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t-tomuras · 8 months

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♔ ─── • 𝐈𝐧𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Pairing: Witcher!Tomura Shigaraki x F!reader

Warnings: reader has long hair, blood, injuries and scarring (canon typical), intimate bathing, slight pussy job, nipple play, sex with minimal prep, creampie, slight praise, slight monsterfucking if ya squint

Wordcount: 5k

Notes: Reupload

It’s a blood-curdling scream that first draws his attention, groaning while staring into the flame he built to warm himself and his horse. He recognizes the cry, one of a wounded animal, one that’s still clinging desperately to life from what he can tell. Tomura tells himself to let it be, it’s the way of nature; eat or be eaten, kill or be killed. It’s natural, his place in the world is to save humans from monsters for coin; nothing more but certainly much less if humanity had a say.

But by the second cry he’s already closing in on the location, boots crunching in the snow as he searches for the poor soul if only to put it out of its misery. It’s suffering, he knows, but he reasons if predators haven’t silenced the cries themselves yet then he will bring it peace. Tomura tells himself his search is only to return quiet to the woods, save for the howling of the winds and crackle of his fire.

Witchers don’t have emotions, they walk a thin line from the monsters they hunt, at least according to the humans he was altered to protect. Foul and annoying creatures themselves if you ask him, but he gets paid and can feel something, a purpose possibly, in battle so he doesn’t press any issues he shouldn’t.

The third cry dies the second he stumbles upon you, in the form of a barn owl with feathers scattering the ground and the blood that oozes from you dyes the pristine snow crimson. One wing is tucked into you, the source of the thick outpour.

“Lechuza,” he knows by the scent, you’re not human but not a monster either. A witch, an outcast amongst most mages; especially those from the Brotherhood. Tomura steps closer, the motion causes the frantic flapping of your wings in an attempt to maintain distance, disturbing the snow. He snarls at the action, scarred lip curling into something akin to an insulted sneer, “you cried so loudly and for what?”

“Nothing from you, Witcher,” your voice laden with pain even when nothing is spoken aloud. Your thoughts are labored from the effort it’s taking to stay conscious as you fight the crash of adrenaline along with the wooziness of blood loss, “I won’t let you put me down like a dog—“ Butcher.

The word is never uttered but by the way your sentence hangs in the jarringly thick silence Tomura knows it burns your tongue. He’s used to it, the common insult (or simple descriptor depending on who you spoke to), all witchers are butchers regardless of how they protect the ones who scorn them. Monsters, fiends, hands for hire; Witchers' work watered down simply because they accept coin for protection, for mortals' salvation. They forget that Tomura and his kind are the only things that stand between them and massacre.

“An animal won’t be kind in how they put you down,” he breathes, the words materializing in the air between you both in the form of steam in contrast to the frigid temperature. “An animal can’t help you either. Your wound isn’t grave,” Tomura takes another step towards you, the crunch of snow narrating the movement as you flinch and falter pathetically away once more.

The entire exchange begins to agitate him, standing straight from the bent posture he’d taken in an attempt to pick you up. Crimson hues flash dangerously as his jaw clenches to subdue mounting exasperation, speaking with a hiss, “shift into your human form then. The desperation and stubbornness is annoying.”

“The dog for hire wants to lecture me?” Your wings flap indignantly, malice dripping in each thought projected toward the man, “you drink elixirs and lick your wounds in the company of harlots. Don’t speak to me about desperation.”

For whatever reason, that garners a reaction from him, a tick in his jaw as his arms fold over his broad chest. He crouches low to you, head tilted as ivory locks fall into his face, casting shadows to give him a haunting look bathed in pale moonlight, “If you don’t want help then don’t scream for it again.”

You don’t shrink away even with the unsettlingly even tone, straightening as much as you can with the wounds hindrance that sends throbbing pain through your body with the pose. “Did I strike a nerve, White Serpent of Kamino, because I won’t let you play knight?”

Tomura laughs at the comment, dry and humorless, “if you know who I am then you know I don’t play knight, I came to silence a nuisance squawking and disturbing the peace.” He stands then, giving you his back, settling to acquiesce to your vehement refusal of his assistance but not without a final word.

“There are leshy in these woods, by the way,” Tomura looks over his shoulder as he speaks, smirking as all your previous smugness visibly bleeds (literally and figuratively) from you. He almost sounds like he enjoys taunting you when he adds, “an opportunistic hunter will be the least of your problems then.”

He’s won, he knows it, when no retort is fired back. Tomura chuckles again, something softer than before but no less devoid of humor than the first as he leaves you to fester in your pity and rot with your discontent if monsters or wildlife don’t get you first.

Suddenly, the gnarly shadows of barren trees feel as if they grow longer and you’re keenly aware of sound as the crunch of snow underfoot becomes farther away.

“Witcher!” You call to him but he doesn’t stop, continuing in his stride, “Serpent, please!”

He pauses at your call, turning slowly as he rolls his eyes, shoulders sagged in his leather armor to showcase how bothersome this has become to him before he crosses his arms again. Tomura’s entire demeanor makes the swallowing of your pride leave an acrid taste on your tongue, stalling before you speak again.

“. . . I don’t want to die. . .” it’s soft, vulnerable, creating a pregnant silence that hangs in the air as you cast your gaze anywhere but the man before you. The quiet is deafening when you finally add, “don’t make me beg.”

Tomura sighs, unfolding his arms as he approaches you. The threat of death always humbled even the most adamant beings. Arrogant men sobbing and soiling themselves as they tremble with fear; scornful women offering salacious deeds so long as they’re spared, nary a soul an exception. it’s ingrained into one’s being, ever clawing for salvation.

He crouches when he’s near enough, suspending his arm out in the distance between you with his palm up as an offered perch for you to be carried. Tomura wears a smug, lopsided, smirk that quirks the corners of his lips; teeth showing as he waits for you to accept the help he’d forced you to all but beg for. You curse to yourself as you reluctantly wrap your talons around his thick forearm, fighting the urge to spitefully dig them into the flesh and draw blood as penance for the humiliation.

You hang your head, wobbling slightly when he rises to full height again. Pathetic, graceless, small and fragile. Everything you loathed and strived to never represent crashing down and crushing you under its weight as you’re carried by the infamous White Serpent with the promise of your life.

There is no conversation on the trek back to his campfire, placing you onto his horse before stamping out the dwindling flames and collecting some of the things he’d set out earlier. You’re shooed backwards to make space for himself, kicking his leg over to mount the beast.

“What are you doing?” You question after he pats his horse, Kurogiri he calls it, telling it with a tenderness that surprises you to get moving. Tomura flips open a leather satchel hanging off his horse and knocks you into it, earning an indignant squawk before you hurl obscenities at him.

“You reek of iron, you’ll attract too much attention in the woods,” he snaps the satchel clasp closed, effectively encasing you in the cramped parsel despite the struggle you put up.

Tomura rides the steed to the nearest town, tossing payment to the first inn he finds with a stable to shield his beast from the elements. You’re met with the warm illumination of oil lamps when the witcher finally flips open the flap of the leather satchel he’d confined you to. He reaches into the compartment when you make no move to climb out yourself, earning a nip to his hand from your sharp beak that makes him curse as he withdraws.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve saved myself plenty of trouble and done it in the woods,” he snarls, curling up the scar that decorates his lip, shaking his hand like that would rid him of the pain. “Transform or don’t, stubborn witch, but you’ll sleep out here with the horse instead of getting a warm bath and soft bed.”

You pause at that, tension flooding from your body at the mention of a warm bath and a comfortable place to sleep, peeking out of the satchel as Tomura gets hay for Kurogiri. With his back to you, you decide to finally shift into your human form, joints cracking grotesquely from the transformation.

It’d been so long since you’d last taken this appearance you’d forgotten you’d be in the buff, panicking suddenly when Tomura turns to you. You push at his face, covering your breasts with your free arm to keep him from seeing you in yet another vulnerable state.

“Annoying woman, what’s your problem now?” He growls, grabbing at your wrist that only makes you shove harder at his face.

“I need clothes, I won’t walk nude,” you say it with a pout he can’t see, bringing both arms to give you some modicum of modesty when Tomura steps back. You shrink a little as if to minimize yourself, scowling at his unamused scoff when he tosses the large fabric he usually covers his horse with at you to help you cover up. The stench of it is overwhelming but you sense your begrudging savior would be less than delighted to hear further complaint; and, unfortunately for you, beggars can’t be choosers.

Only semi-decent, you’re guided through the main entryway to the inn, the innkeeper eyeing you curiously as if he’d never seen a woman (regardless of their state of dress) before to the point you draw the fabric tighter around yourself. Tomura swings open the door to the room he’d purchased but doesn’t hold it long enough for you to enter, forcing a hurried half-step to make it before it shuts as you make an exasperated sound.

You take pause, looking around the room and consider it’s not at all shabby for how the exterior of the building looked. Glancing around the vicinity as you note your exits before appreciating its accommodations; it was large space, considerably, more than you were used to. There’s a window to look out into the town and plenty of lights with a small fireplace across from the bed. A decent sized tub sits tucked into the corner of the space, steam rolling off of the water's surface already.

The sound of clothes rustling and clasps being undone draws your attention, the witcher undresses. Instinctively, your eyes wander over the alabaster expanse that’s exposed to you, littered with indented flesh in the form of scars; discolored in different variations. Some still pinked and likely sensitive while others are faded with age.

Tomura turns suddenly as the light armor falls away, bored ruby irises seemingly sparkling from the warm yellow illumination of the candles around, a smirk playing at his lips to add to his mirth when you quickly avert your gaze.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he comments, stepping out of the garments now pooling at his feet before submerging himself in the steaming water.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Witcher,” you scoff indignantly, bunching the fabric in your fist as Tomura eyes roam freely over your body in turn, “I took notice of your scars and nothing more.”

He nods sarcastically, lips pursed a fraction before splitting from a relieved sigh, arms spreading along the rim of the tub leisurely, “Tell yourself that, not many have looked at my scars as long as you though.”

Tomura chuckles to himself at the scowl you give him, sinking lower into the tub while he stares at you. His gaze is unwavering, enough to make your cheeks heat from the intensity as a bout of shyness you don’t typically have gnaws at you.

“Are you going to stand and wait until the water gets cold or do you particularly like the smell of horse and blood?”

“This is your cover,” you snipe incredulously at him, as if you had any choice in that matter. He rolls his eyes at you, gesturing to the amount of space in the tub as an invitation to join him. You’d really rather not, but the stench was overwhelming and you’d like nothing more than to be enveloped in the relaxing waters as you scrubbed yourself clean. You drop the cover, though you bring an arm to cover your chest again when it falls.

“Those are nothing I haven’t seen before,” Tomura quips again, eyes trained where your arm covers you.

Stepping into the waters quickly, you sink until the water crests below your collarbone, giving an annoyed pout to Tomura that receives a ghosting, amused smile in return. He reaches for you once, earning a hasty smack to the back of his hand and the sloshing of water as you move away from him.

“Don’t be so difficult, return the favor when I’m done,” he says with a roll of his eyes at your continued wariness, but when he reaches for you the second time you don’t swat him away. He pulls you closer, settling you to face him while he lathers soap into a nearby cloth.

Tomura is quiet for a moment, swiping the abrasive fabric against your shoulders and clavicles, noting the tender skin of telltale webbed scarring painted across them. It’s when he wrings out the rag that the question on his tongue is finally asked, “where did you get burns like these.”

“Not all creatures with Chaos are protected by the Brotherhood, and not all common folk are welcoming and kind.” He understands, more than anyone, the ire and scorn directed at oneself for simply existing.

The sound of water dripping from the rag and the soft splashing as he rinses it out calms you. Tomura is surprisingly delicate considering his nature, he dabs gingerly at the wound that splits from the top of your shoulder into your armpit. You’re almost certain he flinches slightly when you hiss and recoil slightly at the contact but you make no comment about it.

“Turn,” he commands after a moment and you oblige, turning your back to him and for some reason it feels surprisingly. . .safe; even in your state of undress with the witcher. You bring your hair over your shoulder, out of Tomura’s way while the scratchiness of the cloth wipes away the grime you’d accumulated from the day. You hunch forward the lower he ventures, body arching almost into a C shape with eyes hooded in relaxation. It’s easy to become lost in the feeling, lulled by the comfortable warmth and the steam that clears your senses paired with gentle touches.

You’re adjusted once more as his arm encircles you to wash your front beneath the water. You can feel yourself coming into contact with more of his skin as he does, back to chest as he swipes the rag with an open palm over your stomach. A sigh escapes you, head lulling back against his shoulder; you can feel his breath come in hot, even puffs against the shell of your ear.

It’s blissful, intoxicating even, but Tomura breaks the spell only to cast a new one when he brushes against the underside of your breast, husking into your ear, “Now do me.”

You swear the heat that burns your cheeks and warms your blood is from the temperature of the bath and nothing more. Water sloshing with your movements as you turn in his grasp, finding his expressive eyes darkened into a deep garnet in the low light; they’re hooded as well, accentuated with a slight pull to his lips as something akin to a lazy smile. He seems almost normal like this, not someone to be feared with a title known across many lands.

You don’t realize you’re staring until the smirk grows, cleaning your throat as you take the cloth he washed you with, wringing it out before lathering it up again. Free hand resting on one of his pectorals while the other scrubs gingerly over his shoulders, sliding down to his collarbone and across his broad chest. His body tells the tales of his life, deep grooves of scar tissue and small ones littering around them like morbid constellations. You won’t meet his gaze but you can feel how intently he watches you, like a predator that hasn’t decided on what to do with its catch quite yet. You feel every contour of his torso, from jumping muscles in his forearms and biceps to rigid planes of his abdomen; you’re meticulous in the details of Tomura’s body.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asks, his voice honeyed and low, dripping with temptation and confidence.

“If I hadn’t watched you leave your horse in the stables I would think it was here by smell alone,” you wash at his neck, tilting his head back while the pads of your fingers rub the cloth under his jawline. Tomura’s adam's apple bobs as he swallows, his body sinking lower still into the tub and guiding you closer to him by the small of your back. You feel every hard ridge of his body against yours, soft breasts pressed to the solid muscle of his own chest. Your hands are pinned between the both of you, resting on either side of his neck when Tomura hooks his index finger and thumb beneath your chin, forcing you to focus on his face. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart between his pupils and lips for a half second.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” I can hear how it races, he leaves it unsaid but you know that’s what he means. The thumb that holds your chin reaches up, calloused pad pressing on the plump of your lower lip and pulling it down to form an exaggerated pout. His eyes linger, as does his thumb and Tomura can’t help but allow his tongue to peek out and wet his dry lips while he contemplates every lewd thought that crosses his mind.

Your chest rises and falls, pressed firmly against his own until both your breathing slowly syncs and it begins to feel like you’re in a bubble. He holds you, gaze roaming over your features only to fall back to the thumb still resting against your lower lip.

Slowly, he pushes the digit into your mouth, lips enveloping him in the form of a pretty ‘o’ and doe eyes that cause Tomura’s eyes to sparkle with something dangerous; something primal and hungry. He presses down on your tongue, eye contact never wavering as he does so. Your lids flutter shut, barely hollowing your cheeks as you suckle the digit and feel his cock twitch against your inner thigh as it hardens; Tomura’s breath hitching before he can stop himself. Your lids open in surprise at the sound, searching his features for where this goes next; drumming your fingers where they rest and humming as he pulls himself from your lips with a light pop. Tomura swipes the slicked digit against the skin of your lower lip, giving it a pretty sheen in the flickering light the flames provided and you look vexing with the hooded gaze and slight pout from his withdrawal.

“Dangerous,” he whispers before tilting his head, leaning closer but stopping a hair’s breadth short of connecting. He’s so close you can almost feel his lips brushing yours as a smug smile pulls at the corners.

He wants you to beg, you’re certain, but the most you’ll afford him is a frustrated sound from his teasing before opting simply to close the minuscule gap between you. It seemed like so long ago when the entirety of your interaction were words laced with venom, how you recoiled from his contact and now you yearn so desperately for it; desire coursing through your veins each time his tip prod near the apex of your thighs.

Tomura presses your closer, palms pushing onto the small of your back as your arms slide up to loop around his neck to deepen the kiss. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, swallowing your mewl instantly when you grant him access. He groans in turn at the taste of you, tongue sliding against your own as his hands slip lower to paw at the fat of your ass, gripping tightly enough to elicit another moan for him to drink in. Water splashes violently, threatening to spill over when he repeats the action and your slit slides along his stiff cock, Tomura choking on something between a gasp and groan at the contact before canting his hips to repeatedly glide between your folds with each rut.

You jolt into him with each kiss to your clit from his cockhead, relishing the feeling of his girth teasing your slit, fingers threading into the mop of his hair to cradle where his neck and skull meet. It becomes a desperate grind of your hips and licking wherever your tongues can reach to taste everything the other has to offer. Tomuras hands slide from your ass, over your hips, then back down to grip the middle of your thighs, squeezing insistently as signal for you to wrap your legs over his hips.

The head of his cock bumps your clit again, sending a jolt of pleasure that causes your hips to jerk forward, causing his tip to catch at your sopping entrance and elicit a pitchy keen as he stands to exit the bathtub. Supporting your weight with a firm grasp on the undersides of your thighs, he never halts in his conquest of getting a taste of you, nipping at your lower lip before dropping you onto the bed and crawling after you when you scoot to the center.

You welcome him back with open arms, lips meeting in a desperate kiss once more while he slots comfortably between your spread legs. His hips jerk into you every so often, cunt gathering slick with each drag of his length through your folds; airy gasps escaping you when the fat tip of his cock teases at your fluttering hole. You feel needy, on fire for a man you resented hours ago, now begging him for whatever he’ll give you, ready to greedily take what Tomura has to offer.

“Fuck, I just—” he starts, groaning into your mouth while his rolls your hips into his own. He switches your positions with ease, flipping onto his back to have you straddle him with his large palms resting on natural waist. His thumbs dig into your skin, not so aggressively it hurts but enough to let you know he’s fighting an overarchingly carnal desire and exercising restraint to not sink you onto him all at once and lose himself in the throngs of pleasure.

No, as appealing as it is, he wants to savor this encounter; feel the pulsing euphoria in a slow build like a man instead of frenzied like a beast. Tomura ruts upward, simultaneously moving your hips to slide against him until you take the hint and roll your hips in a way he can’t do for you. His head lolls back when you find your rhythm, arching his back with a drawn out curse, “Just like that. Feel so good and m’not even inside yet.”

The vulgar praise warms your blood further, stokes the flames of desire within your core. You feel like you could climax just like this, feel the telltale tightening in your abdomen the more Tomura pushes you down onto him and gives friction to the sensitive nub. It drives you mad, the sensation of being on the fringes of your climax but needing just a bit more. You need more, you know he’ll give it to you but only if you take it for yourself or beg; choosing the latter with a frustrated whine caught in your throat as you straighten your spine until you’re fully upright, reaching below you where your sexes slide together to gingerly grip his shaft.

“Need more, can’t wait anymore,” Tomura gives you a devilish smirk, nodding at you when you align his cock with your weeping hole, both of you hissing at the stretch of only his tip.

“Lemme’” he starts, sliding his hands to your hips to aid you as he splits you wide. Tomura goes slowly, eyes rolling back into his skull and his lips parting with a hushed sigh as you take him inch by delicious inch until he’s buried completely to the hilt. He stills once he’s bottomed out, giving you time to adjust to his size after having no real prep beforehand. His hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your puffy nub and stroking it as he waits but with each twitch of your hips and convulsion of your cunt around his cock, his patience wanes.

“Move, please, I’m ready,” and he obliges, eagerly, starting slowly to set a comfortable pace for you until you’re pleading for more, urging him to go faster. Rising higher off his length before slamming back down until Tomura matches the fervor, palming the back of your neck to bring you in for a heated kiss of teeth and tongue.

Nothing outside of the room matters now, the world could fall to ruin and it would be paid no mind. He is only a man at this moment, and you his lover. Titles are naught, witcher, witch, butcher, beast; they hold no bearing here.

He is Tomura and, at least for the night (at the very least), he is yours. The man who’s touch ignites an inferno in your veins and with each thrust of his hips has you hiccuping for more when you part from the bruising kiss. He gropes at your breasts above him, cupping one and rolling a pebbled bud between his thumb and index finger while his free hand helps you meet each snap of his hips.

Tomura’s much more vocal than you would’ve ever imagined, curses and deep groaning rumbling in his chest. His touch is so tender for a man that deals violence and death, fingertips ghosting over and caressing whatever flesh is available to him. He looks at you like he’s known you, and maybe he has, feeling similar scorn to you if not worse.

You grab the hand that’s toying with your breast, dragging it upward to press kisses to each of his knuckles then turning it over to kiss the heel of his palm; all while never averting your gaze from him. Tomura gives a harsher snap of his hips, one that jostles your and earns a gasp a pitch higher from the others so he repeats the action. Over and over, relishing in every noise he’s rewarded until they’re loud moans you’re sure everyone in the inn can hear.

“I’m close, so close, Tomura, please.”

“I know, I know. I’ll get you there,” he practically coos, keeping the pace he’s discovered you enjoy. He gently tugs his hand from your grasp, massaging your breast for a moment and gives a parting tweak to your nipple as he moves his hand to between your bodies. The first stroke to your clit of his calloused digit sends a convulsion through your body, causing you to throw your head back with an embarrassingly louder moan than all the ones that preceded it. Another swipe, another convulsion that has your cunt clenching around him enough to pull a growl from him in turn.

It goes on like this until the coil in your abdomen winds so tightly it snaps, white hot euphoria spreading through every cell in your body as you yell his name. Pride welling in his chest at the pleasure he provides, gritting his teeth in the vain attempt to stave off his own release for a few moments longer but the way your walls flutter and convulse around him brings him over the edge shortly behind you, releasing within you with a relieved groan.

You collapse on top of him once you both come down, panting heavily and sticky with sweat, skin now tacking together uncomfortably. After a moment to catch his breath, Tomura adjusts you both, pulling the thick furs up to replace the dampened linens, tucking you back under his arm once he’s finished in an awkward form of intimacy. You shift to position yourself more comfortably, tangling your legs with his and resting your head on his arm as he stares at the ceiling.

“You’re not so bad. . .for a witcher,” you say after a long moment of silence, tracing indiscernible patterns into the planes of his chest. His head raises to look at you, brow raised curiously in way that makes you need to stifle a laugh before he falls back to the pillow beneath him.

“In bed or in general?” He finally huffs, a sound resembling something of a laugh but not quite, grabbing your hand to still it and flatten it over the even beating of his heart.

“Both, I suppose,” and he smiles at this, small but in good spirit. He looks human, just a man basking in the afterglow of something completely carnal.

You’re both just two beings, nothing more, nothing less. At least for tonight; you suppose that’ll be enough for now.

#vixen writes #hiatus; on queue

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thestupidhelmet · 1 year

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That ‘90s Show Ponderings

The fact Fez calls Eric his best friend on That ‘90s Show is another example of how little T9S’s creators (two of whom were two of That ‘70s Show’s creators and one of whom was a T7S writer) care about the source material (i.e. That ‘70s Show) and the meager amount of effort they put in to refamiliarize themselves with it.

While Fez definitely demonstrates an attachment to and affection for Eric on That ‘70s Show, they barely have any scenes or episodes where they truly connect. Their friendship is woefully underdeveloped. The two characters Fez has the closest bond with are Hyde and Kelso.

Until season 5, Fez considers Hyde his best friend. They have many storylines (often B stories) and interactions in episodes together during seasons 1-4 that establish their connection and develop their friendship

A flashback in “Class Picture” (4x20) shows us how Hyde, Kelso, and Eric meet Fez, and Hyde is immediately protective of Fez and offers him on-going protection, which inspires Fez to declare that Hyde is his best friend.

Once Hyde is paired romantically with Jackie in season 5, most of his significant storylines invovle her. Fez and Kelso are developed as true friends because of this new status quo, whereas before season 5, they are generally antagonistic to each other. By the end of the season, they’re clearly established as best friends.

While Fez and Hyde’s friendship is never forgotten in the later seasons, it’s no longer Fez’s primary platonic relationship for the rest of the series.

Never, though, are Fez and Eric depicted as best friends. They are friends because Fez is there (in the basement). He and Eric interact without much significance, except on rare occasion. We hear in “Trampled Underfoot” (5x21) about a phone call Fez makes to Eric at three a.m. to ask if they’re still friends, but this is a punchline adding to a theme of the episode about Fez’s neediness

“I’m Free” (6x05) is the only episode where Fez and Eric’s friendship is featured, but no growth in their bond occurs. It’s mostly jokes and a confirmation that Eric truly does care about Fez.

That Fez doesn’t mention Kelso at all in any of his That ‘90s Show episodes, or Jay -- Kelso’s son -- makes no sense. Fez would’ve very likely been Jay’s godfather. Once Fez’s romantic interest in Jackie dies in “Ice Shack” (T7S 3x10), they eventually become true friends in the later seasons (particularly season 7). Kelso, Jackie, Jay, and Fez all live in Point Place -- seemingly continuously (with maybe a few breaks) the last fifteen years (Point Place Time™).

The above paragraph again, begs the question as to why Red and Kitty have no idea who Jay Kelso is until the events of That ‘90s Show and act like they haven’t seen Kelso or Jackie for years. The series establishes that Fez has been Kitty’s hair stylist since he became one, and true to Fez’s nature he would’ve talked about Kelso, Jackie, and Jay -- since character-logic dictates he would’ve been involved in their lives (even if he weren’t Jay’s godfather).

All of this is to reiterate the point of That ‘90s Show being a canon-divergent AU continuation of That ‘70s Show. It couldn’t be anything else since its creators seem to have the barest of memories of That ‘70s Show and didn’t do the research necessary to refresh their knowledge.

The one exception is Red and Kitty’s relationship, and that’s thanks to Debra Jo Rupp and Kurtwood Smith knowing and caring about their characters (and Kurtwood making sure he and Debra Jo became executive producers of T9S so they’d have the clout to keep their characters [mostly] on-model).

Red and Kitty’s relationship is returned to canon in That ‘90s Show after That ‘70s Show introduced a boatload of character drift into their relationship in season 6 (catalyzed by Kitty’s menopause / self-medicating with alcohol storyline in season 5) -- to the point where their relationship in season 7 is almost not recognizable as the one from seasons 1-4.

#That 70s Show #That '90s Show #That '70s Show #Red x Kitty #Eric Forman #My Meta #My Essay #Meta #Essay #Fez #Michael Kelso #Steven Hyde #Jackie Burkhart

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ddejavvu · 1 year

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Omg okay but, you adopt puppy!steddie but they haven’t really been around women a lot before, not enough to be able to smell them more than usual, as male hybrids were usually kept separate and until you adopted them, they didn’t have super long exposure with women, or enough of a bond to gain a more in tune scent with them. And in the first month of them living with you, so so happy, Eddie’s resting his head in your lap, fast asleep, while Steve’s head is scenting your still damp hair in your neck. When suddenly Eddie pipes up “you’re hurt!”

You’re a bit confused, Eddie waking as he looks to Steve terrified, who then begins to sniff, and his face just drops. “You’re bleeding!” They take a few seconds to sniff over your body, enough to keep you in that frozen confused state, until eddie returns his head to where it originally was, and worriedly calls Steve over as he buries his sniffing head in between your thighs. That’s when you quickly pull Eddie off and realise, keeping a hand on Steve’s chest to keep him away, who just whines and keeps trying to move forward to check.

You have to explain to them about your period, which luckily they know what it is, just didn’t think about it when they smelled blood in that minute. So you promise them you’re not hurt. But over the next few days as they watch you keel over in pain constantly, their heads banging warnings around with the smell of blood and your pain obvious, they’re not so sure. Luckily, they can be good hot water bottles, for your stomach cramps and aching back. Although they might still whimper and lick their own tears away, unlike their material counterparts. Fortunately having them by your side, is like medicine in itself

cw: hybrid au with dog hybrid!steve and dog hybrid!eddie. don't like don't read, or block the tag 'hybrid au' below. hybrid au faq

this!! you're using a pad, you haven't even thought about your period starting or that it's the first they've been there with you for, it's just routine by now. but they're panicking, when eddie shoots up out of your lap it sets steve off, and they quickly get to work figuring out where the smell is coming from. At first eddie thinks it's your stomach, but it gets a little invasive when he realizes it's further down, and tries burrowing between your thighs to see if that's the real source. that clues you in, and you're frantically pushing eddie's head away, because you haven't had them for very long so hey! but also, it probably doesn't smell great down there due to the blood so you don't want to gross him out

you practically tumble off the bed trying to stand up, but they're stuck to you, pulling at your arms and trying to drag you back to help you as you're rambling about how it's not bad and there's nothing wrong!

finally you're able to free yourself and you explain that you're just on your period, your cheeks are burning and it feels so humiliating to admit it because you haven't known these men for very long, but they both kind of relax like ohhhh.

yes, once they know, though, they're the perfect remedy!! they're such big cuddle bugs, sooo content to spend an entire day just laying together, their big warm hands splayed over your belly and their noses in your neck, scoping out your mood from your scent, and making sure they're doing whatever possible to make sure you stay as happy as possible even if you're in pain :(

#hybrid au #dog hybrid!steve #dog hybrid!eddie #let's talk about puppy!eddie !!#let's talk about puppy!steve !!#puppy!steve #puppy!eddie

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denimbex1986 · 9 months

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'Scientific grunt work doesn’t render very well on the silver screen. But neither do most jobs, or for that matter, most people. When it comes to theoretical physicists and aesthetic appeal, it’s best to channel quantum mechanics and suspend your disbelief.

Enter Oppenheimer, where Brigadier General Matt Damon says things like, “This is the most important thing to ever happen in the history of the world!” And, “We’ve given them an ace. It’s up to them to play the hand.” No doubt these sentiments were actually delivered as 700-page memorandums, Pendaflex-foldered and date-stamped. But this is Hollywood we’re talking about. You’ll find little in the way of stationery here, at least not on screen. And when the occasional differential equation rolls into frame, writer/director Christopher Nolan cuts smartly away before the audience might nod off.

To Nolan’s credit, Oppenheimer is a terrifically researched film. But it’s a film nonetheless, and translating sprawling, decades-long military sagas via camera necessitates shortcuts. I’m not a vetted expert on nuclear history but I’ve dabbled, having acted as research assistant for a 2020 treatise on plutonium production. This is to say that I’m familiar with the players.

I know, for example, that Matt Damon is far too cuddly, good-looking, and agreeable to portray the irascible Leslie Groves, nicknamed “Greasy” by his fellow West Point cadets. I know that Niels Bohr, the Danish physicist with a famously soft, nigh-unintelligible voice, is misrepresented by Shakespearean enunciator Kenneth Branagh. Nolan’s rolodex runs deeper than Wes Anderson’s these days, and if there’s a gripe to be had with Oppenheimer, it’s that everyone involved is just too damned sexy.

But, again, this is Hollywood, and where Nolan leaves the beaten path of record he generally does so to sate our dopamine addiction. Come to think of it, I haven’t been inside an actual physics department in a while. Maybe the professors really are incredibly gorgeous.

Luckily for Nolan, the subject of his cinematic obsession was a high-cheeked academic anomaly. The poet Edith Jenkins, who overlapped with J. Robert Oppenheimer in leftwing circles, describes his “precocity and brilliance… his jerky walk, feet turned out, a Jewish Pan with his blue eyes and his wild Einstein hair.” Manhattan Project scientist Robert Wilson agrees, admitting that he was “caught up by the Oppenheimer charisma,” “his style, the poetic vision of what we were doing.”

No, Oppy’s jawline never approached the artful chisel of Cillian Murphy’s, but there are unmistakable parallels—a bit elfin, a bit skeletal—to be drawn. Certainly Oppenheimer availed himself of more mistresses than your average mid-century physicist. Nolan spends perhaps too much time focusing on one of them (Jean Tatlock, played by Florence Pugh) and mentions a second in passing (Ruth Tolman, a bit part Louise Lombard), while avoiding speculation of yet others, such as when Berkeley cops found grad student Melba Phillips sleeping in Oppy’s car somewhere in the Coastal Range, the professor himself suspiciously absent.

Oppenheimer’s messy personal life makes him an ideal candidate for exposé—look no further than Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin’s bestselling American Prometheus, Nolan’s source material. But here I’ll return to Hollywoodization, for it’s one thing to get wind of Oppenheimer’s foibles and quite another to see Florence Pugh writhing hallucinatorily on his lap during the 1954 AEC security hearings.

If Nolan goes too far in this film, if he stretches the Oppenheimer envelope past its roomy Pendaflex accommodations, it’s in the context of Oppy outside the Manhattan Project. Despite magnificent wartime subject matter—not all of which is touched upon—Nolan can’t quit his blockbuster tropes. Monochrome senate hearings, petty political twists (how is RDJ’s aide still employed?), Oppy’s fingers gracing Emily Blunt’s as she asks for a cocktail science primer.

Maybe audiences require such touchstones to contextualize the rest of the film. Nolan seems to think so. But as the string section swelled during a trite turn in the relatively forgettable career of Lewis Strauss, I found myself wishing we could’ve stayed put in New Mexico, on the high mesa that forms this film’s heart.

Nolan’s feat comes in recreating Los Alamos, a critical American moment with more than enough narrative to forgo some of the politico-romantic schlock that drags this thing to a three-hour runtime. Fascinated by character, by gray morality, Nolan found Oppy such an attractive case study that it nearly steered his magnum opus (I do think this film qualifies) off track. Each of the factual and immensely complicated bomb-related obstacles—for example, thunderstorms the morning of the Trinity Test—holds a world-changing thrall entirely separate from the whims of one man, no matter how chiseled his jaw.

Speaking of moralistic study, there’s one character who escapes Oppenheimer scot-free: Matt Damon’s overly fit and preposterously understated Leslie Groves. “I’ve known General Groves since I was 2nd lieutenant,” said the real-world David Nichols (cast as Dane DeHaan) in a 1965 interview. “To start off with, I would say he is the biggest son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever met, bar none.”

“Impatient, brusque, intolerant,” writes Robert S. Norris in his comprehensive Groves biography Racing for the Bomb. “He had few close friends, and others generally kept their distance.”

“When you looked at Captain Groves, a little alarm bell rang ‘Caution’ in your brain,” said a colleague.

Damon bulked up, lumped up—whatever—for his role as Nike executive Sonny Vaccaro in this year’s Air. But it’s a serious leap from office park Vaccaro to Army taskmaster Groves, who even in his 1970 New York Times obituary suffered the redundant label of, “a chunky, heavyset man, with a tendency toward paunchiness.” More unfounded than Damon’s weight, however, is a good guy nature cultivated over decades of Good Will Hunting television marathons, Invictus advertisements, and so on.

Cillian Murphy’s shell-shocked victory speech presents a nice commentary on the ethical morass of atomic weaponry. But Damon/Groves makes for an even juicier moralistic target, and he’s let off the hook with that aforementioned one-liner: “We’ve given them an ace, it’s up to them to play the hand.” If anyone bore responsibility for detonating two atomic bombs over civilian populations, it was General Leslie R. Groves, the only person playing said poker game in the first place.

Racing for the Bomb explains, “Groves, sitting atop his security pyramid, was the only person who knew everything about the bomb project—more than the chief of staff, more than the secretary of war, more than the president.” He was therefore “singularly concerned with the bomb, with getting it finished, tested, and used, and his superiors deferred to him time and again to make the choices that would make this happen.”

Nolan illustrates how the bomb haunted Oppenheimer. Groves, cinematically absent after Trinity, showed no such regret. Critiquing the general’s 1962 autobiography Now It Can Be Told, the Saturday Review wrote, “Groves is motivated by a simple and all-sufficing patriotism that is untroubled by what others see in the atom. He does not probe for any new vision of national interest in the age he helped create.”

Simple and all-sufficing patriotism—sounds familiar. Make of it what you will.

The only Oppenheimer character who comes across as legitimately malevolent is Benny Safdie’s terrific Ed Teller. Maybe I fell for Teller because Safdie, a director by trade, looks more like a physicist than a cologne model. Still, I get the sense that Safdie studied his source material. When he pipes up about the “Super”—the hydrogen bomb—his eyes hold nary a flicker of regret. And he keeps doing so despite repeated disdain from his colleagues.

Look, I get it, I really do, on the attractiveness quotient. This is a movie, and if scientists and bureaucrats don’t suffice for a visual study then we’ll goddamn pretend. It’s only sensible that Ernest Lawrence— who, per physicist Jeremy Bernstein, “looked a bit like a country bumpkin”—becomes Josh Hartnett. That Lewis Strauss, a crooked-toothed self-made paper pusher, turns into silver fox Robert Downey Jr. I guess I even understand why Olivia Thirlby got thrown in out of absolutely nowhere, probably as Lilli Hornig, though I can’t recall her name being said aloud.

Nolan had to beautify this stuff because the big screen is a beautiful place. He gets most of the issues absolutely right, and I’ll be pulling for him come Oscar season. I doubt I’ll wind up remembering Emily Blunt’s Kitty Oppenheimer, Matthew Modine’s Vannevar Bush, or whoever the hell Rami Malek was supposed to be. But I’ll surely remember the Trinity Test, fingers trembling over that big red button, “10-9-8” and the towering explosion and the pressure wave—even if, no shade at Nolan, David Lynch already did it better on television.'

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maracojocaruc · 14 days

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According to Hinduism, the concept of reincarnation points to a repeated cycle of eternal existence taking different shapes and forms over time. What time? It's impossible to say. We can barely make sense of the one we have on hand. This morning, I was pondering over all the current traces of a past existence. Some torment me, some soothe me. Aficionados will instantly relate to the feeling, while those who are still rookies at breaking the walls of their current material form will ask themselves if I put something in my coffee. The soothing traces of past memories profusely strengthen my oh-so-shaken foundation. They came up with a specific term for this feeling, and it certainly does justice: “blissful.” These traces hold me in their ginormous hands and gently swing me to sleep. They sing in foreign languages. Intuitively, I know what they’re saying, even if my mother never taught me anything about them. La Ilaha Illalah. No other language than the one that speaks to your spirit. For the music that invites me to look up into the sky and gaze at the beautiful creation of life, I am grateful. For the never-ending, all-encompassing, regenerating love that comes from the source, I am finding strength to move forward. For the dreams and infinite layers of existence that continuously remind me to act in good faith and give me grace, I say yes. Of course, I say yes. Of course, it’s worth it. It’s all worth it. But as Neil Theise mentions in “Notes on Complexity," “a distinguishing feature of life’s complexity is that, in every single instance, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” And when it comes to making sense out of this unjust ball of dust that we, out of an inherited degenerative zest, call "life," it’s hard to reconnect with the whole. It’s hard to connect with its meaning. It takes practice and a constant act of presence. And I find it hard to be present in torment, which leads me to the other category of continuous traces. The mere thought of all the encounters I am bound to have with my father in future forms of existence drains me. We made a contract in this one with no expiration date in time or space, and it’s already taking a toll on me. The absence of people I seem to lose at the speed of sand falling off my hands reminds me of a symbolic debt with an interest rate too high to bear. The deeper I stick my hands in the carcass of a soul I’m in awe of, the faster it dissipates. It’s heartbreaking, like a movie by Darren Aronofsky. However, I haven’t decided to specialize in cinematic misery. Not yet. In the great dance of life, where we keep stepping on each other’s feet, there’s a silver lining: we can always go back to the whole and return with a renewed sense of purpose. For later.

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veil-over-miitopia · 1 year

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The Hero’s Torment

This is the second - hopefully final - part of the “Intertwining Strengths” theory. The link to the first part will be in the notes, because, as of writing this, Tumblr is still figuring out its head from its ass.

As usual, I will be referring to the MH, Great Sage, and Dark Lord using They/Them pronouns

🌋⚔️🌋⚔️🌋

(It’s a lot more immersive when you listen to The Lost Sigils of Enkanomiya while reading all this; trust me on this one)

So, we last left off on the source of the supposedly “divine” power that grants the Main Hero power, the significance of relations - whether familial, platonic, or romantic - within the lore of Miitopia, and the reason behind the Dark Lord kidnapping our teammates and leaving us powerless.

As a quick tl;dr, we have established that the “Divine Power” that was echoed throughout the story was an example of the Indomitable Human Spirit taken to a literal extreme. Looking back at this revelation, I was surprised by how well it meshed with the theme/feel of the game and its contrast to the Dark Curse’s birth - an origin tied to sorrow, isolation and self-hatred, unlike the community and trust that our team starts to irradiate as time goes on -.

As I was discussing this theory with one of my friends, they have mentioned the similarities between this hypothesis and Warhammer 40k’s Warp - and how every living being’s desires/emotions are made material there -, and while it isn’t exactly a 1:1 comparison, it isn’t hard to see the resemblances between both games’ worldbuilding. You could say that Miitopia is a more hopeful 40K, seeing that even positive emotions and memories can act as literal sources of power.

What I have failed to mention was the reason why their third attempt at sealing our powers backfired miserably. While I haven’t exactly figured out a solid cause behind that and how it ties to said theme of healthy communities, the answers that I’ve managed to guess happened to be quite simple; it can range from the accumulation of new friends as we wandered through the fairy forest, the hopes everyone placed within us reaching the point where it overturned the dark magic, or the burning determination to save everyone we’ve met along the way growing so much that the DL was unable to seal it away.

Frankly speaking, I’d rather keep this one up to the interpretation of the player, and see how much they cherish their goal in mind/their lost teammates through their own answer to this riddle. This is the magic of Miitopia; its customizability, and that, no matter how many times you would replay the story over and over again, you will get different events leading up to each penultimate moment. There will be new characters, new lore, new roles to fill in, and the only limit is one’s imagination (and their determination to keep on replaying the same game over and over again).

This somewhat reminds me of the Commedia Dell’arte, in which stock characters represented by masks are thrown into new whacky hijinks without the need to introduce these characters to the audience - for their masks alone are enough to identify them -. What differentiates Miitopia from the Commedia, however, is that it somewhat functions in the polar-opposite way: the setting and overall story staying consistent and true to form, while the castmembers change roles with every replay time and time again.

Returning to the topic at hand, all this talk about healthy relations, growth, and determination- it all returns to the Dark Lord’s purpose, their interactions with the hero, and the less-than-conventional way of dealing with MH during the end f each chapter. Truth be told, all of them are more than likely to be what the Dark Lord desired to destroy; your spirit, your hopes, your ideals, and, most importantly, your compassion, and there ain’t no better way to do so than to capture and control the very sources of our powers to do their own bidding.

This is what the topic of today shall cover; we shall be analyzing the Dark Lord’s final solution to break the hero’s will, how the status of the monsters that bear their faces tie into the memories we made with them - the very power that pushes us through these hurdles life throws at us -; and how the Dark Lord seeks to taint and even break them in order to finally render us powerless.

We first begin with the start of the hero’s darkness, Karkaton Ascent, where we meet the third teammates of each team- those we have the least amount of memories with them, and, therefore, the lowest bond (usually), so it would make sense that their faces are plastered onto boss monsters that are of the more “common” variety. Guardians of the Ascent if you chose to interpret it, yes, but they are evidently of a lower rank than the next two categories of monsters that I will be talking about.

By looking at these behemoths and when we meet their first iterations, it becomes evident as to what the DL was aiming for; the Magma Slime, Paincloud, and Burning Golem all belong to same line of monsters we meet in Greenhorne, and the order in which we fight them reflects that on fleek.

From that alone, we can see that the goal here was to mock us; to tell us that we made a grave mistake by confronting the Dark Lord ever since he ravaged that little town. Had we stayed in our lanes, then our friends wouldn’t have become another drop in the ocean of the DL’s madness- indistinguishable from every other monster we had to slay before them.

Next we cut to Karkaton Volcano itself, and the titan that was waiting for us at the end of the road; Cerberus, Guardian of the Underworld, and the Dark Lord’s guddest boi. It is there that we witness the mii equivalent of body horror AND, when you think about it, psychological horror; the monster possesses three faces at once - each belonging to the second teammates of each party -, so one can imagine the psychological implications of all this. What kind of pain were they in with every attack? How much of their thoughts were one another’s? Was there still a hint of their former selves within them? Or just a hound that is hungry for juicy human flesh?

A guard dog, a possible shared consciousness, and the implication that they’ve more or less lost their minds in the process- that is surprisingly brutal, even for the Dark Lord, and, to my dismay, I believe that this was the point.

In this point of no return, you are presented by one of the Dark Lord’s magnum opuses; all three of your teammates fused into one loyal - yet ferocious and lost - pet. As the fight goes on, the message becomes as clear as glass; they are under his command, and, if he so asks, they will bare their teeth and tear your flesh apart. These are no longer your friends, but an ungodly amalgam that has forgotten all the good times you’ve spent with them in the midst of all their shared agony.

Even after you save the day, will you be able to look into their eyes again without flinching? Without remembering the unthinking ferity that was in their eyes as they gnashed and gnawed at their own teeth whilst all they could think of was tearing you apart?

As grim as all this sounds, we still haven’t reached the final stage- the Dark Lord’s castle, where the first party member of each team await for our rescue.

They were the first friendly faces we’ve met throughout each and every region of Miitopia, and all were kind enough to lend us a helping hand to assist us in our journey. It will be these very hands - those that once provided assistance to our lost hero - that shall be covered in our own blood soon enough.

Upon getting separated from our party members, we find the first party members of Neksdor and RotF respectively; one becoming a demon, and the other a picture of the DL themselves. After we rescue them, we finally find our very first friend, the person who saved us as we were surrounded by monsters, as a monster themselves- the armor beast wielding a sword and a shield; the final roadblock presented to us before we are able to reunite with our entire team once more.

This is the final frontier; the last push to test the limits of the main hero’s drive and even mind. These are not just high-ranking monsters and the Dark Lord’s direct servants, they also are the reflections of each of their traits- extensions of themselves, each imbued with parts of their own power so that they can command the monsters alongside them.

The Demon reflects the unholy nature of the Dark Lord, the aura of command they emit - as presented by the imps that apparently serve them -, and sheer strength. A beast that has clawed themselves out of Hell itself to serve this reign of chaos and darkness bearing the face of someone you once trusted- in the midst of battle, all you can do is cry out for help in your frightened state, only for their hammer to instantly slam you to the other direction. This monster is one of the Dark Lord’s commanders.

The Painting is...a little too on the nose. It is the Dark Lord’s image (yeah, nooooo shit, Sherlock), a symbol of their pride and status, and their everlasting gaze. Bow to your knees, for you have been blessed by sight of their otherwordly grace, for even the earth beneath you heeds to their will and shall enact judgement upon the nonbelievers. I am not 100% sure on what role they serve in the Dark Lord’s army other than a sentient symbol, but if we’re gonna take the trope of haunted paintings whose eyes follow you in every corner to heart, then, perhaps, the job of the intel is most befitting a monster like that.

Finally, comes the Armor, which surprisingly bears a lot more symbolism than I expected (and is exactly why it is my favorite boss monster). This monster dons the face of your very first teammate, someone who has, quite literally, shielded you from the swarm of rock moths, so, of course, the role of a knight in shining armor who has come to save the day is perfect for the one who has initially unlocked the power of trust within us.

As for the traits they share with the Dark Lord, the best that comes to mind are the themes of royalty and, much like the Demon, power- albeit, in this case, it is evident that they are under direct servitude of their boss. Able to create monsters like them, this beast is the closest to the Dark Lord’s perfect image of his dominion; the old world shall burn in order to pave way for his new utopia. This beast is not only the Dark Lord’s general, but also their trusted knight- a guardian that has betrayed you to serve another. A sour cocktail of ridicule, powerlessness, and heartbreak.

How will you be able to rest well at night? Even with their faces restored, all you can see as your gaze falls upon them are not the happy times you shared with them long ago- these people, these faces...they’re all a blur now- your mind is just no longer able to connect the dots between them and whatever breath of fresh air you had in between trials.

No, these faces stared down at you, cackling as they bludgeoned you during your weakest times, and no longer whispered words of reassurance- but instead spat venomous insults at you.

How will you be able to trust your team once again after they have each taken a turn to beat you until you were gravely wounded and a mess of tears, blood, shattered bones and drool? They had no power over what had happened to them, but the memories still stand, the experiences have seeped into your nerves and mind, and one more minute with them is enough to metaphorically burn you up- to have you screaming in a fit of horror and fear. Even if they tried to comfort you, all you can do is instinctively slap their hands away, afraid that this will all happen again.

Of course, one can still fight without having to worry or focus much on the faces plastered unto them; they’re just monsters, you would repeat to yourself- just slice them down, free those faces, and it’ll be a sunny day tomorrow; promise.

They’re just monsters, you would repeat to yourself- just slice them down and it’ll be a sunny day tomorrow; promise.

They’re just monsters, you would repeat. Just slice them down.

They’re just monsters.

Just monsters.

Monsters.

....After striking down countless beasts with the faces/souls of fellow humans standing in your way, one must look within themselves and see whether they still had the humanity and empathy within them to look at these monstrosities bearing the eyes of their beloved. Are you able to look at a human face and recognize the person in front of you? Or does a face hold so little meaning to you nowadays? That it is just there, and no longer something to be registered within your mind?

From the thought alone, this quote nigh-instantly came to my mind:

“He who fights monsters should look to it that he himself doesn’t become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

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xxx-r4tg0bl1n-xxx · 2 months

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Stray Gears chapter 11, WHAT WEIGHS ON THE MIND OF A GOD, is up now!

Ji’Lani wakes up to a new perspective. Dagoth Ur returns from Vivec, eager to share news of their victory over the false deity. Their work has only begun, as the Brass Tower sets his sights on Mournhold. Dagoth Ur and his brothers prepare to storm Almalexia’s city.

Stray Gears returns! Life got busy, and my free time became limited. For a while I had a lot of drafts prepared in advance, but after changing some key plot points I had to scrap a few chapters. To be entirely honest I haven’t gotten to the expansions for Morrowind yet, and everything I’ve seen of Tribunal has been from gameplay videos and wiki pages. I was bound to mess up here or there, and in the first draft I happened to make a few mistakes. Really I should be playing more of the source material, but I can’t help when or what inspires me. Ramble over, it’s good to be back.

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confusedspaceotter · 1 year

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I just love how his dark materials depicts the afterlife/ heaven and hell and is kinda similar to The Good Place

Both shows said you know what the afterlife sucksss let make a new one

In The Good Place they created a new system for the afterlife but essentially your essence will return to the universe

In His Dark Material things are easier

You live, you die ,you return to the multiverse by going through the portal in the land of the dead and basically becoming dust

The end of the afterlife is basically the same in both shows

But The Good Place took a more ethnic approach while His Dark Materials took a more religious(? approach

The gist of the new afterlife system in The Good Place is that if you can change to be better, you deserved to be in The Good Place/Heaven. Is about becoming a better person despite how hard it the circumstances are. Or at least try to

In His Dark Materials though, the show basically encourage you to be good since we have the decision to choose or as the show put it “people can’t survive without dust (consciousness)” We have the freedom to choose so why don’t we choose love and kindness(is how I view the show anyway I haven’t read the books yet so I’m just talking about the show here)

And personally I just love the HDM version of the afterlife a tad bit more just because it’s closer to what I personally think people should treat each other, with love and compassion because they can.

Plus I think it think it fits well with the source material which is the Bible/Christian ideals that people should treat each other with love because they can(? correct me if I’m wrong here

Anyway my point is

If you like female bisexual icon trying to save herself but accidentally saved the entire human race with ethnics, go watch The Good Place

And if you like adventurous chosen girl who had her soul in animal form as her companion, travels through different worlds and fullfill a prophecy while leaning about love and the meaning of existence then go watch His Dark Materials

#can you tell I have THOUGHTS #I finally finished watching his dark materials s3 #yes is because I’m fighting to save warrior nun but I wanted to take a break so here I am #gosh I love shows that make you think about the meaning of life #like yessss fuck with my brain ask me shit I have no answer to but with think about it for the rest of my life #anyway go check these shows out if you haven’t already #the good place #his dark materials #oh and obvious spoilers for both shows

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uozlulu · 3 months

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Eyeshield 21. The Phantom Bus. G. Kid/Tetsuma. Time Travel.

Character(s)/Relationship(s) Buffalo, Hiruma, Kid, Kid's parents, Mamori, Monta, Panther, Riku, Sakuraba, Sena, Shin, Suzuna, Tetsuma; Kid/Tetsuma (main), Monta/Suzuna, Panther/Sena, Shin/Sakuraba, Hiruma/Mamori Genre Drama/Fantasy/Het/Romance/Slash/Time Travel Rating G Word Count 5,123 Disclaimer As this is fanfiction, I do not hold copyright to the source material(s) nor do I claim that I do. This is for free entertainment purposes only. Summary After Tetsuma saves Kid from an arranged marriage meeting, a phantom bus hurls them thirteen years into the future, dropping them off in separate countries. As they hop from city to city trying to reunite on the phantom bus, they run into many familiar faces. Warning(s) food consumption Notes Four years ago I got inspiration for an ES 21 fic based on a Tumblr post about Kid quickdrawing his bouquet where everyone gathered for a large ranch wedding and various couples’ pasts were explored through flashbacks. That fic didn’t work out because the overall premise was implausible. However, I did so much thinking and made so many headcanons about various characters in preparation for that fic that I thought it’d be a waste if I didn’t use those notes for something. After thinking about alternative plots, this one occurred to me and I ran with it. I didn’t end up going into the detail my notes prepared me for but I’m just glad I got a fic out of it.

Please note that my memory is atrocious and it’s been about three years since I rewatched the anime and I haven’t gotten around to rereading the manga yet, so if I forgot something let’s pretend whatever I forgot is just an AU thing.

AO3 link

or read below

The Phantom Bus

It was three years since high school graduation. Tetsuma joined the workforce immediately so he would not waste his money. He joined the Takekura Construction Babels football club three years ago and left it two months ago to join the Tokyo Stallions football team, which Kid joined last year. At practice last month, their coach asked Tetsuma to text Kid the practice time in the morning since it changed. Every morning since that request, Tetsuma texted Kid the time of their next practice.

Tetsuma flipped open his phone and immediately texted Kid.

Testuma: Practice tomorrow. 8:00.

Tetsuma flipped his phone closed and got ready for the day. He heard it chime once and then a second time after a small pause. Tetsuma returned to his phone and looked at the messages.

Kid: Thanks. I’ve got another arranged marriage meeting today.

Kid: Save me.

Tetsuma stared at the second text a brief moment before flying into action. He put on his best suit and tied his tie with precision. He put on his best dress shoes and ran to the train. When the train arrived at his stop, he ran all the way to the Mushanokouji estate. He pressed a button and the gate opened as staff welcomed him through the speaker. When he arrived at the entryway, the house slippers he normally wore waited for him. One of the staff told him that Kid was busy but would be free soon.

No one monitored where Tetsuma went. He knew the house well and soon arrived at the room where important meetings happened. A woman from their class in high school sat with her parents across from Kid and his parents. Everyone looked up at the doorway when Tetsuma appeared. Kid’s eyes widened.

Tetsuma entered the room, never once stepping on the edge of a tatami. He stood next to the potential fiancée and then bowed so deeply that his forehead touched the floor. While everyone watched him in quiet surprise, Tetsuma lifted Kid up over his shoulders as if rescuing Kid from a burning building and immediately headed for the doorway.

“Jou, stop!” Mr. Mushanokouji said just before Tetsuma could leave the room.

Tetsuma stopped. He heard Kid immediately hold his breath.

“Put my son down,” Mr. Mushanokouji said very firmly.

“No,” Tetsuma said. His grip tightened on Kid. Kid seemed to start breathing again.

“I want him to do this,” Kid said. He looked at his parents as best he could. “I can’t imagine leaving this room to be with anyone else. I don’t think I have it in me to carry on family tradition. Maybe you can find someone in your company to do that.” Kid paused and then bowed his head. “Thanks for raising me.” He raised his head and looked at Tetsuma as best he could. “Let’s go.”

Tetsuma nodded. He immediately ran from the room. Voices called after them. Footsteps followed. Tetsuma leapt from an open exterior door and ran across the garden. When the gate would not open, Tetsuma charged through one of the bushes and they emerged on the other side, pieces of the bush sticking to their hair and clothes. Tetsuma kept running, heading in a straight line in the direction of his apartment. Much of the debris fell to the pavement in his wake.

After a while, Kid began to laugh and the further Tetsuma ran, the easier Kid’s laughter became. Finally, he stopped laughing and said, “Okay, you can put me down now. I’m safe.”

Tetsuma stopped. He set Kid down on a nearby bench and then sat beside him. They were both in their best suits and the same type of fancy but drab colored house slippers. Kid started laughing again and then he sighed. They were in a neighborhood far from the estate. Children were already in school and workers already at the office. Occasionally someone running errands walked past them. After a while, there was no one nearby.

When they were alone, Tetsuma spoke with great purpose, “Stay with me. Foever.”

Kid looked at him and held his gaze. He sat up straighter. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Tetsuma had been sure since they were barely teenagers.

Kid smiled and relaxed. He grasped Tetsuma’s hand tightly. Tetsuma’s grip was just as tight.

“Then, I will. Forever,” Kid said.

A bus slowly ambled towards them. It was white on the outside and the windows were dark. Kid sighed and stood, letting go of Tetsuma’s hand. “I didn’t pack a bag. I should get some stuff.”

Tetsuma followed Kid onto the bus. The interior was so white that it hurt his eyes. Tetsuma could not help but close them. The bus pulled away from the stop.

Birds called to one another. Children shouted and ran nearby. Kid’s eyes opened. He sat at a bus stop in a different neighborhood than where he got on the bus with Tetsuma. He still wore his suit and house slippers. There was no sign of Tetsuma. Kid flipped open his phone. It was dead. An old woman approached and Kid left the bench so she could have the seat. He let his feet lead the way. He still had his wallet. Everything seemed a mix of familiar and unfamiliar sights. Kid tried to find a train station.

An ad flickered to life on a screen at a bus stop. Two football helmets charged towards each other and then fireworks erupted before transitioning to a still image that advertised something called World Bowl VI on August 2. It would be the USA vs. Japan at the Tokyo Dome. The ad suddenly dissolved on screen and another ad took its place for an idol group. Kid frowned. He never heard of a World Bowl, let alone five of them. It sounded as fun as it sounded worrying.

“You!” a familiar but unfamiliar voice said.

Kid looked over his shoulder.

A man who looked just like Riku stared back at him. He leaned on a cane outside of a pet store specializing in birds. He was probably in his mid-thirties. Kid could not remember if Riku ever mentioned an older brother or maybe young uncle.

“Where have you been?” Riku asked.

“I’m…not sure,” Kid said. “I got on a bus with Tetsuma and I woke up on a bench. Can I borrow your charger?”

“Sure,” Riku said. “I was about to close up for the night. Come in.”

Kid followed Riku into the store. Riku turned the sign to closed and checked on the birds one last time before leading Kid up a stairway in the back to the apartment over the shop. The apartment was a long, large room with a bathroom, toilet, and laundry area off to one side and a bedroom on the end farthest from the stairs. Riku disappeared into the bedroom.

Kid removed his house slippers. He padded across the floor in his stocking feet. There was a section of wall to the right of the kitchen full of framed photos and awards. There were three group photos of the Seibu Wild Gunmen. There were two photos of the Enma Fires. Then there were several photos of Riku in a Tampa Bay Beluga uniform. In the center of the display was a Christmas Bowl trophy from 2004 and four seasons worth of awards from the Tampa Bay Belugas. Kid stared at the first photo of the Seibu Wild Gunmen. It was the same team photo from his second year of high school. Kid frowned.

Riku’s cane tapped against the floor. “You can borrow my charger but I don’t think it’ll work with your phone.” He held up the cord. It looked similar to the cord Kid needed but the plug looked like a differently shaped rectangle. “It’s been a while since I had a flip phone.”

Several thoughts occurred to Kid in rapid succession, none of them good. His knees wobbled and it was hard to breathe. Riku helped him to the floor and then carefully joined him.

“Where am I?” Kid asked.

“Tokyo in the apartment above my bird shop,” Riku said.

“When am I?” Kid asked.

“It’s June 28,” Riku paused, “2020.”

Kid’s eyebrows furrowed together. It seemed impossible or maybe a nightmare. He looked at the kitchen but the clock on the microwave stated the time without distortion. It was not a dream.

“The coach of the Stallions reported you missing thirteen years ago,” Riku said. “You look like you’re still in your twenties. What happened?”

“Where’s Tetsuma?” Kid asked.

“Also missing,” Riku said.

Kid frowned. “We got on a bus. It was really bright inside. I closed my eyes and then opened them at a different bus stop.” He stood up. “I should go back.”

“And do what?” Riku asked. “You’re lost in time and walking around in house slippers. My friend is going to bring a cord for your phone and some shoes. If you go looking for Tetsuma without a plan, you could wander Tokyo for decades.”

“He’ll be looking for me,” Kid said.

“Yeah and between the two of you, he’s the more likely to end up going viral about it, so if you wait, the Internet will know where he is,” Riku said. He used his cane to help himself off the floor. “I’m going to make supper.”

Kid looked out the window. There was no sign of Tetsuma and the city seemed to spread out between the buildings, providing only a glimpse of its intimidating size. Kid sighed. “I can help.” He needed something to do while he processed his current situation.

Voices called out to each other while others spoke in a breathy rush. Feet scurried nearby. Tetsuma opened his eyes. He was no longer on the bus. He was backstage somewhere and Kid was nowhere in sight. Tetsuma still wore his suit and house slippers. Everyone around him seemed to speak English, Spanish, or both. Several people descended upon him, speaking English rapidly. He used English at his job after high school, but never at this speed. Just as Tetsuma thought he understood one person, a different person spoke immediately, and there was no time to reply.

“He’s one of the contestants,” a familiar but different voice boomed. Buffalo appeared but he seemed taller and broader. His hair was still long but he no longer wore his bandana. His tight t-shirt had stylized English scribbled across it.

“I’m not a contestant, I’m looking for Kid,” Tetsuma said in Japanese.

The other people moved on to other things since it seemed Buffalo had control of the situation. Buffalo put a large hand on Tetsuma’s shoulder. “Where have you been?” he asked in Japanese.

“I was on a bus,” Tetsuma said. “Kid was with me. I need to find him.”

“He’s not here,” Buffalo said, “but we’ve got a problem. I don’t know how you got here and I don’t know why you look like you did when you disappeared. We can figure that out later. Right now, you need to put these on,” he handed Tetsuma a t-shirt with a number on it, athletic shorts, and white sneakers, “and run an obstacle course on live TV or they’re going to arrest you for trespassing.”

Tetsuma took the clothes. He did not have time for this, but going to jail would take even longer. “Where am I?”

“Back stage at American Warrior,” Buffalo said. “I’m one of the hosts. It’s like MX Castle. If you get the best time on the course, you’ll get some money. When we wrap tonight, I’ll help you figure out what’s going on.”

Tetsuma nodded. He changed in a dressing room with other contestants and then joined the line up in numerical order near the exit to the stadium course. The English instructions were easy to follow. “Stand here,” “Stand there,” “Get ready,” “Start!” Tetsuma rushed through the obstacle course when the signal sounded. He met each challenge with strength and stamina. When he finished the course, Buffalo and a woman dressed in athletic wear with a matching logo congratulated him.

“You got the fastest time,” Buffalo said in English. “Say something to the crowd.”

Tetsuma thought a moment but nothing came to mind so he said, “No,” and returned backstage. He participated in the obstacle course and fulfilled his obligation to avoid a trespassing charge. He changed back into his suit and kept the sneakers. He left the studio and found a deserted bus stop. The bus arrived. When Tetsuma boarded, the light inside was so bright, that he closed his eyes.

The old phone cord that Riku’s friend brought last night charged Kid’s phone, but his phone could only dial emergency numbers since it had no payment plan. After breakfast, Kid dressed in his suit again and tried on the shoes Riku’s friend brought. They fit well enough. Kid left the shop and wandered in search of Tetsuma, but there was no sign of him. A group of high schoolers in Devilbat jerseys ran past him. Their coach followed at an effortless jog. Suddenly the coach stopped running. “Kid?!” he asked.

Kid blinked. The coach had wide hands and short-cropped hair. After a long moment, Kid recognized Monta. “You were one of the Devilbats.”

“Yeah, fifteen years ago,” Monta said. He studied Kid a long moment as if it was slowly dawning on him how young Kid looked.

“I’m looking for Tetsuma,” Kid said. “Have you seen him?”

“Not since high school,” Monta said. “Where have you been?”

“On a bus,” Kid said. “It’s a long story.”

Monta blinked. “That legend…” He reached into his pocket and took out a card. He scribbled a phone number on the back of it and then handed it to Kid. “Who knew I’d actually end up giving one of these out. Go see Suzuna. If anyone can find someone, she can. If you need anything or a place to stay, that’s my cell number on the back.”

“Thanks,” Kid said. “Is she nearby?”

“Just down that street, and then two blocks to the left,” Monta said. “Good luck.” He left to jog after his football players.

Kid followed the directions and soon arrived at a small matchmaking shop tucked in between a flower shop a novelty t-shirt shop. Kid looked at the romantic décor on the outside of the shop and double-checked the address against the card in his hand. He sighed and entered. Photos of happy couples lined the walls. There was a little waiting area and a room behind a thick red curtain behind the counter. There was no receptionist.

The curtain parted and Suzuna entered, declaring, “Welcome to your date with destiny! I, Raimon Suzuna, will set you up with the love of your dreams!” She stared at Kid a long moment and then rushed over, “Kid! You’re not in America?!”

“No,” Kid said. “Should I be?”

Suzuna inspected him and tilted her head. “You also look really young.”

“‘Also…?’” Kid asked.

“I’ll show you. Follow me,” Suzuna said and led Kid into the room behind the curtain. There was a desk with a computer and several chairs. Suzuna settled behind the computer and her fingers flew across the keyboard. Kid sat in one of the client chairs. Soon, Suzuna turned the monitor towards Kid and said, “Watch this.”

A video began to play. Tetsuma completed an obstacle course in record time as the crowd cheered. He arrived at the end of the course and Buffalo asked Tetsuma if he had anything he wanted to say. Kid found himself snorting when Tetsuma said, “No.”

“That aired an hour ago live,” Suzuna said. “Sena texted me about it. He was shocked to see Tetsuma on TV after all these years, and looking so young.”

“We got on a bus. I woke up alone yesterday,” Kid said. “The day before that, it was 2007.”

Suzuna leaned forward and asked, “Was the inside of the bus so bright that you had to close your eyes?”

Kid nodded.

Suzuna frowned and said, “I’ve heard of that legend. People get on a bright bus, close their eyes, and go to the future. There are a lot of versions of the legend, but one thing that stays the same is how bright it is.”

“Do you know how I could get a hold of Buffalo?” Kid asked. “Maybe Tetsuma is still there.”

Suzuna turned the monitor back towards herself. Her fingers typed quickly. “I’ve got his cell. You can try calling from here if you want.” She handed him her phone.

Kid dialed the number. After a few rings, Buffalo answered.

“Make it quick, we’re on in five,” Buffalo said in Japanese as if anticipating someone from Japan might call him. “This is supposed to be off.”

“This is Kid. Is Tetsuma with you? Where are you?” Kid asked.

“So both of you are back,” Buffalo murmured. He sighed. “Tetsuma left a while ago. I’m still filming live in Los Angeles.”

“If you see him again, let him know I’m going to be there as soon as I can,” Kid said.

“Okay,” Buffalo said. He paused and then asked, “Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Kid said. He was not but he could not dwell on that right now.

A person on Buffalo’s end of the phone gave a minute warning. Buffalo reluctantly said goodbye and the call ended.

Kid handed the phone back to Suzuna. “Thanks.” He stood up. “I should go.”

“Do you want help getting to Los Angeles?” Suzuna asked. “I can get you a passport.”

“I’m going to take the bus,” Kid said. If it took Tetsuma to Los Angeles, then it could take Kid there too. It was a gamble but it felt better and faster than trying to get a passport and plane ticket in short notice. Kid left the shop and headed to the quietest bus stop that he could find. The bus arrived. When he boarded it, it was so bright that he had to close his eyes.

It was hot. Car horns sounded nearby. He opened his eyes and found himself in a different city than the one where Buffalo filmed his television show. It was no longer nighttime. Tetsuma let his feet lead him down the sidewalk. Apartments and shops lined the streets. Vehicles sped past. Everyone seemed to have a destination. Tetsuma kept walking. The style of homes changed. Many of them had American flags on display. The sun climbed higher in the sky and the heat intensified. Someone started to grill hamburgers nearby. Tetsuma’s stomach rumbled. He was not sure when he last ate.

Light footsteps approached at a light, speedy rhythm. Tetsuma turned around and watched a short but muscular man close the distance between them rapidly. Even without the Devilbat uniform and distinctive green eyeshield, Tetsuma knew this man by his running style alone even though it was years since they last shared a football field together.

Sena stopped when he reached Tetsuma. “I thought it was you,” he said in English and then blinked and repeated the statement in Japanese. “Sorry I’ve been here for years. I think my default might be English now.”

“I’m looking for Kid,” Tetsuma said.

“Suzuna told me that he visited her in Tokyo,” Sena said. “She said that he’s traveling to America by bus. It didn’t really make sense.”

Tetsuma frowned. He did not know how the bus worked. He wondered if he should have stayed in Los Angeles. There was no way to know if the bus would visit the same place twice. Tetsuma’s stomach rumbled again.

“Do you want to come over for lunch? Maybe we can figure out where Kid went,” Sena said.

Tetsuma agreed and followed Sena home. The houses grew fancier but not so large that they were unmanageable. Sena opened the gate with a code and led Tetsuma to the front door where he entered another code to enter the house. The rooms were large, but homey. The décor was a mix of eastern and western influence as well as a mix of accolades from the Seattle Superstars and the San Antonio Armadillos.

They arrived at the kitchen door, which led to a pool and a table spread with various dishes on a patio while friends and family enjoyed the hot weather. Panther saw them and waved. Sena motioned for him to join them in the kitchen. Panther obliged. “What’s going on?” he asked in Japanese.

“Tetsuma is looking for Kid. Suzuna said that Kid was in Tokyo, but left for America,” Sena explained in English. “I thought you might have Buffalo’s number since you guys did that sports special last summer.”

Panther frowned and said in English, “I don’t have it, but I know someone who might.”

Tetsuma’s stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly.

Panther smiled. “Food first,” he said in Japanese, “and then I’ll make some calls.”

There was more than enough food. People piled up their plates and found places to sit and eat across the backyard. Music played from speakers spread out throughout the patio and music from other nearby parties tried to compete. There were no clouds to hide the sun and the temperature kept rising. Tetsuma ate his fill. It was all homemade and delicious, even the foods that he never tried before today.

When lunch ended, Panther, Sena, and Tetsuma went to the study. There were bookshelves and a desk with a computer. Panther stated making calls and eventually Buffalo answered. Buffalo listened to them explain the situation. He sounded like he was outside when he spoke, “I haven’t seen Kid, but I’ll check with the stage manager.”

Tetsuma stared at the phone as silence filled the room, seemingly vibrating in his ears. After a long time, Buffalo spoke again, “No one’s seen him.”

They said goodbye to Buffalo and the call ended. None of them spoke for a long moment and then Sena said, “I can let Tetsuma borrow my old phone I saved in case of emergency.” He reached into a desk drawer and produced a smartphone and its cord. “It has a different number than I use now, but it should still work.”

“I don’t want to owe you,” Tetsuma said.

“You won’t owe me anything,” Sena said. “If we find Kid, we can give him this number, and you can find each other faster.” He wiped his contacts from the phone and input his number and Buffalo’s number. He demonstrated how the phone worked and then handed it to Tetsuma.

Tetsuma took the phone. “Thanks.”

“You can stay longer if you want,” Panther offered.

“I want to find Kid,” Tetsuma said. He pocketed the phone. He bid them goodbye and went on his way. It was a long walk to a quiet bus stop. When the bus arrived, Tetsuma boarded it and closed his eyes.

A band performed a song live in English. Vapor seemed to fill the air and cling to Kid’s lungs in a cacophony of smells. Applause caused Kid to open his eyes. He was in a lounge. The band name on the drumhead onstage was Don’t Break My Hip, but everyone onstage looked under forty and were tall and broad like pro athletes even if their muscle mass was more like normal people. The lead guitarist sat on a stool. He looked familiar. Another song began. Kid picked out familiar words from school, work, and music. There was no sign of Tetsuma in the lounge, but Shin sat beside Kid at a small table. He looked as old as everyone else had so far.

Shin held Kid’s gaze and then gestured discreetly towards the exit before getting up from the table. Kid followed. Shin led him to a hall where no one would bother them especially since Shin wore a pass around his neck.

“Eyeshield said you might appear,” Shin said.

Kid wondered if he just appeared or if he walked into the lounge with no memory of doing so. He decided not to ask. “I need to find Tetsuma.”

“He visited Eyeshield and Panther in San Antonio yesterday,” Shin said. “I don’t have the phone number we’re supposed to give you.”

The set ended and the band exited into the hallway. Their lead guitarist walked over immediately. The more Kid looked at him, the more he realized the man was Sakuraba.

“Hey,” Sakuraba said. “Sena was right. You still look like the photo from when you went missing.”

Kid nodded. “People keep saying that.”

“Sena said if I saw you to give you this,” Sakuraba said. He reached into his pocket and handed Kid a folded note card with a phone number written across it. “That’s to the phone Tetsuma has.”

Kid took the notecard. The number looked like any other American phone number. “Is there a payphone I could use?”

“They took them all out when cell phones became popular,” Sakuraba said. “Do you want to use my cell?” Sakuraba offered a flat rectangular phone that had a screen and no buttons. He wore the same type of simple wedding band Shin wore below his championship ring.

“Uh…sure,” Kid said.

Sakuraba touched the screen to put in his security code and then handed Kid the phone with the call app already on screen. Kid touched the corresponding numbers and waited.

There was no sound for a long time. Then there was a click and a woman’s voice spoke in English, “The number you are trying to reach is not available. Please try again later.”

Kid frowned and handed the phone back to Sakuraba. “Thanks.” Maybe Tetsuma was busy. Maybe Tetsuma was on the bus. Kid was not sure when he should try the number again or where he might be when he did.

“You can stay with us tonight,” Sakuraba offered. “Maybe he’ll answer in the morning.”

Kid shook his head. “I think I have to get back on that bus. Thanks for the number.” He bid them goodnight and left the lounge. He stared at the city a long moment. He saw it on television many times. It was where the New England Musketeers had their stadium. It made sense. He heard the rumors that the team was courting Shin years ago.

Kid wandered until he found a deserted bus stop. He flipped open his cellphone and tried the number that Sakuraba gave him. The phone screeched at him for trying to make a non-emergency call. Kid sighed. It felt like an emergency. He needed to get to Tetsuma. He needed to grab onto Tetsuma and never let go. Kid put his phone back in his pocket. After a while, the bus arrived. He boarded it and closed his eyes against the bright interior.

It was hot and humid. Children screamed and people talked and laughed. Everyone seemed to buzz in anticipation of something. Tetsuma opened his eyes and looked out at a field full of people dressed in red, white, and blue. Many sat on picnic blankets and others sat on folding chairs. The smell of bug spray drowned out all other scents. Tetsuma scanned the crowd but there were too many people. He started to walk among them as the sun continued to set. He saw plenty of cowboy hats and men with long hair, but none of them were Kid.

A familiar cackle rose nearby followed by a quieter baby cackle. Tetsuma turned and saw Hiruma and Mamori standing together. They had a toddler in a stroller whose face could go from Mamori’s cherub cheeks to Hiruma’s toothy grin in seconds.

“Looking for the cowboy?” Hiruma asked. He did not bother to disguise himself, but the people around them seemed to know not to approach him casually.

“Yeah,” Tetsuma said. “He’s not here.”

The sky became dark. The anticipation all around them grew. Some people complained they were blocking the way. Hiruma let off some gunfire and the complainers disappeared to another part of the field.

“Of course he isn’t,” Hiruma said. “It’s not been a week.”

Tetsuma frowned. He did not know what that had to do with any of this.

“When we heard what happened I did some research,” Mamori said. “There are a lot of different legends that fit what you and Kid described. The people who claim that they rode that same bus said that the bus reunited them a week later and then never appeared again. So maybe tomorrow you’ll find Kid.”

Fireworks began to shoot into the air behind Tetsuma. The fireworks were too far away for them to hear the whistles but close enough the explosions echoed across the field.

“I don’t know if they mean a week in total or if both of you have to appear in seven different days,” Mamori said.

“How many days has it been?” Tetsuma asked.

“You appeared on TV about a week ago,” Hiruma said.

The fireworks kept shooting into the air. Tetsuma nodded. “I have to go.” Maybe this would be his final trip on the bus. He left the field and wandered the roads until he finally found a bus stop. The fireworks climbed higher into the sky and began to fire in rapid succession, their multiple explosions echoing. The bus arrived. Tetsuma boarded the bus and closed his eyes against its glare.

There was a breeze kicking up dust. Kid opened his eyes and immediately sneezed. He sat on a porch in front of a dirt drive that led to a paved road. The farmhouse around him was old and in disrepair. If anyone owned the property, they had not touched it in decades. The sun drew towards the horizon. There was no sign of any vehicles. Mountains rose in the far distance. A hawk cried out and another answered. Kid left the porch. When he arrived at the paved road, he headed north.

Fields stretched out around him full of corn and soybeans. Other farmhouses appeared, all of them in better condition than the one where Kid started. A figure appeared up ahead in a dust-covered suit with dirty white sneakers. Kid’s heart stopped momentarily and then he began to run.

Tetsuma heard footsteps approaching on the road. He looked up and caught Kid just as their bodies collided, absorbing the impact enough that they did not fall to the road. Their grips tightened on each other and neither of them let go. The sun turned everything around them a bright shade of orange.

Slowly they parted enough to kiss and then hold each other’s hands. “Forever starts now,” Kid said.

Tetsuma made a small noise of agreement. They headed down the road together uncertain where they would go, but certain they would not take a bus to get there.

The End

#my fanfics #my fanfics 2024 #my eyeshield 21 fanfics #eyeshield 21 fanfics #eyeshield 21 #kidtetsuma

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apollonui · 2 years

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Rings of Power Season Finale theories/prediction

WARNING possible spoilers: I COULD BE WRONG

So I have a bipolar relationship with this series. Love most of the visuals, except the costumes. Writing feels like a fanfic, but I'm still entertained.

Anyways, straight to the point. The season is gonna end with Orodruin (Mount Doom) erupting. When receiving refugees to Ostirith in this last episode #4, Bronwyn says “That makes every village from here to Orodruin.”

Just a handful of shots in the trailers give it away:

The Southlands is gonna become Mordor eventually sooner or later.

At this point, I honestly believe Halbrand is Sauron. Makes sense, his eyeing of the blacksmith forges, the manipulating of Galadriel who in turn persuades The Numenoreans to war. His “supposed-King” backstory could just be a lie to get him back to The Southlands.

Adar doesn’t feel like Sauron. I’m sure he’s just one of Sauron’s high ranking servants. The Stranger/”Meteor Man” is Gandalf disguised as a red herring. I know the Istari aren’t supposed to arrive in Middle Earth until the Third Age, but the writers here clearly aren’t staying close to the source material. Plus, Gandalf is a popular favorite character of many. Easy cash-grab of a character.

The only character that I completely haven’t the faintest clue about is this one whom we still haven’t seen yet:

At first we all thought it was a guy but it’s being played by an actress. The gender of the androgynous-looking character hasn’t been stated yet.

As far as the revealing goes, I have the feeling it’s going to be a last minute reveal “shock-omg-this-is-supposed-to-be-a-twist” type deal with the fight ultimately leading up to Adar and Halbrand coming face to face with Adar kneeling before Halbrand who then does the dramatic big reveal. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole season ends in a massive cliffhanger.

Fans aren’t gonna be happy because it means we’re not getting “Annatar” at all this season, but this ending really sets up a good intent from Annatar in the next/future seasons.

With the knowledge of Sauron’s return confirmed to everyone AND with Mount Doom’s eruption restarting, it will be a general assumption that Sauron himself is physically in Mordor. So while everyone is thinking he’s there, Annatar will then appear and basically tell everyone, “Hey, I have an idea on how to fight Sauron! Let’s make these rings with Celebrimbor’s massive forge tower!”

There is so much to cover in Tolkien’s Second Age so it doesn’t surprised me that a lot of it hasn’t happened yet, even with the whole condensing of events. I really wanted to see what the forging of the Three Elven Rings were gonna look like but I had the feeling one season wasn’t enough time to get to it.

Anyway, that’s what I think is gonna happen. Take it with a grain of salt. I could be wrong. We’ll see as more episodes come out.

#rop #rings of power #lord of the rings #amazon prime video #tolkien #rings of power spoilers #rings of power prediction #gandalf #sauron #mount doom #orodruin #mordor #adar #halbrand

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jimblejamblewritings · 2 years

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princesse de mort | part 3.

Summary: Y/N Riddle. Not much more has to be said. Life at Hogwarts when your dad is Lord Voldemort is an interesting experience. And four particular people at school make it even more interesting.

Warnings for the Series: This whole story is angsty, hurt/comfort, smut, will end in fluff but goes through all the other stuff first. this is like a mild dark fic? just shy of being dark?

Pairing: Marauders x black!reader, eventual Remus Lupin x black!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

Your life felt like hell. You knew it when you found yourself wishing the Marauders would choose to mess with you that day so others wouldn’t. They never called you a Death Eater or said you should rot in a cell in Azkaban. You would actually even take them shoving you into the Black Lake again like they did in third year. Every meal was now eaten in the kitchen because the Great Hall was the biggest source of your nightmares.

With too many students in a space, it didn’t matter if a professor caught your torment. They couldn’t really catch your tormentor. So you started to stick to isolated areas where it would be easy to point someone out. You went to the owlery to get another letter from your father. There was one from him and one with no markings or signatures. You opened it to find a single sentence:

If you go to Astronomy tonight, you might slip from the tower.

“Hey, Princess!”

You didn’t even look up at James, just ran and tore the letter into pieces. In the safety of your room, you cried and hyperventilated on the floor. It felt like when you woke up with a pillow over your face. The bullying was expected, the torment was often, but the moments you truly didn’t feel safe were far and few between. You listened to the letter and didn’t attend your Astronomy class.

“Riddle’s not at her table,” Remus noted. “Hasn’t been for a month now.”

“I haven’t seen her in class for the past two weeks,” James said. “Any of them, not Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, or Astronomy.”

Your professors knew where you were even if students didn’t. You had special permission to roam during curfew hours. You snuck to the kitchens to eat and then used the time when everyone was asleep to deposit your homework into teachers’ classrooms. The problem was O.W.L.s were coming around the corner and you had to show your face. You took in a deep breath as you entered the Great Hall. This was the last thing you wanted to do but you were desperate.

“She knows she’s just making her case worse, right?” Sirius asked as they watched you approach Slytherin.

“Or she’s finally admitting she’s— I can call her a Death Eater now, right? It’s been a while since she kissed any of us. That deal’s off?” Peter looked at the others.

“The whole posse’s following, definitely a Death Eater. Dear daddy probably gave her the Dark Mark when she was three for her birthday.”

They watched you walk out with the others. You tried to act like the whole posse wasn’t there as you filtered through library books. You hated yourself for resolving to go to them. But you just wanted study material without problems. You would have to ask them to escort you again in two weeks when the exams were over and you had to return the books. You looked over when you heard all of the posse stand up from their chairs. A group of seventh years from different Houses were there. The girl in front rolled her eyes.

“What are you doing, Riddle?” she asked.

You didn’t answer.

“You don’t know how to speak, brat?”

Wands on both sides were drawn. You looked at all of them and grabbed Bellatrix’s arm. She took the books from your hands and told the others they were going to check them out. You looked at the seventh years.

“What do you want?” you asked.

“Come to Hogsmeade.”

“I’m studying, O.W.L.s ar—”

“That wasn’t a question. When your exams are done, you’re coming with us. Hogsmeade or your cat might go missing. It was a stray anyway, right?”

You scrambled away from them and back to the posse that were holding your books. They wouldn’t leave after you insisted you were fine until they watched you disappear into Hufflepuff. You looked at your kitten that was asleep on the corner of the bed. It was hard to focus because you could only think about why they wanted you at Hogsmeade. The dreaded last day of school and end of your O.W.L.s came. You shrugged on a flannel over your dress and went to the little village. You didn’t have to walk far. They were all waiting at the edge of Hogsmeade.

“I’m here.”

“Wand.”

“Come on—”

“Wand.”

This was going to stop you from buying your little trinkets this month. You coughed up the wand and watched it get snapped into multiple pieces.

“We’re getting firewhiskey at the pub, you’re coming.”

“I can’t drink till next school year.”

“Learn that these aren’t questions, unless you want another hex.”

You followed them to the pub where they trapped you in. You listened to them order— someone got you a butterbeer and a shot of firewhiskey. The shot was placed in front of you.

“Drink.”

They laughed as you coughed as the alcohol burned your throat. The girl from the library grabbed your chin.

“When your father takes over, you think all little muggleborns are going to let you take our wands?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, you didn’t hear the fir—”

“Prove it. Prove you’re not a Death Eater then, that you like us mudbloods… I know what I do when I like someone.”

You hit at her wrist. “No, let go.”

The group laughed.

“She’s not into girls, I bet,” someone else said. “Sweetheart, we’ve got plenty of mudblood boys too.”

You panicked and hit at her wrist again. You didn’t like this game. It wasn’t like the Marauders— they listened if you said no. The guy behind the girl raised a brow.

“I thought you wanted everyone to know you weren’t your father.”

“No kissing, you already broke my wand.”

“That was just part one.”

“Let go, let go!”

She hissed when you hit her particularly hard. Before the girl could get out another word, a wand was pointed at her throat.

“She told you to let go. I don’t think she’s friends with any of you.” Lucius sneered.

They all scampered away. Lucius gave you a hand out of the booth. Just like when you were eleven, you immediately clung to him. He led you out the pub and apparated you both to Diagon Alley when you mentioned that your wand was broken. Ollivander wasn’t even surprised to see you.

“Let’s try a different wand this time, Miss Riddle. I’ve been giving you the same replacement for years. Try this, beech wood with a dragon heartstring core. Ten inches, unyielding.”

You casted a little spell that shot confetti. Ollivander nodded. You reached into your purse but Lucius paid before you could even fish out the coins and count them. He took you back to Hogsmeade and began the walk to Hogwarts.

“They’re still messing with you? I told you to tell your father after I graduated.”

“He’d kill everyone, even the purebloods.”

Lucius chuckled. “That’s what happens when you’re a Daddy’s girl. Well, you’re almost done and then you can join him… did you get the bracelet?”

You nodded, not saying that you didn’t wear it.

“Good.” Lucius took your hand and kissed it. “I’ll see you around.”

He turned to leave. He had to know about the marriage list. You sighed because Lucius definitely thought he was the number one prospect and was going to do anything to stay that way. You’d quicker marry Sirius than him and that said a lot because you wanted the arrogant boy to drown himself in the lake every other day. You felt light walking into the castle, though. Lucius had kept you out long enough that everyone already left for the summer. You were in an empty castle with no one to bully you for a little bit.

Summer was your liveliest time even if it was short. The Great Hall was always playing music on the record player when you were cleaning with the house-elves. You spent most of your days outside in the grass or painting your nails on the Black Lake’s pier. The library and your favorite window ledge were always waiting for you to grab a good book and read. Almost every meal was eaten in the kitchen as you gossiped with the elves. The quidditch pitch was free for you to ride your broom and scream at the top of your lungs. It was the real you that no one— not even your father— had a glimpse of.

All the shine was dulled when September came back. You skipped the opening feast and ate in your room. You just wanted another day before all the crap started again. And like you predicted, the moment you stepped outside was the moment it started. The Hufflepuff prefect dropped your schedule in your cup of orange juice and then you slipped on a mysterious patch of ice when leaving the Great Hall.

You thought about how fed up you were by the end of the first month as you bought new nail polish. Summer money from working at the castle was always a substantial paycheck. You always splurged a bit. But you were over everything. You had to go to Severus three times in a day for him to give you a potion or reverse a hex. He was scarily good at potions. You got top marks because you had nothing else to do but study. Severus got top marks because he was talented. You couldn’t do it anymore. You were honestly considering Lucius’ idea of telling your father but that meant a host of things.

One, you were sure he would attack Hogwarts. Two, you felt like whining to your father pushed you from answering his letters out of obligation to saying that you supported him and sided with him. Three, he might instruct the posse or Lucius to keep a closer eye on you. Four, he’d tell you some new Dark Arts trick and then have someone watch to make sure you actually did it.

That’s how you learned the Unforgivable Curses by age six. Using your mom’s wand, they taught you how to crucio garden gnomes, imperio little rabbits, and kill. That was when you realized who your parents were and what your father’s ambitions included. Making you kill forest creatures and crucio gnomes scarred you for life. It made you afraid of causing others pain because of those poor creatures. You imagined that if you had to duel, you could. If you had to do anything, you probably could.

But it would be a last resort. And you started to feel that last resort creeping up. You looked at your coins in your hand— there was some money to spare. A butterbeer before going back to the castle would help you think or at least make you feel good. You paused when you reached the window of Three Broomsticks. Four faces were talking animatedly to each other and a new last resort option appeared in your mind.

“Are we actually gonna do it?” Remus asked. “We never even figured out who to ask over summer.”

Sirius took the salad that the waitress brought. “Not my fault two of you are straight as a damn whistle. A boy sub is so much easier to find, I know so many. We would’ve had someone by now.”

“That’s comfortable with four doms?”

Peter swallowed his bite of food. “If they’re comfortable with Padfoot, they’re comfortable with four doms.”

That made the others chuckle. The boys had been seriously considering actually going through with the throwaway suggestion one of them had made the summer before when they broke into the Potters’ alcohol cabinet to finally try some. An alcohol induced night and the fact that they were already way too comfortable with each other led to finding out they’re all doms— which shocked James who thought Sirius was a sub the entire time, vice versa with his friend.

They began to think more and more about it but never really figured out who they would even approach to ask. They might have been popular and known around school but there were still some things they wanted under wraps. Which was why they were so hesitant on Sirius’ suggestions even though he knew the most people out of all them— the problem was they loved to kiss and tell which was why he slowly stopped kissing and just went on dates. James only could think of people on the quidditch team and didn’t want that messy dynamic of being team captain and sleeping with one of your teammates. He wasn’t about to be accused of benching someone or being harsh during practice because of sex. So they were back to square one of brilliant idea with no possible execution.

You walked into the pub with determination. You were getting the peace and quiet you demanded from Hogwarts this year. It was owed to you. The Marauders blinked when you stood in front of their table. You stood with your hands on your hips and James had to bite back a laugh because you were dressed just like his grandpa— he was positive that he had seen that exact pair of corduroy pants and pink t-shirt in the closet. Even your little tote bag looked old.

“Ring Leader?” Remus acknowledged you.

“How much is it to get it all to stop?” you asked.

“The taunting, already told you last year. Snog—”

“Not you four, everyone else. I want everyone to stop.”

“Do it yourself.”

“I don’t hurt people. I’m not my father… or the rest of Hogwarts. I don’t hurt people to get what I want.”

James set down his butterbeer. “Well, we don’t control everyone, Princess.”

“No one messes with me if you four are in charge. I want that every day. No more jinxes or hexes, nothing. I want it all to stop, so how much?”

“Sleep with us,” Sirius said jokingly before shoving his forkful of salad into his mouth.

“Alright.”

He looked up with wide eyes, nearly choking on his food. “You know I didn’t mean we’re taking a nap.”

“I know.”

“It means fucking.”

“I know what sleeping with someone means.”

James put a hand to your forehead. “Are you sick? You didn’t even want a kiss for your quills back yesterday. I still have those by the way, haven’t thrown them out yet. Same offer as yesterday.”

You pushed his hand away. “We have sex and the jinxing stops, done. Is that what you want, sex?”

James fished some coins from his pocket. “Princess, go order yourself a firewhiskey and wait at the bar. We need to talk.”

“It’s the middle of the day.”

“Then get whatever you want.”

“I’m not paying you back.” You took the coins.

“Don’t have to.” James watched you sit down and order a butterbeer before turning back to the others. “You’re fucking kidding, I’m dreaming right?”

“No, we all heard,” Remus said. “I mean we were talking about it earlier.”

“Yeah, not with Riddle, though,” Peter said.

Sirius set down his drink. “I mean… she’d be quiet. Any girls I’ve talked to about it are definitely going to tell everyone. She just wants to be left alone, you know she’s not telling anyone what our dicks look like or who lasts in bed. Easiest fucking bargain.”

Remus looked over. “She looks good despite dressing like a grandparent.”

Sirius snorted. “Yeah, where does she even get those clothes?”

“It wouldn’t be that hard,” Peter said, coming around to the thought. “Tell everyone she’s off limits like Snivellus.”

“They still mess with him though,” Remus countered. “We’d have to actually get them to quit jinxing her.”

“That’s because he keeps sticking his greasy nose in people’s business. Riddle doesn’t provoke.”

James pulled out his wand and your butterbeer went out of your reach. You turned and glared at him. He chuckled as he tucked his wand back in his sleeve when you jumped down from the stool.

“You think she’s going to be an easy sub?” he asked. “She sure knows how to glare like she’s in charge… Alright, Princess, we’ll take the deal.”

You stuck out a hand. They gave you an amused look as each of them shook your hand.

“Do you know anything about what a sub is?”

“No.” You picked at your corduroys.

“Go look it up. If you still want the deal… write us a little essay about it, due Monday.”

You pointed at Remus’ zip-up hoodie. “I don’t want anyone to see me looking at sex books.”

He bit his bottom lip to stop from laughing. Remus took off the hoodie and gave it to you. You shrugged it on and popped on the hood.

“You’re drowning in it.”

“Good… you said sub?”

“Sub, submissive, dom, dominant. Any of those.”

You nodded and walked out of Three Broomsticks— the four boys shamelessly stared as you walked away. You knew the Hogwarts library wasn’t going to have whatever they were talking about. But the bookstore down the road might. You tugged the sleeves of Remus’ hoodie over your hands so no one could attempt to identify you by your skin tone and claim they saw you in the section of the bookstore that you were in. You quickly grabbed a bunch and then raced to the muggle section to grab decoy books.

The chair in the back corner was taken by you. You kept the hood on as you read through the books. Heat rose to your face as you read through some things. Your nose scrunched up at some things and you knew you weren’t doing them. Most things seemed alright. The Marauders already acted like this with you, you didn’t see much a difference except for being naked. You penned your essay and handed it to Peter when he got into your Charms class on Monday. Peter chuckled as he entered the dorm when classes ended and the other boys looked over.

“Riddle’s little essay.”

He handed it over to Sirius and pointed to the third paragraph. Sirius flipped his hair and put on a voice to try and mimic what you sounded like.

“I don’t like most of the nicknames for doms or subs. I’m not calling any of you daddy, and definitely not master— we all know why.”

That made them all howl. James said it was a fair statement but that didn’t make it any less funny.

“The sub names are weird. No kitten, no pet related names at all. My father calls me sweetheart so I don’t want to hear it either. I don’t think I mind toy but don’t even think about fucktoy or anything with the word fuck in front of it— Blimey, she keeps going— little is fine because you’re all taller than me so I guess it’s true— Prongs, never give her a fucking assignment again— the books say that people like to get rough and call—”

Sirius could see why Peter was laughing. He took a moment to recover. “I’m okay with slut but not whore because I’m not a whore.”

Remus snatched the essay so he and James could read it.

“Those are the same… at least she understands most of it. Nice list of dislikes too, makes our job easier. This weekend?”

The rest of them agreed. They also thought screw snogging and messing with you. If this was all they had to do, they would have last year. The rest of the school would have to find a new target but that wasn’t their problem when a summer fantasy was coming true.

(Part 4)

#remus lupin x black!reader #marauders x reader #remus lupin x reader

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memethebum · 1 year

Text

Finally got a new one-shot up!!!

This one was kinda hard to write so I hope y’all enjoy hehe

I lied it’s a Shrek AU that I wrote for April Fools Day : P

Once upon a time in a world that’s like pretty different but not totally different from ours, there lived a man named Soul Evans. His home was within the woods outside a village, causing him to become the target of many attempted attacks due to being a weapon.

However, Soul never let that get to him. In fact, he thought being able to thwart all of the villagers’ plans to attack him was a fun way of ignoring the crippling weight of never being good enough for anyone.

His life of never giving a shit about anything was then trampled upon once he woke up one day and noticed a blue-haired donkey outside his cottage.

“Who the fuck are you?” the weapon questioned once opening the door, causing the donkey to let out a smug neigh.

“I’M THE ONLY AND ONLY BLACK*STAR AND I-“ the animal attempted to reply before Soul slammed the door shut.

However, he finally caved in and let Black*Star stay with him after a long exchange of curses and death threats that the author may have been too lazy to write.

That decision seemed to backfire on him, as the ass followed him around the woods the next day until Soul wondered how tasty donkey meat would be.

Soul then returned home at the end of the day to find a group of people scattered around his property.

Just what I needed, more freaks he thought while watching a bald headed man shine his spectacles and then shifting his attention towards two women sitting upon the grass and brushing each other’s hair.

“Who the hell are you people!” Soul shouted to the group, who only gave him a look of indifference.

“Tsu! There you are!” Black*Star exclaimed beside the weapon, causing him to meet the eyes of a raven/haired donkey.

“I’m sorry for leaving you Black*Star, there was a group of humans coming after our host here, so I decided to break their knee caps but got a little carried away. Oh, I also made us some stew since I thought you’d be tired sir,” Tsubaki exclaimed before balancing a plate between her hooves and handing it to Soul.

“Ahhhh…you can stay BUT THE REST OF YOU NEED TO LEAVE!” Soul added before hearing the two twin children in the corner of his yard sneer.

“Sorry, but you’ll have to take that up with Queen Medusa. She’s the one that exiled us here,” Kim explained while running a brush through Jackie’s long tresses.

——————————————————————

“Geez Soul, you haven’t said a word since we’ve been on the road,” Black*Star commented as they neared the castle.

“I’m not trynna’ hear an ass talk about it’s god complex,” Soul explained.

“At least I’m honest with my feelings, unlike some grumpy red-eyed weapon,” the animal mumbled before kicking an onion, an action that may or may not allude to a refrence from one of the source materials for this fic.

They then walked in silence before entering the arena beside the castle.

“Some of you may die, but that is a sacrifice I am willing to make,” Queen Medusa sang from her seat at the topmost portion of the arena before noticing Soul and Black*Star passing security and ordering her guards to go after them.

Her eyes then fixated upon Soul after he was able to defeat all her knights via a fighting montage that the author was yet again too lazy to write.

“Well, it seems as if the weapon is our final contender,” Medusa announced, causing the crowd to cheer.

“Contender for what?” Soul questioned before noticing the wide smile that had been plastered onto the queen’s face.

“Bring us Princess Maka Albarn from her tower. Then and only then will I move all those people off your land,” she explained, causing the weapon to let out a grunt.

“How do I know you’re not just fuckin’ with me,” Soul barked at the princess .

“Isn’t everyone just using each other these days? Get with the program buddy,” a voice called from beside the queen, probing Soul into moving his eyes towards a giggling blob which was protruding from a lanky pink-haired person.

——————————————————————-

This’d better be worth it Soul groaned in agitation as he kept his eyes on the shaking planks of the bridge he was walking across.

“Umm Soul, don’t ya’ think you’re walking a little too fast,” Black*Star called from behind him, causing Soul to turn back and watch how the animal’s feet seemed to be shaking between each step.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” Soul taunted before Black*Star whined at the statement.

“Of course not dude, why would I be scared-“ he called before the weapon jumped and caused the whole bridge to wobble even more.

“WHAT THE HELL SOUL! THATS NOT FUNNY MAN, YOU SEE HOW MUCH THIS THING IS SHAKING,” the ass shrieked, eliciting a chuckle out of Soul.

“Alright, alright fine. But only because I’m a nice person and this thing is really-“ Soul started before going weak in the knees himself once a three- headed monster landed directly in front of him.

“And who might you two be?” the middle head spoke while moving its eyes from Soul to Black*Star, causing the ass to quickly come trotting up near the weapon.

“Wait, if you can talk, then that must mean you’ve been-“

“Cursed? Yea why, you gotta problem with that?” the head on the right spoke before raising one of its eyebrows at Black*Star, causing him to clear his throat.

“Hah, if a god like me can get cursed, what business do I have judging people about it,” the ass answered before leaning closer towards Soul.

“You go get the princess while I handle things here,” he then whispered, causing Soul to gape at his level of confidence.

“I’ve gotta say, you’ve all kept your…looks even through the curse. I mean, look at how shiny your scales are and how uh-uh…,” Black*Star said as Soul began to maneuver his way around the creature.

“Symmetrical we are?” Kid added, causing the ass to vigorously nod his head.

“Ahh ye-yea that too,” Black*Star replied.

“Ohho, thank you. I do try to keep us prim and proper even while guarding the princess,” Kid replied as Soul went dashing towards the entrance of the abandoned castle.

“Shit, Kiddo that one is trying to get to Maka,” Liz shouted just as the weapon slammed the giant doorway shut.

“Hmm, oh you and Patty take care of it. I’m trying to have a decent conversation with the first person-ass-animal whatever we’ve seen in years,” Soul heard the middle head exclaim and then felt a wave of fire assault him from behind.

He conviently ducked into a pile of bones on his right and decided to strap on the armor left behind from the corpse before taking a chance at running through the hall again.

——————————————————————

Maka shut her book as she heard someone open the doors under her tower. She then quickly reached for the knife she kept on her bedside table like a fucking sociopath.

Her next idea was to toss the book onto the floor and then pretend as if she were asleep.

The princess then heard the door open and clutched her knife tightly before jumping onto the stranger once they neared her bed.

“Ah, woah woah woah CALM DOWN,” Soul yelled as she pointed the knife at him.

“Who are you and how did you get past Kid, Liz, and Patty!” Maka shouted, only to conveniently be silenced by another wave of fire below them.

“Sorry about this,” the stranger replied before swinging Maka across his shoulder and then bolting out her room and across the hallway.

“PUT ME DOWN!” the princess shouted as they finally reached the exit, where another wave of fire came rushing after them.

“I’m so sorry Maka, we got distracted and-“

“JUST KILL THIS GUY!” Maka shouted over Liz, earning a guffaw from the stranger as he picked up a blue donkey and went running across the castle’s bridge.

She let out a groan in indignation at how he narrowly missed the attacks Kid, Liz, and Patty were throwing at him, only for her heart to sink even furthur once seeing that her friends had somehow been chained to the castle.

The princess then kicked Soul in a more furious manner, causing her to look like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum until the stranger finally let her go after walking a good amount of distance away from the castle.

“YOU STUPID NO GOOD ASSHOLE,” Maka shrieked before Soul put up his hands to calm her down.

“IF YOU THINKS THIS MEANS IM GOING TO MARRY YOU THEN-“

“Marriage!??? Oh no, trust me princess that definitely isn’t somethin’ I was planning on doing,” he countered while the author did a mental eyeroll.

“Oh- so you’re weren’t planning on making me your bride?” Maka asked.

“No,” Soul said.

“You weren’t going to kiss me to life if I was a corpse?” Maka asked.

“No?” Soul said.

“Didn’t start lusting after me after glancing my way for like 30 seconds?” Maka asked.

“No,” Soul said.

“You’re not some middle aged man trying to marry someone that’s still young and fair?” Maka asked.

“What the fuck, no no no,” Soul finally said with a huff.

“All I’m trynna’ do is get you back to Queen Medusa’s kingdom,” he explained, causing the princess to hum in understanding.

“I see, well I suppose that isn’t so bad then. I’ve no doubt Kid, Liz, and Patty can easily fix the predicament they’re in too, so I’ll overlook that. May I at least get to see your face since you’ve successfully dragged me out my castle?” Maka questioned before pointing at the helmet around Soul’s head.

“Oh yea,” he answered before transforming his hand and carefully cutting through the metal.

It then fell off as Maka let out a gasp.

“He’s hot right?” Black*Star questioned as a lame attempt at comedic relief.

“He’s a…weapon!” Maka exclaimed, eliciting Soul to let out a snort.

“Sure am. Now let’s get going already,” he gruffly announced while Maka only stared after him in awe.

——————————————————————

They’d been walking for a long and boring amount of time before suddenly being surrounded by a group of men.

“What is that thing?” Black*Star questioned while pointing at a strange looking white scrawny little duck man standing right in front of them.

“FOOL! You are in the presence of the great Excalibur!” Excalibur exclaimed as the men around them laughed.

“Oh hi there cutie-“

“Keep your filthy hands off of me!” Maka shrieked over Hiro before sucker punching him to the floor, causing Soul to gape at her in bewilderment.

The weapon then evaded some other men that were attempting to attack him before feeling an arrow come flying towards his calf.

Fortunately, Maka and Black*Star were able to take down all of the remaining men by themselves, leaving only Excalibur still standing.

“Fools! To do such a thing to my henchmen is beyond rude, since they won’t be able to hear my legend-“ he tried to explain before Maka kicked him to the side.

“Get out of our way!” she exclaimed while letting out a final huff in indignation.

The princess then grabbed Soul’s arm and began to walk forward before hearing him let out a small wince.

“Oh no, I forgot you’re hurt,” she said while grounding them to a halt and staring at the arrow that’d conveniently lodged itself into the armor surrounding the weapon’s calf.

“Don’t worry, it’s really just a scratch,” Soul countered while Maka let out a hum.

“Still, we should get it treated. Black*Star, go look for some herbs we can treat the wound with,” Maka replied, causing the ass to salute her before trotting away.

“Ok, let’s dislodge it first,” the princess said while reaching for the arrow.

“Ah, fuck woman you’re pulling too hard!” Soul yelped, probing Maka to let out a huff.

“What, you can’t take it?” she replied before the weapon lost his balance and fell down with her sprawled on top of him in a totally not suggestive manner.

“I found some Aloe Vera and I heard that-ohhhh c’mon guys, you couldn’t have moved a few feet and got it on in the bushes,” Black*Star called as the pair scrambled off each other.

“Let’s…keep going,” Maka announced while Soul nodded his head in agreement.

“Hah, you two aren’t fooling anyone with how red your faces-“ the ass taunted before Maka kicked him.

They were able to find a spot to rest that night, allowing the princess to go scrambling behind a boulder after saying goodnight.

“Ya’ think….she likes me?” Soul asked Black*Star as they gazed at the stars.

“Why wouldn’t she like you dude?” the animal questioned, causing Soul to let out a sigh.

“She’s a princess and I’m a weapon, it’s as simple as that,”.

——————————————————————

To the surprise of absolutely nobody, the two did begin to grow closer and fall in love. The days passed before they were a day away from Queen Medusa’s castle, probing Maka into growing more anxious about her condition.

Her blades wouldn’t dissipate at all during that night, which forced her heart to skip a beat once hearing someone open the door to the small cottage she was attempting to sleep in.

The princess’ immediate reaction was to duck behind a large barrel, although it was too late since she heard Black*Star begin to screech at the way the moonlight reflected against her blades.

“Black*Star…Black*Star shhh,” Maka quickly coaxed, causing him to gape at her.

“Oh wow, Maka I had no idea you were a-,”

“I know, and I wanted to keep it that way too,” she finished as Black*Star raised an anthrophormic eyebrow at her.

“Why would you wanna do that?” the ass asked before Maka released a bitter laugh.

“You see how weapons are treated in the world. Always shunned for something that isn’t their fault. And besides, who would want to be associated with a freak-show scythe. Especially one so careless and unattractive,” she lamented.

——————————————————————

“Hey-um Maka, I’m not really sure what your favorite flower is, but I grow…some-uh sunflowers outside my cottage and they’re sorta’ pretty so I thought-“

“And besides, who would want to be associated with a freak-show scythe. Especially one so careless and unattractive,” Soul heard Maka exclaim over his rehearsal, causing his grip on the flower to loosen as he gaped at the cottage door for what felt like an enternity.

Right… what was I thinking he sighed before walking away and beginning to sulk in a corner of the makeshift camp he and Black*Star had created.

“Soul…Soul what’s wrong?” Maka called to him just as the sun began to rise from it’s slumber.

The weapon looked back to see her walking towards him from the cottage, probing him into letting out a muffled snort.

“Nothin’. At least, nothing you should have to worry about princess,” he offered before watching her pupils begin to dilate at his response.

“If it was something I’ve done then please-“

“Ah, Princess Maka,” Medusa called before the pair heard a group of horses gallop their way.

“I see that you’ve brought her back safely, weapon. I’ll send my guards out to clear those people from your land immediately. Now come along dear princess, I’m sure your journey has been quite distasteful,” Medusa hissed while flashing them both a wicked stare.

“Right…of course. Goodbye Black*Star, goodbye Soul,” Maka replied as she levelled a brief glance at Black*Star and then gave Soul a pathetic pining stare.

She then climbed onto Crona’s steed and the group set into motion towards the castle.

——————————————————————

“Now Princess Maka, I know we’ve talked about you being exhausted but…I have to ask if you’d be ready,” Medusa hummed.

“Ready for what?” Maka questioned while mulling over the food before her.

“Marriage my dear. You see, we’ve made preparations for the royal matrimony to happen tonight…if you’re up to the task,” the queen added with a devious glint in her eyes.

“Oh…,” Maka responded before being whisked away into a changing room.

Marraige…that’s a silly thing to think about when Soul is angry at me she internally lamented, causing her single fucking braincell to become fixated on that thought instead of the way she was being put into a wedding dress and then led down an altar.

The princess’ focus then rushed back into reality during the last minute like the lovesick dumbass she was, allowing her to notice the pink-haired person from earlier standing before her.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have gathered here for the marriage of Princess Maka Albarn and…Ragnarok of Gorgon Kingdom,” the officiant announced, forcing Maka’s mind to stop reeling about how to get out the situation and notice the black blob that had begun to protrude out of Crona’s shoulder instead.

“Time to give Daddy a kiss,” Ragnarok giggled as Maka tried to whack him with the flower bouquet she was holding, only to realize that her hands and mouth had been glued in place.

I knew I should’ve just stayed a shut-in in that old fucking castle she thought to herself while Medusa grinned at her.

—————————————————————-

“Are you ok in there?” Tsubaki called to Soul from outside his cottage, causing him to grunt in response.

“Just peachy,” he said while realizing just how bad he’d had it for Maka.

Still have it might be a better way of wording it be thought while pouring himself a drink and trying to hold back his tears.

“SOUL, SOUL OPEN UP YOU ASS!” Black*Star called from outside before Soul let out a snort.

“Hate to tell ya’ this ‘Star, but you’re the ass here,” Soul called out.

“Maka is a weapon too,” the ass answered back before Soul spat out his drink.

“What!?” he questioned.

“All that stuff she was saying was about herself dumbass, not you,” Black*Star called as Soul swung his front door open.

“She…actually liked me?” the weapon questioned before slapping one of his palms to his head.

“Yea and she probably still does, even if you might’ve broken her heart a bit by letting her go ahead with getting hitched to some other dude,” the ass exclaimed while Tsubaki shook her head in agreement.

“Ahhhhh shit, I-I have to get to her but there’s no way I’ll make it-“

“That’s what we’re here for Romeo,” Liz called from behind them, causing Soul to immediately go running towards the cursed trio before they launched themselves up into the sky.

“If someone objects to this wedding, speak now or forever hold thy-,” Soul heard the officiant announce before jumping off the dragon and running straight towards the castle doors.

“ME, I OBJECT,” he shouted, causing everyone to look at him in awe.

“S-Soul?” Maka stuttered as he came running towards her.

“Maka…Maka I’m so so sorry about earlier. I jumped to conclusions and didn’t give you a chance to explain, and I’m-I’m sorry. The truth is…I love you,” he announced, eliciting the crowd to release a cacophony of oohs and ahhs at the drama unfolding in front of them.

“Oh, how precious. The weapon has fallen in love with a princess,” Medusa laughed before Maka made her way near the stain-glass window above the altar and transformed her hands into two large scythes as the sun began to set.

“I hope you like what you see,” the princess giggled.

Soul gaped at her like the simp he was while Medusa narrowed her eyes and shrugged.

“Well if you wanted to reveal yourself publicly, I suppose I can use some brute force. Guards, seize them,” the witch exclaimed as a group of guards came running towards Maka and Soul.

“You two are going to make such nice test subjects,” she cackled as the stained glass window of the building shattered and Patty’s neck tilted downwards and swallowed Medusa whole.

“Ew, Patty I can’t believe you did that!” Liz screeched before they were engulfed in a cloud of smoke and then emerged as human being once more.

The sisters celebrated their newfound mobility while Kid’s face went red after a human Black*Star landed on his lap.

“Guess you really weren’t an ass after all,” Soul snorted to Black*Star, only to make his way towards Maka a moment later and run a hand through her blades, which turned back into her slender arms through his soothing touch.

“I hated myself because of these blades Soul, but I love you for being you, so I suppose they deserve a chance as well,” she exclaimed while clasping their hands together.

“Hm, guess you could say I broke your curse in a way then, since it isn’t all bad anymore,” Soul replied before resting his forehead against hers.

“A kiss from my knight in shining armor would be nice though,” the princess added as she blushed at the cheesy comeback, only to melt into Soul’s touch as he gently slid his hand behind her neck and slowly moved his lips forward.

The pair then went on to live a pretty happy life in Soul’s cottage while being visited by their ex-anthropomorphic friends and those who had been freed from Queen Medusa’s tyranny before finally tying the knot and living out their rest of their lives a a nasty lovey dovey couple.

The end.

#haven’t wrote anything this unhinged since the Halloween fic back in 2021 lol #so I needed to change that #soul eater #soul x maka #maka x soul #black star #death the kid #liz thompson #patty thompson #medusa gorgon

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