky puts it, an asshole.)

Neil Josten stands before him, dressed as plainly as ever in his standard gray sweatshirt and baggy jeans, looking bemused and out of place in the strange context of Andrew’s workplace. He is not a piercings-and-tattoos kind of person. He is a somewhat-friends-with-Kevin-purely-because-they-like-to-yell-about-sports-together-on-Andrew’s-couch kind of person.

“Thanks for not even setting off the door bells,” Andrew says coolly, around a mouthful of pencil eraser, and takes it from his mouth immediately after, because Neil is smiling a little, eyes on it.

“Sorry, I’m pretty quiet.”

“No, you aren’t,” Andrew says, and Neil’s lips twitch again.

He and Neil are distant acquaintances at best. Kevin shares Andrew and Nicky’s apartment for rent purposes as Aaron moved out months ago to live with his girlfriend, but Kevin and Andrew don’t share friend groups. Even so, it is impossible to ignore Neil Josten when he’s worked up and shouting about Kevin’s favorite teams being terrible.

“What are you here for?” Andrew clicks off the cat photo and pulls up their schedule — empty for several hours, until Kevin comes in for an appointment with somebody who wants some script work. He doesn’t know why Neil is here when Kevin isn’t working, they’re the ones who know each other.

“How much for a…a medusa?”

“Fifty.” Andrew eyes him. The uncertainty in his voice is clear, which is…interesting. “I didn’t think you were into piercings, or Kevin would have bullied you into at least three by now.”

Neil doesn’t answer, because his gaze is glued to Andrew’s arms — his shirt sleeves have ridden up to show the patchwork pieces winding their way up his wrists and forearms.

“And…” This comes out more rushed now, clearly the actual reason for the visit, “What about tattoos?”

Andrew pulls back down his sleeves. “Are you asking for pricing? I can’t give you an estimate without any kind of idea of what you’re looking for. Do you even know the style you want? Where you want it?”

Neil drags his eyes back up to meet Andrew’s. “You covered up Kevin’s old tattoos, didn’t you?”

Andrew folds his arms. Enunciates clearly because he’s never been one to beat around the bush. “Are you looking for a tattoo consultation or not?”

“Yes,” says Neil, and his mouth flattens, brows pinching.

“Glad to see you’re so very excited about it,” Andrew deadpans, opens up an appointment entry on the schedule and types in Neil Josten, tattoo consultation: Andrew Minyard. He snatches up his sketchpad and pencil from the ground and curls a finger at Neil to follow.

***

“You don’t have tattoos to cover up,” Andrew says, when Neil tentatively perches on the edge of the lounge seat in the private office. “What do you want?”

Neil tugs at the fraying cuff of his shirt and looks pained. “I just…I don’t know.”

“That really sucks, because you’re paying me to help you figure out specifics on what you want right now.”

“Can you cover up scars,” Neil mumbles, and Andrew freezes. And Neil must pick up on this, because immediately he says, “Never mind. This was a bad idea.”

Andrew catches Neil’s shirt hem before he can completely turn towards the door. “No, we’re going to talk about this now.”

“I changed my mind, it’s okay, don’t tell Kevin, I just thought maybe —”

“I won’t tell Kevin,” Andrew says.

Neil tugs at his hair.

“I can cover up scars,” Andrew says.

Neil looks back at him, and he is very pale.

And then, because Andrew is stupid, “I’ve covered up my own scars.”

Neil’s face does something very complicated, his hands shake a little, and slowly, carefully, Neil sits back down.

***

Neil doesn’t know what he wants, exactly, he says. He says he likes what he’s seen of Andrew’s work, which isn’t all that helpful.

“Abstract,” Andrew says, and Neil shrugs.

“Animals.” Shrug.

“Skulls,” Andrew says, with a hint of impatience.

“Anything,” Neil says.

“You’re my least favorite client.”

“Even that one with the lion back tattoo?” Neil asks, and he is smiling again. Teasing. Andrew knows that Neil was in the house when he was telling Kevin about that client and his ridiculous whining, but he hadn’t realized Neil had been listening.

“Yes, maybe you’ll overtake even him,” Andrew retorts, reaches for the binder sitting in the corner marked Andrew Minyard — full of his past work — and tosses it at Neil. “I can’t work with ‘anything.’ That’s how people get tattoos they regret.”

“I liked Kevin’s black rose,” Neil says, and flips through the book, lingering on a page with more floral designs. “But you do color, too?”

“That is a style I do, yes.” Andrew watches Neil’s fingers trace delicate petals and fights back a curious rush. “Scar tissue can be unpredictable when it comes to holding ink, and it can hurt. But I’ve had experience with it. Do you want something like that?”

“I like these,” Neil says quietly, and Andrew shoves his pencil eraser back into his mouth and turns resolutely back to his sketchpad so he doesn’t have to look at Neil looking at his work.

“Colored flowers,” he says, drumming fingernails against his paper. “Fine. What flowers do you like? Where would this be?”

“Forget-me-not? On my arm?” Again, Neil sounds uncertain, and Andrew turns a glare on him.

“If you want this, you want this. If you’re not sure, I’m not inking an inch of you.”

He decides he hates looking at Neil’s soft smile when he is on its receiving end. This is the first time it’s happened, and he thinks if it happens again, he should check into a hospital for heart palpitations.

“I want it. Here.” Neil rolls up a sleeve, and Andrew clamps his jaw shut as Neil taps a finger to his forearm, covered in circular red puckers of skin and the occasional, familiar raised line of white. Andrew forces himself to lean closer to examine the canvas with clinical detachment, and press his fingers to the skin, measuring.

“This big?”

“Yeah,” Neil says, and that’s that.

***

“Why the hell was Neil on your schedule?” Kevin asks very loudly from the front desk as Andrew lounges across the waiting room couch and doodles blue petals.

“Huh, Kevin, I don’t see how that’s really any of your business,” Andrew says, and scribbles out another draft.

“No, seriously. He’s never wanted anything before. Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Contrary to what your ego says, not everything is about you,” Andrew drawls.

“Neil,” Kevin barks, and Andrew looks up to find Kevin with his phone to his ear. “Why did you come to see Andrew?”

Neil must apparently say something similar to Andrew’s sentiments because Kevin rolls his eyes. “You should have told me that you wanted something. No, I — he didn’t say anything to me. Neil —!” The last part is said to an apparently dead line, because Kevin pulls the phone away with a huff. “I don’t understand why he came to you without saying anything, I’m his tattoo artist friend.”

“Too bad,” Andrew says, and pulls out his own phone when it buzzes.

Thanks, is the simple text from Neil Josten. For not telling him.

Andrew doesn’t reply, but he tucks his phone between his elbows and pretends to ignore the warmth blooming in his chest as he flips the page and starts to shade another forget-me-not.

***

Do you like this? Andrew asks, and attaches a picture of his latest draft.

Almost immediately, the text is marked as Seen, but Neil doesn’t respond for a solid few minutes.

Finally, Andrew locks his phone again, irritated, and shoves away his sketchpad, feeling too jittery to sleep like he should be doing at — he checks the clock — 2 AM.

His phone chimes, and Andrew looks down at It’s perfect and thinks that having such a giant crush on his apartment mate’s probably uninterested friend is maybe really, really bad.

***

“Hey, Andrew.”

Andrew looks up from the fridge. He has been studiously ignoring Neil’s presence on the couch while Kevin chatters to him about the latest hockey wins. But Kevin has disappeared, and Neil remains, and Neil is…looking at him.

“I like it a lot. Like, fuck, really a lot.”

Andrew glares and slams the fridge closed. Neil’s smile only grows wider as Andrew stalks over to the table to deposit whatever leftovers he grabbed (that he most definitely did not look at) onto it.

“So, when are you free to ink me?”

Andrew’s going to die, and Neil Josten saying when are you free to ink me is going to be the cause of death.

“Tomorrow. 10 AM,” he grits out.

“Okay,” Neil says.

***

“Andrew.”

“Shut up.”

“Andrew,” Neil says again, shakily.

“Don’t.”

“Thank you.” Neil stares at the forget-me-not cluster blooming across pinkened skin underneath the plastic wrap, lips parted. Andrew wants to kiss them.

“Oh,” says Neil when he looks up, and Andrew is still too close, and Andrew would usually probably pull back but instead, he dips closer. And Neil would usually probably avoid physical contact like he does with everyone but instead, Neil kisses him back.

“Oh,” Andrew agrees, and starts to turn away, but Neil shifts with him, eyes too intense, and a finger hovers at Andrew’s collar to tug very lightly.

“When would be too soon to ask when you’re free again?”

“Has the tattoo bug bitten you already?” Andrew scoffs, and Neil looks down at his forget-me-not and nods. “You’ll have to schedule an appointment like everybody else. You’re lucky my schedule hasn’t been as booked lately.”

“Okay,” says Neil, and then, “and what about asking when you’re free outside of work?”

Andrew stares at him. “For?”

“What about a repeat of this kind of thing?” Neil gestures between them. “Or…lunch, on me?”

“Lunch, on me,” says Andrew automatically. “You just gave me a lot of money.”

“Okay,” says Neil again, and laughs. “Kevin’s going to be so pissed that he missed all this happening.”

“I don’t see why I have to tell him who I’m kissing,” Andrew says.

“You’ve only done it once.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow and fixes that grievous mistake.

Neil’s answering grin is not soft, just impish, but it does things to Andrew’s heart all the same.

[izukillme-knbss]

we’ll be okay

pairing: aomomo fandom: kuroko no basuke genre: hurt/comfort. can be read as romantic or platonic--definitely big hints of a future romance but this is mostly just friendship with a sprinkling of ~true love~ setting: coffeeshop au, non-basketball au, childhood friends any tw: slight mentions of drug abuse, sex and alcohol abuse. it’s a line or two, not more than that and no explicit stuff dedication: @xoxomyseriesxoxo​ !!! HAPPY CHRISTMAS ELENAAA!! we don’t really know each other, but i think you’re amazing. i know this gift is suuuper late, i’m so so sorry about that! i really enjoyed writing it though, and i hope you enjoy reading it too. have a blessed holiday season and a wonderful year ahead. you deserve it and more!!

@knbsecretsanta

--

It’s a quiet morning at the cafe, as is usual on a Sunday in December. No students rushing to class, no youngsters on a ‘morning date’ because their days are too crammed to find any other time, and no aged regulars because it’s too cold for that. Daiki’s just leaning against the counter, half-asleep and looking forward to a proper nap instead of the accursed morning shift, when the bell tinkles and the door swings open, bringing a gust of cold air in with it.

Just my luck. He grumbles softly and straightens up, blinking a couple of times. Moving from months of practice, he’s already halfway through reciting the usual, “Welcome to Miracle’s, what can I get you today?” when his eyes finally focus on the vaguely pink blur and bring it into full resolution. 

Daiki’s voice grinds to a halt like a car running out of petrol, and his jaw drops open as he stares at the girl.

Long hair like a shower of cherry blossoms. Magenta eyes that if Daiki had to guess were normally alight with mischief, but now only hold a deep weariness. A full figure (and for the first time in his short twenty-two years of life, Daiki’s eyes don’t linger on it, too mesmerised by everything else about her). A small, distracted smile that seems more forced than anything.

She looks like shit. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

And he knows her.

“Close your mouth, Dai-chan, or you’ll catch flies,” is the first thing that Satsuki Momoi says to him, in the most drained voice he’s ever heard, after three years of radio silence.

“I--” It’s all Daiki can do not to fall over unconscious. “Satsuki--what the f--”

“Language, Dai-chan!” Her voice rises a little higher and the dullness of her face goes down a notch, and Daiki thinks he hears an echo of the happy high-school girl she used to be. “I see you haven’t changed one bit.” 

“I see you have,” Daiki says lamely after a pause that’s just a beat too long. There’s silence for a moment before Satsuki shakes her head and smiles, a little more genuine than before.

“Even your insults are as bad as ever.” Her lips are cracked, he notices a little dizzily. She never used to let them crack in high school. Always with the lip balms and care products.

A sharp pain in the back of his left calf, courtesy his coworker Izuki, reminds Daiki of where he is. Right. Coffee shop, barista and customer.

“Um. Anyway.” Daiki clears his throat, shaking his head. “What would you like to have today?”

“Black coffee. Strongest you’ve got.” At this, he can’t help raising an eyebrow. 

“You sure? In high school, you--”

“In high school, I was a kid.” Satsuki’s voice is terse and tight, and her eyes are unreadable, in a way they’ve never been before. A chill unrelated to the icy weather seeps into Daiki’s bones and numbs his tongue. “People change, Dai-chan.”

He has no answer to that, so he just avoids her dead gaze and walks to the back to make her coffee. There’s a sudden bitter taste in his mouth as he moves mechanically, working from muscle memory gained over months of practice. But that’s just the smell of caffeine.

Right?

When he finally looks up, she's wandered off to a table by the window, thumbing lazily through something on her phone. Daiki fights to keep his face polite and neutral, the way the world's taught him to be, as he calls, "Oi, Satsuki?" 

She starts, blinking a few times before getting up and coming over. Daiki holds out the cup to her, and pretends he doesn't notice when her fingers clamp briefly around his as she takes it. 

"That'll be 350 yen, including taxes." It feels like someone else is moving his mouth. For his past, Daiki is still stuck in the moment when she first walked into the shop, the most wonderful and most terrible moment of his life.

Satsuki puts the money on the desk and gives him that empty smile again.

“See you around, Dai-chan,” she says in a voice that makes him think she’s really saying, “Goodbye.” Then she turns to leave.

Daiki doesn’t know what makes him do it. But he does it anyway, like a fool that’s been hurt too many times and still refuses to learn from his mistakes.

“It was nice seeing you again.” He isn’t lying. It was nice, and that has nothing to do with the fact that it was also simultaneously horrible. “Swing by sometime. Not to brag, but I make a good coffee.” The smile she gives him then is real, if barely there, and Daiki thinks it might even be a bit watery.

“The Dai-chan I knew would never pass up an opportunity to brag. Guess you’ve changed, too.”

She’s gone before Daiki can even think, sweeping out in that quick and efficient fashion that is just so Satsuki.

There’s one thing that hasn’t changed at all.

A few moments pass. The gentle puff of chill in the air evaporates, and soon the faint tinkling of the door’s bell is the only sign that she was ever here. 

That tinkling pales before the sound of her laughter.

--

It’s Sunday, again. Daiki is on the morning shift and wiping down the counter, again. There are barely any customers, again. Now all that’s needed is for Satsuki to breeze in. Ha, what are the odds? Last time she spoke to him, she had this air of finality about her--

The bells tinkle, the door opens, and Daiki’s head snaps up pathetically fast, his hand stilling on the counter. It’s not hope that shrivels in his chest when he realises it isn’t her, because hope is for things that might happen and this won’t. It’s… it’s something. It isn’t anything.

He knows, surely, that that last bit is a lie. (That is, if all of it wasn’t.)

The new arrival is a young man with green hair, dressed in an orange shirt and dark jeans. He’s wearing glasses that surprisingly don’t hide the elegant shape of his eyes, fringed with thick dark lashes. A walking carrot if Daiki ever saw one. He’s got a serious face, which would be so pretty if his mouth wasn’t puckered in the unforgiving line that it is. Still, everyone has a type--Daiki himself likes people who smile brightly and laugh loudly and have a sense of humour with a razor edge.

That’s just Satsuki in a nutshell, but.

The man comes up to the counter, pushing up his glasses, and says in a voice as dry as his expression indicates, “I’m Midorima.”

Daiki eyes him doubtfully. It’s somewhat familiar--perhaps he’s one of Satsuki’s friends’ friends, people whose names Daiki half-heard and now wishes he’d taken the care to remember because every word that comes out of her mouth is a diamond and he’d left so many of those diamonds to glitter weakly in the dust.

“Shintarou Midorima,” says Midorima, a glint in his eyes that suggests he thinks this is helpful. It’s not helpful at all--Daiki can’t do much but raise an eyebrow.

“Daiki… Aomine,” he says slowly, because it seems like what he’s supposed to do next by ‘social mores’. Still, he doesn’t think the carrot is a master of those either, because he just nods and shifts awkwardly in position, not meeting Daiki’s eyes.

The break room’s door clicks open, and Daiki hears Takao’s easy steps behind him--ah, so he’s covering Izuki’s shift today. A small burst of relief flowers in Daiki’s chest: despite Takao’s overbearing exuberance and Izuki’s constant puns, both his coworkers are usually very easy to work with. However, taking shifts with Izuki in the mornings… Daiki’s calf still twinges from that unnecessarily harsh kick last week. He wouldn’t believe Izuki worked at a coffee shop, much less liked coffee, if he hadn’t seen the guy murderously chug a gallon of the stuff like water and immediately revert to his normal personality. 

There’s a beat of silence instead of Takao’s usual cheerful voice. Then it rings out, loud and happier than Daiki’s ever heard him.

“Shiiiin-chan!” Takao runs out from behind the counter, jumping straight onto Midorima, who makes a resigned noise and catches him easily. Like he’s used to it. 

“Oh, Aomine, this is my boyfriend,” Takao informs Daiki, who can’t help an amused smile. “Shin-chan.”

“Midorima,” Midorima says a little too quickly, as if afraid Daiki will call him ‘Shin-chan’ too. Daiki nods, lets the briefest of polite smiles brush his lips.

“Don’t worry about us, Aomine! We’ll just be over here!” Takao sings, dragging Midorima off to the bathroom.

“Come back in case there’s a rush,” Daiki drawls half-heartedly, and goes back to polishing the counter. A few minutes pass, maybe more; he’s too busy scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain to know. Then the bells tinkle, the door whooshes open, and he looks up, ready to welcome the next customer--

“Hi again,” Satsuki says, her cheeks pink from cold. “You were right. You do make a good coffee.”

“...hi,” Daiki stutters, blinking. “Thought you said--”

No. She didn’t say anything, shut up, she’s here and that’s enough.

“Said?” She frowns at him, and Daiki shakes his head.

“No, it’s nothing. Black coffee again?”

“Yes, please. 350 yen?”

“Mmm,” Daiki hums in response as he makes the coffee. Instead of going to a table, though, Satsuki puts her elbows on the counter and watches him. It makes him feel weirdly conscious, but he’s made enough black coffees to do it on autopilot.

“One black coffee for the madam,” he says, a bit of the snark he’d had in high school returning to his tone as he places it in front of her. Satsuki hands him the money, and the spot where their fingers touch burns. 

“Thanks, Dai-chan.” Today, Daiki notices, her smile is a little more real and her voice is a little less tired and her eyes are a touch brighter.

“No problem,” he says quickly. “See you around?”

“Yeah.” Satsuki’s eyes are warm as she looks at him. Then she’s gone, just as much of a whirlwind as the first time. But now, things are a little different.

Now, it isn’t Sayonara, but Ja ne.

--

The third week rolls around, and Daiki actually volunteers for the morning shift in place of Izuki, who gives him a relieved look. Takao just smirks and giggles. When Satsuki comes in at ten past nine, just like she did the last two times, her coffee’s already waiting. 

“Here you go,” Daiki says with a grin. 

“Thanks, Dai-chan!” 

“Also, my shift ends in an hour if you’re free today.” He says it entirely on impulse and regrets it the second it’s out of his mouth. But Satsuki’s eyes just sparkle, and though they’re dimmer than they used to be, Daiki still finds himself enthralled.

“Oh?” Her lips curve up into the ghost of a mischievous smile, and Daiki aches. “Whatever for, Dai-chan?”

“Just…” Daiki’s cheeks grow hot. “I don’t know. It’s been three years. We should talk. I… I missed you.”

A beat of silence. Two. Three. Then Satsuki nods rapidly, her face paling in the way it always does when she’s taken by surprise.

“I…” Her words come out normal, but there’s a hint of strain that Daiki only hears because he’s known her forever. “I have to finish a paper, but there's not too much left. I can stay here and do it.”

“Great.” Daiki’s proud of the fact that his voice doesn’t waver. “If you need extra coffee, let me know. On the house.” Satsuki grins, a shadow of what she used to be. 

“I’ll take you up on that one.”

She turns around, eyes on the table she sat at last time. And as she sweeps off towards it, Daiki swears he heard her whisper, “I missed you too, Dai-chan.”

--

Once they start talking, they don’t stop. There’s so much to catch up on: college (Daiki finished a year ago, Satsuki has a year left), work (Satsuki’s looking at a business degree, while Daiki’s in sports medicine. She’d originally wanted to do law, so that’s surprising), life in general. 

Being with Satsuki is easy. It’s something he doesn’t have to think about. She’s the rush of fresh air that enters your lungs after a hard run, something you didn’t know you needed until you didn’t have it anymore. Daiki falls into a practiced rhythm of banter and laughter with her, in and out, in and out, just like breathing.

She shows up on Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday and Thursday too, and Daiki doesn’t know when he starts expecting her to be there by ten past nine, doesn’t know when he starts brewing black coffee and volunteering for morning slots, doesn’t know when he starts waiting for the end of his Sunday shift just to take that one-hour walk with her and chat. Satsuki fills her place in his life as she’s always done, covering the gaping hole she tore in him like she never left.

In some ways, she hasn’t.

Being with Satsuki is easy, but it’s also hard. It’s hard because her eyes are always faraway, her lips are pursed and her brows are drawn with invisible tension. She’s not here even when she is, and it hurts.

Daiki knows it’s stupid to expect her to be the girl she was once. He knows she’s grown up. But growing up shouldn’t come with the amount of pain and… and whatever else it is that she carries on her slender shoulders now. Satsuki was made to live, not just survive. It bothers Daiki more than he’ll ever admit: enough that on one of their Sunday walks, he finally bites the bullet.

“What happened?”

“...happened?” Satsuki tilts her head, adorably confused.

“You…” Daiki flounders for words. “You changed.”

“Dai-chan, I’m not a little girl anymore. You changed too. You’re a lot politer.”

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” Worry takes the place of awkwardness, and Daiki suddenly finds himself… not confident, but ready to confront this. “You know, Satsuki. You’re hurting. What happened to you?”

“Dai-chan…” She sighs, looks away. “Nothing happened. Adults hurt.”

“No, they don’t.” Daiki catches her shoulder and turns her around to face him. “Not… not the way you are. Something happened, didn’t it? Satsuki, please, talk to me.” His voice cracks a little on the last word, but he couldn’t care less about looking bad in front of her. She was around before he ever looked good at all.

“I--” Satsuki’s face crumples, like a chilled tin can that just had hot water poured on it, and there are tiny stars on her eyelashes. “Dai-chan, please, I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“No, Satsuki, please. Whoever did this to you, I won’t try to commit homicide,” Daiki says, half a joke in his voice. “Can’t promise I won’t think about it, though.”

“So…” She sounds ragged and hollow. “So you’re going to think about killing me, then. Might as well do it. It’s as much as I deserve.” Daiki’s world slows and stops.

What?

He says as much, spluttering, “Satsuki--wh--”

“That’s why I lost contact,” she says, her wet eyes gazing at something he can’t see. “I… I did stuff in my early years of college that I’m not proud of, Dai-chan. I fucked up so bad… I didn’t switch courses because I wanted to. I flunked out of law and--”

The tears, gathered like diamonds in her eyes, start to fall. Daiki cups her face in his hands and wipes them away with his thumbs as best he can. Satsuki looks up at him, a mess of pain and guilt and anger, and Daiki keeps his expression as open as he can. It’s what she needs right now.

“Go on.” Even he’s surprised at how tender he sounds. “I’m here for you.” Satsuki pulls his hands away from her cheeks and sniffles.

“All of those ‘college vices’, all at once. It’s okay in moderation--you’ve done your fair share of those things, I’m sure,”--and she’s right--“but Dai-chan, I overdid it. A party every night, a new someone in my bed when I woke up each morning. I even ended up with an addiction.” More tears, which she wipes at in futility. “I missed you and home and everyone. But I didn’t dare tell you because I was so scared, Dai-chan. I didn’t want you to hate me. When Mom and Dad found out, they cut me off. And I can’t even blame them or anyone else, because--look at me! I barely sleep, I eat too much, I have nightmares every day and I’m doing something I hate more than anything.”

Daiki doesn’t think words will work here, so he just pulls her in, close to his chest. Satsuki sobs and shakes in his embrace, her head against his sternum, crying her heart out.

“Are you disappointed in me, Dai-chan?” Her voice is small, and it comes out broken between sobs. Daiki pauses for a second before shaking his head.

“No. We fuck up sometimes. It’s okay.”

He doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to say, but Satsuki’s arms tighten around him and she stops shaking, so he thinks it just might be.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, stroking her hair. “You’re okay.”

“I’ll be okay?” Satsuki whispers.

“Yeah,” Daiki says, and means it. He doesn’t know where he’ll start with helping her, how things will go, but… “As long as we’re together. Just… stay.”

“I’ll stay.” Satsuki exhales into his shoulder. “I’ll stay, Dai-chan.”

“Then we’ll be okay.”

“We?” The confusion in her tone is palpable, but there’s also a tinge of hope at the very end. Daiki doesn’t say anything, just holds her closer and affirms that hope. 

It could be a long road, but that road isn’t too long for them to travel together. Nothing is too much for Daiki and Satsuki, not when they’re together, because they’re Daiki-and-Satsuki again.

And that’s why they’ll be okay. 

[lethesomething]

Ghost of Tsushima and the Hands of Fate

I see we're still trying to prove that games are an art form by making everyone feel bad.

For the record, Ghost of Tsushima is one of my favourite games in a very long time. It is extremely pretty, the aesthetic and general … polish is *cheff's kiss*. You can pet foxes and backstab people. The fighting mechanic is decent and there are just So Many Hats.

But also, it has the kind of story that pulls you in to the point where you have to drop the controller to hide behind your fingers going 'ohgodno'.

It is an absolute bastard of a game, is what i'm saying.

So let's talk about that, and specifically about Straw Hat Ryuzo and how I feel bad for him.

I am, by the way, going to be talking about the narrative structure of a video game about medieval samurai, so expect like, a bunch of spoilers.

The narrative is one of the big draws in Ghost of Tsushima. Like yes, it's an open world rpg with fighting and flower picking and all the important stuff, and also yes, some of the bits are sloppily written (looking at you, specifically, 'Ending to Norio's Arc'), but the game definitely sets out to Tell a Story.

And because this is a Serious Game that openly bases itself on samurai movies like Kurosawa's, it is a Drama.

In many ways it is an utterly brutal Bildungsroman, a narrative in which a young man finds his identity.

I have joked with friends about the clear intent for this game to make Important Stories, in that it actually tries to tick all the boxes of hotbutton subjects: childhood trauma? Obviously. Gay relationships?  Yup. Survivor's guilt and PTSD? Oh yes. Domestic abuse? Several. Suggested pedophilia? Damn, even that.

The foxes are there to soothe the soul

It's interesting to note that from a writing point of view, this bildungsroman is even Very Classically Structured. It goes so far as to be a three acter, with a pretty standard build-up.

 Jin Sakai, traumatized man that he is, spends the first act slowly getting to grips with the bit where you don't fight an army by yourself by  just walking up to them and challenging them With Honour, like he has been taught his entire life. Instead of getting stabbed repeatedly in the chest and set on fire, he  discovers guerilla warfare and creates this persona of the Ghost, a literal vengeful spirit seeking justice for the island of Tsushima.

It gets him some big wins and in the second act he slowly embraces this identity until things get to a head where he clashes with his entire old life. The third act starts at the hero's lowest point and is utterly gut wrenching (i am Still Not Over the horse, game), forcing him to pull himself together for an ending that is, well…fitting for the narrative. It's an ending that is needed, but perhaps not what Jin deserves.

 But anyway, this is about Ryuzo, and how until that ending, I was very upset about his role.

You see, this story is told in part through the lives of Important Npc's, who contribute to Jin's journey of self-discovery. This is pretty obvious with someone like Yuna, who is the one to introduce him to the Stealth Life and who is a driving force behind the marketing of the Ghost.

Someone like Masako, meanwhile, portrays vengeance and self discipline, but Jin also kinda tries to make her fill the mother-shaped hole in his heart.

Lord Shimura, meanwhile, is an Obvious Father figure but also stands for Jin's past. He's rigid and ineffective, which pushes Jin to further look for alternatives.

Ishikawa, that other mentor figure, is more moderate and flexible, but he also represents a possible unwanted future. He literally warns Jin at one point not to become like him.

Norio, then, is as mentioned not the best written, but he too is a person that searches for his destiny and tries to become like his hero, while only barely holding on to his sanity. 

Kenji, I'm sorry, I love you but you're just comic relief, that's all you do. It's an imporant job in the story, because god does it need it, but you're not teaching Jin anything other than how to make different 'resigned sigh' noises.

So what about Ryuzo? From the very beginning, Ryuzo's story didn't really sit right with me. There's the obvious class issue: he's one of the few important npc's that are poor, and he's an Antagonist.

It has always rubbed me the wrong way that his original intentions were good, depending on how you read it. He's trying to feed his men. He essentially made the decision that this one man's life (even if it is an old friend) is worth the price for the lives of his band of ronin.

It's a lot more complex than that, of course. Ryuzo partly blames Jin for his predicament in life, and he also knows that samurai treat their soldiers as chattel, which the game goes out of its way to show you they DO.

  Essentially, he's a complicated character who makes bad decisions for arguably good reasons.

Ryuzo did everything he could to save the lives of the people he cared about. He went so far as to abandon his honor and his childhood friends, to try to make this happen.

Does that ring any bells?

It kinda clicked for me at the very end of the game.

Jin, being the protag in an assassin game, does a lot of killing. But some of these deaths are given more meaning than others. Some of them are there to make you feel like shit (the Horse Again, but you lose several friends along the way), others serve a more defining purpose.

You see, there's a fair amount of what i'd like to call 'intimate violence' in Ghost of Tsushima. It's an old trope. The 'if someone was gonna kill me, it had to be you' kinda scene that hails from a worldview in which some deaths are better than others, sure, but some deaths are better even than living. It's a worldview in which life itself is less valuable than your legacy. You die for your place in history. For your clan, for your family, for your honor.

Bushido is full of that sort of thing, so it makes sense that a game building on that worldview, would use the heck out of that trope.

  The first is Ryuzo's death. You fight him in a duel, in which he tries to plead for some resolution. You could let him go, come up with some story. But Ryuzo is a traitor, so Jin ultimately defeats him and sends him off in what would be a touching moment of bro friendship if it wasn't for the blood and my 21st century sensibilities.

You grant him a warrior's death, is what I'm saying.

  It happens again with Shimura. The game actually gives you a choice here, but if you go through with it, the scene almost perfectly mirrors Ryuzo's.

You fight in a duel, and Jin tries to get his uncle to just let him go, come to some kind of resolution. But Jin has been branded a traitor, and the only way for Shimura to restore his honour and clan, is to take his life;

This being a game in which you have the power of bamboo strikes and also save games behind you, Jin ultimately wins the duel, and has the option of granting Shimura a warrior's death.

It is utterly heart wrenching and that whole scene has no business being as pretty as it is. The swelling music? The fucking strings? The anguished yell?

Fuck.

  But anyway.

That's about where it clicked with me, that Jin never had a choice.

Ryuzo's whole role wasn't fair, but this is one of those stories where life itself is just not fair at all.

Both him and Shimura are there to show us Jin's path.

  What if, the game says, Jin had listened? What if he'd taken one of several offers the Khan made and surrendered?

What if he'd cooperated?

Well, we see in Graphic Detail what would happen. He would get pushed into doing horrific things. He gets manipulated, again and again, until there is no way out anymore. At some point it becomes clear to him that he's on the wrong side but whenever he tries to devise some plan to turn things around, things go Badly. He's firmly stuck in Khotun's web and the only way out is death.

But what if, the game says, Jin had stayed true to his honour? What if he had listened to his uncle, not defied him, if he had dropped the Ghost before it was too late?  If he'd gone full bushido and repented for the shogun and done all the groveling and the proper stuff.

Samuraihood is just another straightjacket, says Shimura's fate. The tenets are so rigorous you would take your loved ones life, while fucking bawling your eyes out. Shimura knows damn well it's unfair but he also has no way to leave this path. It's a ride he cannot, and will not, get off alive.

  Jin never had a choice.

There was only ever one way for him to go.

Like let's be real: pretty much everyone in this story was dealt a bad hand. It's a narrative about resilience in the face of utter horror, of reinventing yourself and giving up entire structures of faith. People like Masako, Yuna, Norio are finding peace in dealing with huge levels of trauma and regret.

The goal isn't to start a family and live happily ever after, it's to Survive.

Submitting to the mongols would have killed Jin's spirit. Standing tall and rigid as he was taught to do would have, ultimately, killed him as well.

  "I've given up everything to save these people", he says near the end. "And I would do it again."

That's someone who has no regrets.

Jin never could have taken another path and he knows it.

And this is why Ryuzo needed a fate as shitty as his. He fell, so Jin could walk.

I'm sorry, it's still not fair.

This game needs some comfort fic.

[espisayer]

Writing Tag Game

@alectoperdita tagged me thank you (*°▽°*)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

a sad 6 but I’m hoping October will inspire me to write out some spooky bullshit

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

38,866

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I only have 6 fics up and most of them have almost the same amount... except for Bury the Hatchet which has three times as much for some reason. (First yugioh fic I posted, and it’s only a year old but for me it’s not aging well 😅)

4. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Uhm comments will make my entire day. I usually don’t have the mental capacity to say anything intelligent back but I always try to. (barring something rude, but that’s pretty rare)

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Okay wait I can cheat on this one. If you count my ongoing 30-prompt challenge it’s definitely the raging jealousy in #10. Don’t ask me how that happened when the prompt was “animal ears.”

Without cheating it’s probably Never Idle, plus I never wrote a resolution for that...

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

uh. uhhhhhh. I’m realizing I write a lot of angst, not necessarily with bad endings, but more like open-ended positive? I don’t know if that counts. I guess my Yugi/Ryou fic, if I had to choose one but that’s mostly because they give me more positive vibes

7. Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Not yet. If I do it’ll 100% be super self-indulgent like yugioh x fire emblem, and probably not three houses so no one would read it. so like it’s on the list, just not very high on the priority pole.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Fortunately, no

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes 😅 but I hesitate to post it. "What kind” depends entirely on whatever else is going on. I respect people who do PWP but I have a hard time not tying it in with something. Otherwise, it’s really not that out there. Unless you count vampires as particularly out there.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Definitely not

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Oh god that sets off my social anxiety. no. Well, yes and no. i took part in a big bang once but i didn’t do any of the writing.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Outside of hyperfixations I don’t actually ship that much, so I guess the default win goes to kaijou? I only started reading yugioh fics last year. (They did jump out at me right away with almost no biases though)

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

The resolution to Never Idle 😢 never say never though

15. What are your writing strengths?

😶😶 I wanted to say dialogue but lately I’m feeling kind of uncreative with  my dialogue so...

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plotting for me (or just trying to finish a chapter sometimes) is just a nightmare. It's indecisiveness but also, you know how people say they have racing thoughts? Mine are constantly tripping over each other, disorganized and inarticulate and I don’t know what that’s about but it’s real frustrating.

I feel like I answered a question like this a while ago and I think I said something similar but. yeah.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

At best you’ll piss readers off because now they have to fucking google translate it? I’ll click out. If you don’t know a language, don’t throw it in there. It’s easy enough to suggest someone is speaking in a different language.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

If you count my 10- or 12-year-old self who did not know what fanfic was, yugioh. If you count posted, I think it was Mario.

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Probably Good luck bad luck schmuck. It’s nice when you can go back and make yourself laugh

I’ll tag @faelynny and @chaosmax if you guys wanna do this