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futurecorps3 · 9 months

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imagine no war!!! remus after hogwarts decides to go to university, meets a muggle and falls head over heels but doesn't think he's good enough for her (w his condition on top of being a wizard and poor) but he brings her to meet the marauders anyway because they keep asking to meet the person he won't shut up about, maybe harry's birthday or just a pub outing or whatever??? he's nervous she'll fancy sirius but it's quite clear to everyone the second they meet that she clearly only has heart eyes for remus and the gang are like are you insane she's CLEARLY smitten with you and it literally takes everyone he knows to point it out for him to think he might even have a chance but is still floored when she's like "remus, i adore you, i've adored you from the moment we met" bc goddammit he deserves to be loved like that!!!

𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

Masterlist<3

Summary: The request sums it up, read it hoe Pairing: Remus Lupin x reader Warnings: Alcohol consumption and that's all I can think abt hehe Word Count: 4.5K (i'm sorry) Requested: Yes

A/N: I'm absolutely sobbing. This is so cute!!! I'm using the Reggie was a spy for the order wild card and roll with that. Tysm for this awesome idea, nonnie! And sorry it took so long.

Remus knew magic existed, the type of magic that opens doors, gives you luck or disarms someone. But until he met her, he didn't know there was a type of magic that could be contained in someone's eyes, someone's smile, or even in that little quirk she had of squinting every time she focused.

Y/N Y/L/N. Even her name felt like the sweetest honey when it rolled off your tongue and into the air, he figured. She was a new kind of magic and Remus was hooked from the get go. They had met on a rather peculiar set of circumstances. When Moony first got to college, he had no friends or anyone nearby to help him cope with the abrupt transition. The boys visited as much as they could, but it'd be for about an hour or two before they had to go back to the ministry.

So, as he did when he arrived at Hogwarts, Remus found solace in reading and taking his wolfsbane at appropriate times. He was doing a classics mayor and reading the Plato classics was a convenient way to kill time while doing something productive. The boy spent hours in the library, sitting on the couches or getting some annotations done on the desks; he'd be done with the school's classics collection before the semester was over if he kept that pace.

He would have if he hadn't found those notes. Remus first noticed them in a worn copy of a compilation from a specific period of Plato's scripts, the third page in Philebus. "Socrates is being very reductive. I don't like it. Out of character, I do declare" written in red ink, cursive letters delicate in the ripped white paper.

He giggled at that, his thoughts exactly. Moony picked the piece of paper and examined it to see if it had any indications of who might've written it, but he found nothing. He only knew that the person who wrote it had a ruined red pen; the stains of ink sitting messily on the opposite side of the annotation. Remus was a sucker for mystery stories and he viewed this as an opportunity of having one of his own!

A short-lived one, since he cracked the case when a pretty girl on his history of philosophy class asked around for a red pen. Remus frantically but quietly rummaged through his satchel and found one just in time.

He rushed to her, offering it out “Here” he smiled, looking down at her as she looked up at him. “Thanks… Remus isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure. Y/N Y/L/N”. Y/N introduced herself, offering her hand out. Stained in red. The boy stared shocked at the realization this was the person he’d been looking for.

“Oh shit m’sorry, it looks like I committed a murder or something. My pen started leaking yesterday while I was studying in the library” She laughed and Remus swore he’d faint if he hadn’t gripped her hand. “Actually…” Remus started, searching in his pocket for the piece of paper he kept, when he finally found it, he showed it to her and a smile broke on those pretty lips.

“…I hope you don’t mind! I-I kept it. Been looking for you, it made me laugh” He admitted, handing it to her “You found me then! And, you’re very much welcome to keep it, Remus” Y/N grinned and Remus mirrored her expression sweetly. They met for coffee the next day. The day after that, they studied together. And the week after, they shared lunch.

About two months after they talked for the first time, they had gone on a date every single week. From museum outings to walks around campus if one of them didn't have much time. They also sat together in philosophy and, turns out, literature (which they realized they shared after).

Y/N gifted him a cool rock once, and he kissed her.

He kept the rock in his pocket ever since.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Come on, mate, you gotta tell us who she is!" James exclaimed, his excitement palpable as he repeatedly patted the worn wooden bar in the cozy pub they had agreed to meet at. Remus chuckled and shook his head, a fond smile dancing on his lips as he took another sip of his whiskey.

"You've been talking non-stop about her since you two met! The last three times we've seen each other, it's been Y/N this, Y/N that. We've gotta meet the missus," Sirius playfully teased, giving Remus a light shove with his shoulder.

Rolling his eyes playfully, Remus glanced at his friends, grateful for their persistent curiosity but also hesitant to share too much. "Oh, Pads, don't call her that! We're not even official yet, and I doubt we'll ever be. She'll find someone, alright, but I'm just good old Remus," he replied, a hint of wistfulness shadowing his gaze.

It was true; good old Remus had learned how to stop caring about what other people thought of him, but that didn't mean he was entirely confident about who he was.

Navigating the Muggle world presented its own set of challenges for Remus. He knew that at some point, he would have to confront the whole "Hey, I'm a wizard, and there's this whole other world you don't know about, hope you don't mind!" situation with Y/N.

Then there were the lingering money issues that weighed on his mind. College was not cheap, but he had managed to secure a decent scholarship, which alleviated some of the burden. He hoped Y/N wouldn't care about his financial situation. And, of course, there was the delicate matter of revealing his true nature as a literal werewolf. How would she react when she found out?

Yeah.

He was good old Remus: poor Remus, monster Remus, scarred Remus, wizard Remus. If he were honest with himself, he was surprised they had made it past the first day, considering he had stupidly worn a short-sleeved t-shirt without anything to conceal the telltale signs of his condition.

But she noticed the perceptive and kind-hearted soul that she was, and she chose not to mention it. In that moment, Remus couldn't help but imagine the possibilities, but he also knew that reality had a way of reminding him of his limitations. Moony knew he would never be able to claim her as his own. Not in this lifetime, not in the next.

For now, he chose to cherish the moments they shared, basking in her laughter and marveling at the way her hair defied gravity with its radiant beauty. She was his bit of magic in a world that often seemed devoid of it. Deep down, however, he couldn't shake the nagging certainty that good things didn't last for boys like him—boys with tragedy coursing through their veins.

"Yeah, no. We're not doing this shit again," Sirius declared, shaking his head in disagreement. Remus's best friends had grown accustomed to his self-deprecating tendencies and were determined to lift his spirits. Remus might have been a mysterious figure to some, but to the Marauders, he was an open book, their brother.

"That's why she likes you, mate. You're good old amazing, lovely, smart, hot Remus!" James proclaimed with a boisterous cheer, pulling Remus into a tight embrace. "Tell you what, bring her to Harry's birthday party this weekend! I'm sure Lily won't mind," he suggested, his mischievous grin widening. Sirius enthusiastically chimed in, nodding in agreement. "Just ask her first and let me know, okay? I don't want Harry to have a bad time becaus-"

"Oh, Moons, the party is more for us than for him! He'll be out like a light by eight, and we'll get wasted like we always do," Prongs interjected, his infectious laughter filling the air, causing Remus to join in, his worries momentarily forgotten in the camaraderie of his friends.

There was no way out of this one, not that he sought an escape. Remus couldn't blame his best friends for their eagerness to meet Y/N. They knew him better than anyone, and they could see the spark of happiness she had ignited within him. Moony did little to hide his excitement, his heart fluttering with the hope that maybe, just maybe, things would work out.

Now, he just needed Lily's approval so he could gather the courage to ask the girl who had captivated his heart to accompany him to the birthday celebration—a step that held the promise of a new chapter in his life, one filled with both joy and uncertainty

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Remus nervously fiddled with the corner of his book, stealing glances at Y/N across the library. The soft rays of afternoon sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting a warm, golden glow on the rows of ancient tomes and the elegant wooden shelves that lined the room. But in that moment, all Remus could see was Y/N, a radiant presence amidst the tranquil surroundings.

Summoning his courage, Remus took a deep breath and approached her table. The scent of old parchment mingled with the delicate fragrance of her perfume, creating an intoxicating blend that filled his senses. As he neared, he couldn't help but notice the way her eyes sparkled with intelligence and curiosity as she immersed herself in the world of words. Her hair cascaded down in gentle waves, its hue reminiscent of auburn leaves in autumn, and he found himself captivated by the way it framed her face, enhancing her natural beauty.

"Hey, love," Remus greeted her with a warm smile, trying his best to appear at ease. "Mind if I join you for a moment?"

Y/N looked up, a surprised yet welcoming expression crossing her features. Her eyes met Remus's, and a playful glimmer danced within their depths. She gestured to the seat across from her, her voice laced with gentle humor. "Well, if you insist. But only if you promise not to distract me from my riveting studies."

Remus chuckled, grateful for her light-hearted response. He took the offered seat, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "I'll do my best to behave, I promise," he replied, a twinkle in his own eyes. "But I do have something on my mind that I wanted to ask you."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. Her curiosity piqued. "Oh, really? Well, go on then. I'm all ears."

"There's a little someone's birthday coming up this weekend," Remus began, his voice filled with playful anticipation. "Harry, James' adorable son, is turning two years old. And, well, I was wondering if you'd like to come with me to the party."

Y/N's face lit up with a mixture of surprise and delight, her smile contagious. "Are you asking me to crash a toddler's birthday party? That sounds like a dangerous proposition," she teased, her tone lighthearted.

Remus laughed, his nerves easing with every moment of their easy banter. "Well, I can promise you that the party will be more entertaining than dangerous," he quipped, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "There'll be cake, balloons, and probably a fair amount of chaos. It's a chance to embrace your inner child if you want to look at it that way."

Y/N pretended to consider it, her finger tapping against her chin. "Hmm, cake, balloons, and chaos? You make a compelling case," she replied, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "How can I resist? Count me in, darling. I'd love to celebrate with you and your mates."

Remus couldn't contain his happiness, his relief flooding through him like a warm wave. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed, a genuine excitement coloring his voice. "I can't wait for you to meet everyone, t-they insisted I brought the girl I don't shut up about to the party"

Y/N smiled at that, holding Remus's hand over the table. "So you've talked to your friends about me?" "Oh shut it" He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Right before those grey clouds of self deprecation repeating "this won't last" and "enjoy it before she realizes what you truly are" clouded his mind.

He shoved the thoughts away, holding to Y/N's smile against his lips as if it was an anchor saving him from drowning.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.

He really did try to plan it all neatly. From what he'd wear to how he'd introduced her to his friends. Remus even asked them to keep the magic discreet since it was all too soon for that conversation, but for fuck's sake; it all got thrown out the window when he saw her in low waisted flared pants and his Bowie shirt. "H-hey!" He smiled, almost yelling, but she just laughed at his enthusiasm.

"Hi Rem," she sighed, leaving a kiss on the corner of his lips which she left lingering a bit too long. "Ready?" "As I'll ever be!". As Y/N and Remus walked hand in hand, the excitement in the air was palpable. However, beneath her playful demeanor, Y/N couldn't shake the nerves that fluttered in her stomach. Meeting Remus's best friends felt like stepping into a new world, and the fear of not fitting in or being accepted gnawed at her.

She stole a quick glance at Remus, hoping he wouldn't notice the physical manifestations of her anxiety. The last thing she wanted was to burden him with her own inner turmoil. But even as she tried to compose herself, her voice wavered slightly as she spoke.

"Remus, I can't deny that I'm feeling a bit... off," she admitted, her words stumbling over her nervousness. "My heart feels like it's racing a marathon, and there's this knot in my stomach that just won't loosen. I hope it's not too obvious." Remus turned his head towards her, a reassuring smile playing on his lips. His eyes sparkled with warmth and understanding.

"Hey, I get it," he said, his tone comforting. "Meeting new people can be nerve-wracking, and our bodies have interesting ways of letting us know. But you know what? You're doing great, sweetheart, and I'm here with you. We'll take it one step at a time, and I promise we'll have a good time together. So, let's embrace the adventure, nerves and all, and see what the night has in store for us, okay?"

Y/N nodded thankfully, the knot loosening up a little. “Thanks baby”. The world stopped in Remus’ perspective at the pet name but he just nodded and kissed her cheek. He helped. He was a warm blanket after a long day even when moments like those weren’t happening. Comfort.

They eventually got to James’ place; the loud music coming from the two floor house making Y/N feel even more at ease. It radiated a warm, welcoming energy even before stepping in. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

“Deep breath”. They both took a breath before approaching the door and knocking, the wine Remus’ plus one brought close to breaking with the force she was holding it with. A bright smile opened the door, hugging Remus immediately. “You have no idea how happy I am you’re here Moony”.

Y/N smiled sweetly at the nickname the boy had for his best mate. She didn’t know where it came from but James seemed to be the sun reflecting on the moon. On Moony. The girl knew Remus’ light was enough to outshine the sun itself, but the comparison seemed cute.

“You must be Y/N! He can’t shut up about you. Can I hug you? It’s okay if not, Sirius says I need to ask before hugging people but I just love it so much I cannot help myself” He rambled, making her giggle as she uttered a small ‘It’s okay’ and hugged the boy. She noticed Remus staring and just winked at him. “Is that cake I smell?” Y/N grinned, peeking inside before James stepped aside to let them both in.

“Yes, come inside! My wife, Lily, has just finished baking her chocolate cake recipe. It’s bloody brilliant! Harry’s favorite in his short lived culinary experience. You gotta meet him too!” Moony stayed behind, cherishing the way James’ warm welcome made Y/N feel a little more comfortable; her shoulders relaxed as well as her grip on the wine bottle.

He stepped in, hanging his coat on the rack he helped Lily choose when his best friends bought the house. Rapid steps came running down the stairs, and before he turned around, the smell of cigarettes and leather filled his nostrils. “Hello Pads” he smirked, hugging his friend tightly.

“Hey Moons! Did the missus come?” “Yes, she’s outside with James and Lily-“. He was cut short when his best friend, (his eyeliner wearing, muscled, rocker, tattooed, charming best friend) ran all the way into the garden to greet the girl. He was head over heels over.

A new feeling settled into his chest. An unpleasant one. Sirius was a dream. Remus was just good old Remus. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! He sighed heavily, ran a hand through his hair, and then covered his mouth. Y/N was not one to be too forward, but the way Sirius looked and acted could easily make her reconsider.

It got worse when he heard her loud laugh coming from the garden, followed by a chuckle that unmistakably came from Sirius. His best friend would never do it on purpose, but then again, his charm was never used on purpose. It just sort of happened. Remus sighed and walked outside to find the girl saying hi to Harry.

The toddler had his tiny hand wrapped around the girl's fingers, babbling incoherencies, as Y/N had a full conversation with him. "Are you sure?" she asked and Harry answered nonsense as the girl nodded back. She looked up at Remus coming through the sliding door. "Remus, he's the cutest thing I've ever seen!".

He laughed and walked over to her. The girl immediately wrapped her hands around his arm and hugged him tightly. James winked at Moony and went inside as the conversation ensued, Sirius teasing Remus about the girl he "brought home".

Soon, Y/N was well adapted to their friend's sense of humour and was joking around with Lily about how dumb they could all be. Despite Y/N's worries, it all went by smoothly. The one he got along with the most was James; he loved asking questions, and she loved answering them.

Remus had always loved her laugh; Seeing his best friends being the cause of it made it even better. "I'm telling you, he's insane!" Sirius laughed, bouncing his leg up and down as Harry sat on his lap giggling. "He's an absolute sweetheart" Y/N answered, kissing Remus' cheek as his best friends tried putting dirt (rightfully deserved dirt) on his name.

"Wait until you know him just a tiny bit better. You'll get to see his menacing self... got us in a shit ton of trouble back in school" James chuckled, making Remus roll his eyes and trying to divert her attention by asking if she wanted a bit more cake.

During their evening, Y/N kept a tight grasp on Remus’ hand while smiling at his friend’s jokes. When it was his turn to laugh, Sirius noticed how the girl looked intently over at Remus with a grin on her face. His eyes looked gorgeous in the sun with those little wrinkles when he giggled, she thought.

In that moment, she realized she wanted Remus to say her name as you’re supposed to say it; sleepily, with a mouth full of food, between laughters and in tears. Y/N saw the specks of brown in the amber colored lake that his eyes were and fell completely. Sirius saw it, James saw it, Lily saw it.

Even more when he turned to look down at her and wipe a bit of chocolate off her cheek, and she kept that look of utter adoration for him. “He’s gone” Lily mumbled to her husband. “She’s too” he agreed. Sirius smirked, getting up to get Harry to bed as he fell asleep on his uncle’s arms as the sun set.

James and Sirius were at the center of attention, regaling the group with a hilarious story from their time at school. Their voices were animated, and they gesticulated with enthusiasm, drawing everyone into their tale. Remus stood nearby, a mix of amusement and mild embarrassment evident on his face.

"And then, there was this one time at Hogwarts," James began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "when we decided to prank the entire Slytherin common room! We turned all their robes into neon pink ones!"

Sirius chimed in, laughter bubbling in his voice. "Oh, it was epic! They all looked like walking flamingos! The look on their faces was priceless!"

Y/N was thoroughly entertained by the story, but she couldn't help but notice Remus's subtle blush. She leaned closer to him and whispered teasingly, "Remus, were you part of this grand pink robe conspiracy too?"

Remus grinned, shaking his head. "I plead the fifth," he replied, trying to hide his amusement. "Let's just say those were wild times, and I may or may not have been an innocent bystander."

Y/N laughed, enjoying the playful banter. She was captivated by the camaraderie and genuine friendship between the group. As the evening continued, she found herself drawn into more anecdotes and laughter, feeling a sense of warmth and acceptance in their company.

Remus's friends made her feel welcome and included, and she couldn't help but feel grateful for being a part of this close-knit circle, even if she didn't know the full extent of their world. The nerves that had accompanied her earlier had transformed into excitement and a genuine desire to create new memories with Remus and his friends.

The feeling was reciprocated. Remus felt, and not on mere theory; the moment Y/N excused herself to go to the bathroom, his best friends started gushing to him about the girl. "Moony, she's in love" Sirius said between incredulous and joyous laugh "Oh Pad-" "Mate, I'm telling you... she looks at you like you hung the bloody stars!" now said James, Lily nodding pridefully "She looks at you just how James looked at me back in the day".

And Merlin did he want to believe them! He truly, really did. But instead, there was this empty feeling on his chest. There was no way Y/N Y/L/N looked at him in the way James looked at Lily; Almost scared of the joy she brought to him, like that pain in his heart would end up killing him and he'd quite literally die a happy man. So, when Remus dropped her off at her flat and turned his head before she'd kiss him on the mouth, the void went deeper.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Y/N couldn't sleep that night. Her mind was restless, thoughts of Remus swirling in her head like a tempest. She tossed and turned, replaying the events of the evening over and over again, each memory etching itself into her heart. There was no denying it anymore; she was utterly and completely in love with him.

The realization hit her like a wave crashing onto the shore, powerful and unstoppable; she was head over heels for Remus Lupin.

The next day, Y/N couldn't concentrate on anything. Her mind kept drifting back to Remus, like she'd could easily find herself absentmindedly doodling hearts and his name on the margins of her notebook. She needed to tell him; she couldn't keep this to herself any longer.

In the late afternoon, she gathered her courage and dialed his number, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for him to pick up. When he finally answered, his warm voice on the other end sent shivers down her spine.

"Hey, Remus," she began, trying to sound casual despite the turmoil inside her. "I was wondering if we could meet up later? There's something I want to talk to you about." Remus's response was filled with concern. "Of course, love. Is everything alright?" "Yes, everything's fine," she reassured him. "I just... I have something to tell you, something important."

He agreed to meet at their favorite cafe later that evening, and Y/N's heart fluttered with nervous excitement. The minutes leading up to their meeting felt like an eternity, but finally, the time came. When they sat down together, Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. Remus looked at her with those caring, gentle eyes, and she felt a rush of emotions wash over her.

"Remus," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "I don't even know where to start. Y-you've brought so much magic into my life. From the moment we met, I felt something special, something I couldn't quite put into words."

He listened intently, his gaze never leaving hers.

"I've never felt this way before," she continued, her cheeks flushing with emotion. "You're like a beautiful enigma, a captivating mystery that I can't get enough of. You make me laugh, you make me feel safe and cherished, and every moment with you is a treasure. You've shown me a kind of magic that I never knew existed, a magic that exists in the little things, the stolen glances, the shared laughter, and the way you hold my hand. It's like you've cast a spell on me, and I never want it to end."

Remus's eyes softened, and a tender smile graced his lips. "Y/N, you're the most incredible person I've ever met," he replied, his voice filled with emotion. "From the moment I saw your ink-stained hands, I knew you were something special. You've brought light into my life, and I can't believe that someone as amazing as you could feel this way about me."

He reached across the table and took her hand in his, their fingers interlocking like two puzzle pieces, finding their perfect fit.

"I'm not good with grand gestures or flowery words," he said, his voice a whisper. "But I can tell you this: I care about you deeply, more than I ever thought possible. You make me happy like I never imagined I'd could feel. I've fallen in love with you, Y/N, and I can't believe my luck."

Y/N's heart soared, tiny tears of joy welling up in her eyes. "Oh, Remus," she murmured, her voice choked with emotion. "I'm so in love with you too. You've shown me a kind of love I never knew existed, a love that feels like coming home. I cherish every moment with you, and I want to share my time with you, if you'll have me."

Without hesitation, Remus leaned across the table, closing the distance between them, and pressed a soft, tender kiss to her lips. It was a kiss filled with love and promise, sealing their feelings and intentions.

"I'd be honored to have you in my life, Y/N," he whispered against her lips. "You're my bit of magic in a world that can be harsh and uncertain, and I never want to let you go."

And so, in that cozy cafe, two souls found solace in each other's love. The world around them faded into the background as they basked in the enchantment of their newfound love, knowing that this kind of magic was unlike any other they had ever known. They had found something truly extraordinary in each other, a love that would stand the test of time and shine brighter than any star in the night sky.

˚ · • . ° .

It’s currently 12am and my brain isn’t working so i’ll just post this and place the word count in the morning.

Remember, the best way to support writer’s works on here is by REBLOGGING WITH TAGS. I’d very much appreciate it if you did!

Thanks again, stranger. Hope you have a nice day<3

NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO REPOST AS THEIR OWN/TRANSLATE/OR COPY MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM OR SPACE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT CONSENT.

#remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin smut #marauders era #the marauders era #the marauders #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #young!remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #harry potter marauders #marauders x reader

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blockgamepirate · 1 month

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(that post was so banger it finally made me register an alt) Honestly, you are so correct about L'Manberg

I remember regularly lurking around mcytblr and reading analysis and I think I only saw coherent L'Manberg nationalism analysis from, like, Xephyr and a c!Dream blogger/fan. Which is crazy in retrospect, because the ease with which most of the fandom leaned into fictional country hardcore patriotism was/is kinda insane

And the ensuing anti Doomsday stance -- like we all know that terrorism is bad and shit, but absolute refusal to acknowledge that maybe Doomsday trio and co were not punished by the narrative for having done that was because they were right was. sure something!

omg that's very flattering thank you :D

By Xephyr I assume you mean @considermygenderminecrafted ? Because yes, xe has some of the best L'Manburg critique out there, as well as some of the best c!Wilbur critique, everybody should absolutely check it out immediately (altho frustratingly, I just tried to find some of their posts as an example but Tumblr's search function is still absolute garbage (Xeph, do you have some of your great posts at hand and if so, can you just link some of them in the reblogs or something?))

And yes. There are valid criticisms that can be made of the Doomsday Trio's tactics (which even Techno himself sort of acknowledged later), but at the end of the day, they were on the right side of history

(Well Dream's character less so, but I can't even be bothered to try to analyse him at this point because none of his plans make sense to me)

Also nobody ever seems to acknowledge that Doomsday Trio were acting in self-defence, since L'Manburg had already gone after both Techno and Phil, and was at the time trying to kill Dream as well, although he kinda beat them to the punch (possibly because he already knew they were planning to kill him? idk, I'm not sure if that was ever confirmed or not)

But yeah, the argument about them needing to be punished by the narrative was always absurd to me, and it just betrays the fandom's belief that L'Manburg was supposed to be objectively good, despite all the evidence that it very much was not, not even to its own citizens! And possibly also the unquestioned assumption of "state good, anarchy bad"

Meanwhile the actual narrative repeatedly shows that L'Manburg always ends up becoming toxic, corrupt and ultimately oppressive, even under the Good President, while on the other hand the anarchist commune eventually turns into a sanctuary for all sorts of people who need a safe place to stay (even arguably the aforementioned former Good President when he needs somewhere to hide his son from kidnappers)

And yeah, this is why I did get pretty heated about some of the debates at the time, and I kinda still do, because in the process of assuming that L'Manburg was always the good guys, they ended up repeatedly justifying just absolutely horrific state violence as well as excusing early L'Manburg's xenophobia (as comedic as it initially was), which unfortunately mirrors a lot of real world authoritarianism and xenophobia

To be fair a lot of this was probably also protagonist-centric morality, since most of these people also saw the L'Manburg side as the main characters, but then again what is nationalism if not a form of protagonist-centric morality where you see your own country as the protagonist of the world lol

I might actually need to make a proper post now since multiple people have shown interest, unfortunately I'm also very lazy and kinda made my main points in that low effort post already

Which would mean that it would actually have to be a high effort post to justify its existence

#asks #hopemadethisaccforsendingasks

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beril66 · 2 months

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So I am reading banger character analysis of various necron characters from people like Ghost and Magistralucis so I wanted to put my two sents in about two things; the absolute HYPOCRISY of Orikan the Diviner and necrons as a whole;

Those who have read I&D no doubt remember the incredible Opera scene. It was probably the most profound part of the entire book; more than their hilarious feud , their team up aganist Orks and subsequent betrayals , their clashes of importance of culture and history and complete disregard of it even if its your own (put a pin on that we'll come back to this) , the heartwrenching flashes of memories or even the final kaiju battles at the end. These two old coots finally FINALLY have to breath methaphorically and just...talk.

Well mostly Orikan talks. Conveniently 'just' remembering it was Trazyn who dragged him into the biofurnaces (even if you think for a MOMENT it's while possible HIGHLY improbable.) So he engages Trazyn in the way it would impact him the most. Through cultural analysis. Both @ghostinthegallery and @magistralucis did analysis on these scenes better than I ever could and I want to a particular parts of Orikan's speech because even as I know practically nothing about 40k or necrons (I&D is my first 40k book) it always made me laugh out loud at the absolute GALL of it.

"Children of Important people, judging by their clothing, though Orikan had no interest in this world or its Byzantine ideas of hierarchy' and

"but we call each other low and bumbling because we are highly civilized"

I legit laughed myself silly here before the gut punch of their interaction continued because... the ridiculous amount of lack of self awareness and hypocrisy just absolutely stunned me.

This is the SAME species who before the biotransference killed each other for basically for sport.

The same species who calls those who are in the lower class as 'it' and has literal philosophical works that brings their SAPIENCE AND SENTIENCE into question (Aristotle would be PROUD)

The same species where a crown prince can get away with shooting 50 commoner soldier in the head as a 'LESSON IN RULING' .

Same species STILL in some cases look down on Imotekh the fucking Stormlord just because he is apparently a 'sandborne'.

Same species who turned their entire lives and culture into a death cult.

The same species who seem to ironically instead of uniting and searching for a cure of their condition just continue to paint galaxy in red with their own and other species blood.

The same race after Old Ones rejected them decided to not just fought aganist them but TRIED TO DESTROY EVERY OTHER PEOPLE THEY COME ACROSS until Old Ones kicked their asses enough.

Tangent here; I mostly agree Old Ones refusing to at least cure them of their cancers is a massive dick move but a counter argument can be made; if you saw a species like necrontyr spread in the galaxy conquering everything they see (and lets be honest here.. if they had vassal species they most likely treat them worse than any Sand born) and the only thing keeping them in check is their sickness , internal political bullshit and equevalant species...would you help them?

And after ALL OF THAT you just...turn each on other and start to REALLY go at it to the point you get the attention of hungry melicious star parasites.

After completely ignoring the increasingly desperate warnings of your almost always correct court astromancer and paint him as insane and a charlatan;

THEN these things, using higher echelon's desperation for eternal life fool you into turning your entire race into soulless terminators because suprise!! During your transformation of course the 'gods' duped you and not only they stuck you into sub-optimal metal coffins , not only (some lore bits implies nobility %100 aware and content) %95 precent of your population is lobotomized , not only you are made to forget %98 of your entire culture even forget where your homeworld is , not only you sacrificed every single class of your young children and will NEVER have future generations EVER, but the cherry on top of this shit cake is your souls are gobbled by said star parasites and also ALL of you, SK included turned into their slaves.

So you and your new masters start a 5 million years worth of war so horrific you give chaos such a power boost , killed about %80 of the galaxy , forced psykic frogs into tearing the first anus in reality and drove the possibly only species keeping the Chaos Gods in check into (possible) extinction. You fucked the afterlife for everyone else until the heat death of the universe in Milky Way.

After that little debacle you turn on your gods , fought them, shatter them (and 'kill' one that in some shape harmed the reality) then after seeing the absolute devestation your gods and kind inflicted go to 60 millions of years of sleep which lets be honest helped more than hurt as mental problems were cropping up BEFORE the end of the war (TDK)

Now you are waking up and did you learn ANYTHING from all of the 5 million worth of life experience?

They learned jackshit thats what happened. Every single sapient necron even the likes of Trazyn, even Zhandrekh are still making the SAME mistakes and inflicts same cruelties they kind always had done.

Trazyn is at the end of the day is a thief and a kidnapper. I&D happened BECAUSE he was so stubborn to steal that gem he wounded the World Spirit and caused the Deciever shard to gain enough power by sending some Aeldari souls his way before Slaanesh can take them. My guy killed an ENTIRE WORLD for a joke.

We all know the reason he is so obsessed with his work is to keep himself sane and have a purpose but just imagine the GOOD he can do. He library rivals the actual BLACK LIBRARY in universe. He tried to help at Cadia and it was amazing to see but at the end of the day even Trazyn didn't seem to grasp that the galaxy is dying in front of him and he can CHANGE that. Or unwilling. This is the worst attributes of the necrons; not caring when they actually really SHOULD.

Zhandrekh is as much as the setting allows is a good man. He could be considered kind even in Flesh Times. He is an honourable man. He is also a terrifyingly competent warlord serving Imotekh whose damage seems to be his insaitable desire to conquer and CONTROL (as much as we know GW for what? 8 years didn't characterized him other than "really clever , great general , obsession with proving his worth and control by dueling with strong opponents"). I think people forget about that about him. He didn't lost a SINGLE campaign aganist Imperium. My senile old sweet man is TERRIFYING.Not much more to say about him honestly he is a good dude in a horrific setting with dementia and married to his bodyguard.

Now lets come to Orikan. Orikan the Diviner is %100 has the right to be a resentful bastard to his own people. He tried so hard to stop the catasthrophy of biotransference. Not only he didn't succeed but they THROW HIM AGANIST HIS WILL into the fires.

What I really like about him however is while he is a venomous , back stabbing little bastard who takes a little too much pleasure of his people' suffering he has these...flashes that shows there is SOMETHING kinder underneath deep deep DEEP down. He didn't want to destroy Serenade. Interestinf thing about him is he only refers to humans as an "it" ONCE. And thats a corpse something even we do. These are very small but it shows Orikan ISN'T just a complete and utter douchbag XD

That being said Orikan abject denial of basically anything positive about anything or anyone necron or not shows how small minded he can be. His destruction of necrontyr artifacts, his dismissal of human anything without giving it a try (like apperantly SK prepared shadow puppet theater for palace kids? How is that a drivel Orikan???) Etc. He simultaneously despises everything necrontyr/necron that ISN'T his or Vishani's provess in their fields yet claims total superiority in everything Necrons do as he insults them. He is the single most hypocritical character bar chaos SM.

Don't get me wrong its a great character work and shows us how flimsy necron identity even is. Because minus general archetypes of their dynasties they have...none. Soulless God Killers isn't an identity. It's the curse of their entire species however metal (pun intended) it is to turn your treacherous gods into cattle. At the end of the day however advanced tech they possess or claims to have high manners (if they are sentient enough) or 'elegance' they are as barren as a civilization can get in all account bar tech.

And the fact that they can call themselves 'Civilized' making me giggle for the sheer absurdity of it BECAUSE they equate technological advancement as 'Cultured amd civilized'.

Necrons while I LOVE THEM and want them to have a happy ending (I want that for all species honetly everyone is horrible in 40k its okay :D) are the indisputed the WORST people in this shithole of a galaxy.

Imperium in many ways are lightyears ahead of us technologically would we call them civilized? Aeldari despite all their tech and arts were creating blood orgies on bodies of sacrificed children and I didn't met many people who would consider even the today's Crafworld Aeldari civilized.

Necrons are the same as these two. There is beside technology and cultural ticks no difference between them. Orikan calls the class system of Serenade 'Byzantine ideas' while he himself is subjected to the EXACT SAME THING in Mendragora court.

So if we rib on the Imperium and Aeldar...why shouldn't we on necrons?

All the races of the Milky Way are sides of a multi-faced coin (except Tyranids obviously). Bloodthirsty , cruel savages with certain exceptions in characters because they are marginally less shitty than the rest (Trazyn , Zhandrekh , Oltyx , Yenekh , Eldrad , Vulcan , Farsight , Shadowsun , Jaghatai Khan etc.) Who wants the same thing.

Necrons are just the most delusional of them all and its so tragic it loops back around to being funny. All races have fell from grace in Warhammer. The Necrontyr might be the only race started with very little redeeming qualities though. And the have not changed a SINGLE BIT in 65 fucking MILLION YEARS besides Oltyx (who because the Flayer King. A literal flesh tearing and wearing monster) . A single character. This is beyond horrific when you think about it.

Ironically in 40k DAOT humans might have been the most civilized race ever existed. They had peace treaties with ORKS. Interex have not eradicated Mega-arachnids just banished them to a world where they can live and let live. Diasporex just wanted to be left alone. Humanity even Aledari used to have compassion. Necrontyr and necron minus few never had that as a SOCIETY. Not to their own NOT to others. (I am not humans fuck yeah! In the slightest but...history speaks for itself)

And with their souls gone it seems something needs to shake them up so badly to start actual REFLECTION of eho they have been/who they are. Because with the way the are going...their minds will give long before their bodies do.

Sooo...this is my 'analysis' of the hypocrisy of Orikan and Necrons as a whole considering them so above all despite being in the same mudpit wirh other races. Would love to hear your opinions do you agree? Disagree?

#necrons #warhammer 40k #orikan the diviner #trazyn the infinite #necrons are objectively the most pitiable race in 40k #they feared death so so much yet even after become what they are they are still terrified #take reanimation protocols from them and you can make them to practically ANTHING #their society was a fucking nightmare as necrontyr #at least the commoners have no mind to suffer anymore #'Allegedly' because certain lore bits implies they ARE basically suffering from. 'locked in syndrome #thats a face I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy #like they legit basically killed EVERY SINGLE CHILD #when you think about it #Oltyx was about 17-18 . I think really young ones like 11-12 regardless of class turned into a warrior #I love them but boy do they pathetic as a species #Sad depressed skeletons needs a collective reality check #i love them anyway

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dyke-pollinator · 11 months

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Im in the mood for a story

Im a little drunk and im in the mood to share a story with yall of when I was out living in Nevada. This was back in 2017 or so.

This story requires some backstory so please indulge me.

I was a crew leader, managing a group of 4-9 people ranging from 18-23 ( I was 24 at the time). Part of that meant helping them integrate into the new location they moved to (Reno, Nevada) despite living out of my car at this time.

One of my crew members, who I will call Shawn, was...... Interesting to say the least. He was a pretty interesting person, but was definitely way too interested in falling in love while on this job.

So while he was out with some other members on their off week, he confessed his feelings for another crew member who turned him down. He proceeded to seriously harm himself. So now, on my crew, I had to manage that shit and make sure he wasn’t a risk to himself. Because of course this motherfucker was on my crew and technically my responsibility.

Everything was basically fine. Shawn and the other member barely interacted and we were learning a lot about how to cut down trees safely.

During one of our hitches (time in the field) where we were building cattle fences on the border of Utah, this bitch decided he wanted to go for a walk. So idk if you know what the middle of no where Utah looks like but its basically the same as this for 100 miles in every directions

Barely any geographic features. Insanely easy to get lost.

We had a rule where if you were gonna split off from the group, you had to let the crew lead (me) know, and you had to explicitly say where you were gonna go. He decided he wanted cell phone signal one night, and told no one where he was going.

He got lost. In the middle of the desert. I need you to understand how horrifying that is. There’s nothing out there. You can walk for 200+ miles (350km) in any direction and find literally nothing. Especially on the Nevada / Utah border.

By 8pm we were all wondering where he was till a random person was like “Oh he went that was looking for signal”. Like wtf? Excuse me? We searched in the direction he went for like 4 hours before we called emergency services & our organization that was gonna send out reinforcements to help us look.

We parked our giant truck on the top on the highest hill around us, with our high beems on, and blared on the horn all night, hoping that he was going to find his way back to us. He never did.

We spent 38 hours looking for this person, and since we all knew his history, we legitimately thought he was dead.\

The next day we had the whole BLM (Bureau of Land Management) looking for him. They were about to call in the fucking helicopters.

Now, this next part is gonna sound like some bullshit I just made up but I stg it is true. My dumbass forgot to restock the first aid kit. My co-lead got stung by a bee / wasp while we were doing a grid search, and for the first time in his life, he had a major allergic reaction that none of the leftover meds we had would take down.

So we had to take him into town (an approximately 15 mile drive on back roads) and I did it since I was one of the few that was allowed to drive our trucks.

This motherfucker, Shawn, literally stumbled across the road while I was driving my co-lead into to town. Idk how the fuck he found this road. Idk how the fuck his timing was absolutely perfect. But we found him. After 56 hours when all of us thought he was already dead.

We would have NEVER found him if not for this random happenstance. Some divine power wanted this kid alive I swear. Its some of the most insane shit I have ever experienced.

And here’s the kicker: THIS HAPPENED ON THE 3RD DAY OF AN 8 DAY PROJECT AND THEY MADE ALL OF US FINISH OUR WORK INCLUDING THE DUDE THAT WAS LAST FOR THAT LONG

The moral is never trust Non-profit organizations. They dont give a fuck about you.

And if yall wanna head this story from Shawn’s perspective just lmk I am happy to share it.

#my posts #Iris story time #enjoy babe #I got plenty more where this came from.#This is 100% real #I fucking wish I was joking

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gabessquishytum · 1 year

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About that inflation ask:

Ok but Hob as a kink creator too, what does he do? What's his specialty?

I'm thinking Dream is one of those super popular creators and he's got crazy high standards and never does collabs with anyone, so of course Hob doesn't DARE ask, even though he's pretty popular himself. But Dream is secretly wishing he does, because of course he's not going to be the one to reach out first to ask for a Collab, right? Even though he's watched every one of Hob's videos at least 3 times. He's not going to just ask him to do something together. Or is he???

-ps may I request this emoji🌛

Well since two of you want to know... I am cracking my knuckles and getting into this, ok.

I'm very attached to my Bear!Hob agenda, so I'm thinking that's his niche. Gentle dom videos, sexy photo sets, occasional tummy pics... he is widely admired for his lovely body hair and his friendly attitude - despite being a pretty big creator, top 3% on OF kind of thing, he always interacts with his fans.

He and Dream only overlap slightly in the fetish world because Hob occasionally indulges his own kinks and does a feeding video or two. It isn't his main niche, but he gets a lot of traction whenever he does it. He's got a longterm collab going with a creator called Desire who very much likes to tie him up and feed him desserts until he can't breathe. It's sexy, Desire is a very good fuck, and Hob likes dessert and being full. What's not to love?

Dream starts "hatewatching" these videos because Desire is his main rival... that's what he's telling himself anyway. Secretly Dream is drooling over the sight of Hob and his lovely soft skin and thick belly hair. Dream wants to be the one perched on top of Hob’s lap. But there's no way he's going to reach out - absolutely not.

Dream is a Big Name. He only does videos for his own pleasure these days, but they always absolutely blow up (hah hah). There's something about skinny, pale little Dream bloating himself up with air or water (or very memorably, coke and mentos) that drives a certain side of the internet insane.

Hob is on that side of the internet, by the way. Nobody look at his search history. The Dream coke and mentos video is at the top of his bookmarks.

So anyway it turns out that Desire is capable of being nice - they schedule a filming day with Hob, and then oh no!!! they're sick!!!! And they message Dream on Instagram practically begging him to step in. For Hob’s sake.

It's awkward, because of course it is. Hob is so nervous he can't stop talking, Dream is so nervous he can't say a single word. Hob ends up stress eating a bunch of snacks while Dream is chugging down all the free bottles of sparkling water and suddenly... they can't keep their hands off each other.

The amateur-style video is posted a week later and goes viral with people who like that kind of thing. There's something about Dream straddling Hob’s lap, rubbing his little swollen belly against Hob (who is equally if not more full, though it doesn't show quite as much) that makes everyone feral. The shot of Dream coming over Hob’s belly definitely circulates for a while.

(Yes, they go for dinner afterwards. And make out in the taxi after that. Mutual belly rubs are assured. Dating is pretty much inevitable.)

#🌛 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw feederism #ish #the temptation to write this as fic is so strong. we deserve more slightly weird kink in this fandom.#shirt that says talk to me about my dreamling belly kink concepts

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 7 months

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Hello!! i hope you’re having a good day!! I would like to ask for a BG3 matchup, please!! To make it easier for you, I’ve added anything that might be necessary here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-9dv4INxKsRYGLfZR22P7dUNY6gNqXnzEklxj_uxbhw/edit

A/N: Lol, I feel you w/ the undercut thing. If I let all my natural hair grow out, it would be its own situation every morning lol. Because you didn’t specify gender preference, I picked one male and female companion for you.

For you, Google Doc Anon, I think you’d match best with Astarion (Male) and Lae'zel (Female)!

➶ Astarion is an independent person as well. Before he was turned he was a magistrate, a corrupt independent player who was very influential in getting what he wanted done. Of course, after being changed by Cazador, he lost all of his influence but managed to retain his aloofness and ambition. After getting a taste of freedom following 200 years of servitude, he’s insanely stubborn, and very vocal when it comes to voicing his displeasure about doing things. He makes it clear that he’s capable, but his capability is very intertwined with how much he wants to do something, similar to you. He finds such behavior to make sense and has absolutely no problems defending your thought process to anyone who complains.

Granted, due to your shorter stature, he may not take you seriously upon first meeting you (he does make a fair amount of gnome jokes in game), but once he gets to know you, that all changes. He actually really likes your height difference because it makes him feel all the more (dominant lol) in charge for once. And he loves, loves, loves your hair! He can’t see his hair in the mirror, but he likes to imagine it looks as cool as yours. He might even ask for your help dying his hair- of course, you’d have to try the colors first so he could see how they’d look on you before he’d dare try putting them on him, but that’s half the fun, right?

Astarion enjoys the arts. Back as a magistrate, he’d frequent the theater and art shows, get the best-tailored clothes with the fanciest embroidery- anything that crossed art over with luxury, oh boy was he down. He wouldn’t ask you outright, he has his pride, but please please study him and draw him. He hasn’t seen his appearance in so long, and being able to see it through your gifted eyes would be such a marvelous treat. He trusts your craftsmanship 100%.

And he understands your need for alone time. He, despite putting on a good show for everyone, is very drained after a day of ‘performing’. He needs time alone with you, just the two of you being quiet in order to recharge. He also tends to get a bit snippy when overwhelmed emotionally- which makes sense given his history. So don’t fret, he won’t take it personally if you yell or snap at him because you’re feeling overwhelmed so long as you don’t hold it against him when he occasionally does the same.

And while he may be pompous at times, in most cases, it’s because he does have the skills to back it up. All the other times however, it’s good he has you to knock him down a peg, and get him to come back down to reality. You let him know he doesn't have to put on a show for you, he doesn't have to pretend. You love him just as he is. And he loves you just as you are.

💥 Lae’zel is a great match for you because both of you are pragmatic, and disciplined people who do what it takes to accomplish their goals. As you said, you’re an INTP. INTPs tend to search for truth and accuracy, checking situations from multiple logical angles before proceeding. This is very much in tune with several Githyanki principles. However, unlike people who do not take you seriously due to your appearance, Lae’zel takes you as you are, at face value, so long as you’ve proven yourself worthy in your fields, your outer appearance is of no importance to her.

She is much more focused on battle- the art of fighting. So she is very new to many of the artistic expressions you introduce her to. But if you put a lot of time and effort into your work, she appreciates it, not necessarily for how it turns out, but for the dedication you put into it. She also appreciates how instinctively smart you are. Intelligence is a sign of a worthy ally.

She too, is not a fan of large groups, preferring to work by herself or with a few she really trusts. You, of course, are someone she trusts explicitly, so to have you around her doesn’t irritate her the way strangers do. In fact, she seeks out your company as a way to destress from the strife working with strangers causes her.

She understands the need to separate work and social life now that she’s started developing a social life of her own. She respects your boundaries when you ask for time alone to work and does not worry about your loyalty or intentions.

You are hers. You have said as much. And she is yours. She has said as much. No amount of time spent apart could possibly change that.

#baldurs gate imagine #baldurs gate x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 imagine #baldurs gate matchups #bg3 imagines #bg3 astarion x reader #bg3 lae'zel x reader #lae'zel imagine #lae'zel x reader #astarion imagine #astarion x reader #bg3 #bg3 matchups #matchups

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ditzydreamsss · 7 months

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Scu X Murder Drones au

because yes. shove my two hyperfixations together :D

-- Charlie and Condi are disassembly drones.

-- Grizzly and Bizly are worker drones.

-- Schlatt is a human.

-- Charlie's lights are greenish yellow. Some slime got into his system and it never got out.

-- Bizly used to get bullied because he has robot cat ears and tail.

-- That changed when Grizzly said "fuck it" and got affected with Absolute Power. The bullying stopped because there wasn't any anymore!

-- Oh and Grizzly also used to get bullied. Because he's the anime kid with the cat boy.

-- Bizly can fight if he needs to. Bizly and Grizzly just kinda go along with what the other is doing. Want to threaten that one homophobic bully? Sure!

-- Bizly actually hated Charlie when they first met. Charlie may or may not have killed Beewee, Bizly's (robot) dog beyond repair. Charlie felt really bad and tried to fix Beewee but failed. He made a lil glooper instead and gifted it to Bizly. They named it Slmccl.

-- Charlie's "assert dominance, talk later" kind of murder bot. Was. He got a lot better after meeting Grizzly and especially Bizly.

-- Condi's more quiet. He prefers to stay behind the scenes. Kind of like a second voice to Charlie. But he can and will find all your social media, search history, and everything else and mercilessly bully you on the internet then find you in your bed 3 am at night , wake you up by grabbing you and shooting up 300 feet in the air and break your fingers slowly and let you bleed out and finally kill you by the impact of the fall with absolutely no remorse if you say something bad and false about Charlie, or anyone else he loves. Like you can say Charlie's terrifying, insane even. But if you say that Charlie's puns are actually shit and insult him on the fact that he wears glasses, there will be trouble.

hyperfixation faded, it's all scu now. that won't stop me from finishing this

-- You know the light that freezes robots from ep6? Schlatt wears a helmet with ram horns and the horns can flash. He froze the council many times but never seriously damaged them. They're kind of at a stalemate.

I lied. I don't think I'm ever going to finish this rant so I'll just post it now :'D

#slimecicle cinematic universe #scu #murder drones #cat bizly #ditzy scu corner #kind of

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donnerpartyofone · 2 months

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I feel like there's an epidemic of businesses trying to make customers and applicants do free data entry for them and it's driving me crazy.

I have complained many times about how seeing a doctor now involves checking in online, and then entering duplicate information into something else when you check in physically, and then answering duplicate questions once you're actually inside the exam room. Sometimes somebody addresses this in a humane way: "Sorry, we're using a new CMS and we have to do all this stuff from scratch," or "Sorry, we have to use these three different systems and they don't communicate with each other." Last time I went I did all this like research into my past appointments because I never ever remember off the cuff exactly what day I had this or that procedure, and I had every impression that the clinic was dependent on me to have all my medical records memorized...so I got in there and started rattling off information, and the nurse asked "When was your last mammogram?", and I gave her the date, and she looked at her monitor and said, "...yup, there it is!" Like WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT, IF IT WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU WHY ARE YOU QUIZZING ME ABOUT THIS, WHY IS THIS A TEST???

I actually asked about redundant check-in procedures on Quora of all places, figuring there had to be a few cantankerous cranks on there who could at least try to explain this to me, but there were absolutely no takers at all. As far as I can see, literally no one knows why this is happening, it's just The Way It Is.

But anyway. Now I'm having this experience with job applications where they request that you upload files for your resume and cover letter in specific formats...and then they direct you to this interface where you are made to transcribe every detail from the resume you just provided by hand, one field at a time. I've been confronted with this insanity when applying for jobs whose wages weren't even worth the mind-numbing exercise of the application process. And actually this is part of my point: Data entry is a JOB. I have had this job. I was paid to examine, reformat, and transcribe data, and upload it to a database for my company to search and cross-reference in the future. If you are an employer and you absolutely require BOTH a pdf of my resume and cover letter that a human being can read and evaluate, AND each piece of data from those documents individually entered into your database for some other form of storage and review, then it is seriously fucking Up to You to pay some wage slave to enter the data. I'm looking for a job. I'm not going to do a job for you for fucking free, in order to become eligible for a job that you might consider paying me for later. Like please don't call me a fucking idiot to my face--or at least, if it's the database part that's the most important thing to you, do not also require me to create a nicely-formatted document containing my history and intentions. Let's just get right to the forced data entry part, let's start this awful relationship from a place of honesty at the very fucking least.

N.B. I realize that there are multiple reasons an employer would do this to a person, ranging from algorithmic candidate-sorting to just having outdated-ass job site shit in place that they don't feel like reviewing or revising. I don't really care why it's happening, I just hate that it is. Recently I tried to apply for some $15/hr part-time job at a local museum that a caveman could do, and I stopped cold when I realized I had to transcribe every detail of the documents I just gave them into this bullshit backend website that looked like it was about a thousand years old. No Thank You. Currently I'm all worked up because I just applied to work at a hip, culty, local theater, and I was shocked that after completing the totally normal application routine, I received an automated email directing me to "complete your profile" as "an important part of the hiring process" on the website of the company they're outsourcing all their HR and billing stuff to. And I go look at the profile thingy, and of course it's just this needlessly complicated interface where I can individually enter each and every piece of information that I just provided in my resume--no more, no less. The theater has exactly two locations and is kind of a niche operation and it is absolutely crazy to me that they think they need to pay for this extra layer of stupidly bloated and redundant "talent acquisition" processing when they're hiring for like two or three basic ass hourly roles where half the question is going to be "have you done this normal shit before" and half will be "can we stand your personality". Nobody needs this garbage at all, least of all ME.

#there is some stuff out there that doesn't directly hurt anybody but that should be illegal anyway

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comphy-and-cozy · 2 years

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A Night in Paris

Pairing: Top Gun pilot!JT Compher x Reader (f) x Top Gun pilot!Tyson Jost

Summary: Anything can happen on a Friday night at the Hard Deck. When you run into some old friends in search of a night to remember, you just might end up getting exactly what you wished for.

Word Count: 10.6K

Author’s Note: I’m… speechless. I’ve labeled other fics as ‘the filthiest thing I’ve ever written’ but this time I mean it. @jostystyles inserted the idea of hockey pilots into my head and I immediately went insane and have been ever since. So, here we are, 10K words of filth later, and I’ve written it for Emmie’s 2.6k challenge! My song was “Bad Habit” by Steve Lacy. Side note: Definitely do not need to be a Top Gun fan to enjoy this!

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Threesome (MFM), alcohol use/mention, kind of a medium burn?, swearing, light objectification of reader, oral sex (m + f receiving), unprotected sex, choking, spitting, swallowing, light degradation/name calling, creampie, absolutely filthy dirty talk.

NHL Masterlist

Friday nights in San Diego aren’t quite as vibrant as in LA, or as posh as in NYC, but there certainly is no shortage of activity on a warm spring evening.

Confidence flows through you in waves, brewing from the moment you opened up your closet doors in search of the perfect bombshell outfit. A touch of makeup, a good push-up bra, and a few spritzes of your favorite perfume seal the deal. Simply put: you look good, and you know it.

After the week you’d had, it felt all too good to get dolled up and let loose, determined to unwind. In an ideal world, it’d be at the hands of a beefy naval officer, but you’d accept some free drinks, shitty pickup lines, and the black wand in your nightstand drawer if necessary. Of course, there was no better place to do that than the Hard Deck, crawling with fit naval officers and promises of a night spent horizontal.

Walking through the familiar, creaky wooden doors, you’re engulfed with the background buzz of a Bruce Springsteen song amid the loud chatter of a sea of aviators — a telltale sign of a Friday night in San Diego. The bar is crowded, but not so crowded that you can’t easily sneak through the throng of people, aiming for a section of the bar that looks somewhat less congested. Debauchery and the scent of hops floats through the air, raucous laughter echoing off of the nautical rope and netting hanging from the ceiling.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” a voice sounds from behind you, followed quickly by a low whistle. “God damn.”

You’d know that voice anywhere.

“Jost,” you greet as you turn, far more intrigued by the prospect than you are at getting a drink. If history is to repeat itself, you have a feeling there’ll be one in your hand sooner rather than later; after all, Tyson Jost is a creature of habit. Your eyes flash to the name on his crisp uniform, then glance up to meet his gaze. “Or should I say, Rainbow?”

“Whatever’s easiest to moan when I’ve got you spread out and cryin’ out beneath me.”

You can’t help the amused smile that forms on your face, almost taken aback by his forward nature. Almost, but not quite.

“Now, now, Rainbow, that’s no way to speak to a lady,” cuts in another deep voice behind him. Your eyes flick to the redhead who flanks his friend, thick auburn mustache resting above his lip. “Hiya, darlin’.”

“Nice to see you, Compher.”

“Pleasure’s always mine,” he replies, smugness oozing from his figure that leans lazily against the wooden beam beside him. His eyes trail shamelessly down your body, admiring the black satin of the lace corset you’re wearing, sheer in all the right places, no doubt admiring what it would look like without the skin-tight jeans you’re wearing.

Tyson scoffs. “You wouldn’t be calling her a lady if you heard the things she’s said to me.”

JT’s eyebrow raises quizzically. “You told me.”

“Kissing and telling, are we, Jost?”

Shrugging sheepishly, Tyson sends you an apologetic glance. “Sorry, sweetheart. Couldn’t help myself.”

“Considering you two share one single brain cell, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Can you blame me for telling him after last time?” presses the brunette, his tone in disbelief.

You hum, the memory of his lips on your skin and hot words whispered in your ear flashing through your mind, and you resist the urge to shiver. Let’s get weird. “With how good I am with my mouth, no, I can’t say I do.”

Your words take JT by surprise, who coughs mid-sip into his beer. His eyes glitter in your direction as he recovers, intrigued by your cheek. Blinking prettily, you hold his gaze for just long enough to see if he’ll squirm.

He doesn’t.

“Haven’t seen you here in awhile, sweetheart,” Tyson says, breaking both your eye contact with JT and the moment.

Your eyes flick to his brown ones, warm like cinnamon. Beside you, you can still feel the heat of JT’s eyes on you, burning against your body where you know his gaze is trailing. “I’ve been busy.”

He ignores your statement, pressing to continue, “S’like you knew we’d be here.”

“You’re always here, Jost.”

He hums, then gestures to you. “So you wore this on purpose, huh? Wanted to grab our attention with this skimpy little thing? You know how much I love you in lace.”

Shrugging, you cast a demure glance over your shoulder at him. “Had a bad week, wanted to find someone to relieve some stress.”

“You have my number, sweetheart,” Tyson winks. “You know I’ll always come when you call. No need to go through the effort to get all dolled up. Though, can’t say I’m complaining.”

It’s almost comical how obvious they’re being, the thinly-veiled puns and innuendos almost acting as foreplay for something you haven’t even agreed to yet. The confidence has always been part of what attracts you to them, their cockiness an unusually appealing trait — because you know that unlike others in their company, their big talk is warranted. And as much as you try to deny it, the confidence sets off the animalistic desire in you. Paired with your stressful week and the night’s unspoken mission to get railed within an inch of your life, you can’t help but feel that fate is intervening, placing two more than viable candidates right in front of you — almost too easy.

With another shrug, you smile back at Tyson. “I thought I’d see who the prospects were. You’re not the only one out there, Jost.”

“But I am the best one.”

“You sure about that?”

“Please,” Tyson scoffs, “take a look around this bar and tell me that any one of these plebeians is gonna show you a better time than me.”

“Who says I don’t want something different?” you ask, eyes flicking briefly to his comrade who definitely notices, smirking in response. Then, shifting the dynamic slightly, you say, “Maybe I want a challenge. Maybe you’re too easy.”

“Too easy? Between the two of us, I’m the one that’s too easy?”

You shrug, accepting what’s meant to be a lighthearted dig as a compliment. “We weren’t debating your preferences.”

JT’s voice cuts through the banter with a cheeky warning to his friend. “Play nice, Rainbow. Everybody knows it’s nice to share your toys.”

Tyson’s eyes find yours, glittering and velvety, a smirk forming on his face at the innuendo. You can’t help but notice the way your skin heats up at the words, a vague promise of what might come if you choose to accept their advances. He leans forward, close enough to have you catching a waft of his cologne, sandalwood and something else that’s equally intoxicating. He knows the game you’re playing, knows that it is just a game and that you’ll be slipping into his car without complaint before the night is over.

“You’re okay with him joining this time, aren’t you, sweetheart? You told me last time how cute you thought he was.”

“Think I used the word ‘smoke show’, actually,” you retort, letting your eyes trail over JT’s thick thighs. The consent is there, enthusiastic, the subtle invitation out in the open for anyone to take.

“You wanna get out of here?”

You mock offense, pressing a hand dramatically to your chest. “What kind of woman do you think I am? I’m not going anywhere with you until you buy me a drink like a proper gentleman. Then we can talk.”

“Okay, deal, a drink,” Tyson agrees, amused by your feigned modesty; you know that behind his light eyes he’s reflecting on his last interaction with you, which you recall was far from ladylike. “How about a round of darts? If we win, you come home with us. And if you win…”

“You make me breakfast in the morning,” you finish for him, a wicked smile on your face. There’s no need to place any bet; they know and you know that despite your ‘hard to get’ facade, you’re going home with them at the end of the night. But, you think to yourself, it doesn’t hurt to play the game, right? “I’m talking the works. Not boxed pancake mix and shitty orange juice.”

Tyson glances at his friend, their eyebrows raised at each other in a this is too good to be true shrug. “Deal. Your order, miss?”

“Cosmopolitan. With Grey Goose or Belvedere, Jost, don’t cheap out on me.”

Tyson nods curtly, making a beeline for the bar with his strict orders. In his absence, JT eyes you warmly over the rim of his beer as he takes a long swig, the amber liquid matching the shade of his mustache a little too perfectly.

“Come sit in my lap, darlin’,” he purrs, extending out a thigh from where he’s leaned back in the wooden chair, scraped from years of use.

You obey, unable to ignore the honey in his voice, slinking out of your seat and closing the small distance between you. His leg is warm against your already warm center as you perch on the firm muscle. An arm slips around your waist under the guise of holding you in place, but it lingers a little too low on your hips to believe it.

“You gonna come home with us tonight?” you feel the ghost of JT’s lips brush over your shoulder blade, feather light, the fringes of his mustache tickling your skin. “Know you know how to handle two at once, don’t you, pretty girl?”

Shifting against his leg, you adjust yourself to accommodate the throb that’s begun in your low abdomen, suddenly scorching hot and needy all over. The rise and fall of his chest behind you has you struggling to breathe, in combination with the way the heat from his hands has your heart fluttering in your chest.

“Have you ever… done… this before? With him?”

A soft chuckle, then a smooth exhale. It’s the first — and only — inkling he’ll get of any nerves, but he appreciates the small glimpse of the real you underneath your confident display. “Shared a girl?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Twice,” he admits. “But never with a girl like you.”

“Which is what, exactly, Tiger?”

He hums. “Different. Captivating.”

“Look at you, Mr. Big Shot who knows how to use a thesaurus.”

His chest rumbles with another chuckle, accepting your jab. It’s incredibly sexy, and, truly, captivating, just like he said, the way you match him step for step, sharp tongue quick to strike back. Instead of engaging in a battle of wits, though, he opts for a different approach.

“Can’t wait to see you all spread out in this lingerie for me,” his voice lowers to a velvety whisper in your ear. “Been dyin’ for a taste of you since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

If you’re taken aback by his forward nature, you don’t show it. “You have, huh?”

“Mmhmm. Was so jealous when ‘Bow got to you first. Nearly fucked my fist raw when he told me about how tight you are.”

The crassness of his words have the pulse between your thighs roaring, aching almost uncomfortably at the promise of what’s to come. Around you, the other patrons continue chattering, laughing, bantering, completely oblivious to the filth emerging from the top-of-the-class Lieutenant’s mouth in the corner of the bar.

“I wish I knew you wanted me,” you murmur, soft, a sharp contrast to the scorching words you’d exchanged up til now.

“Y’never gave me the time of day, sweetheart.”

You hum quietly, ignoring the way your heart thuds in your throat as you approach unfamiliar territory with JT. He adds, “I always thought you were too good for me. You should’ve made a move.”

“You went off to Singapore.”

He’s quiet for a beat, pondering, or maybe reflecting on his deployment. “Hope you’re not just messing with me.”

At his admission, your confidence is at a high, so you mentally shrug and reply, “Feel between my thighs right now and find out if I am.”

Beneath you, JT shifts — in surprise, or in earnest, you aren’t sure. You hear the sharp intake of breath and the heavy pause as your words sink in.

“That an invitation?”

“Are you accepting?”

JT’s large hand nudges your jaw, turning your head to the side to face him. His eyes examine yours, searching for truth or teasing, ready to accept the latter but hoping it’s the former. “Without question, darlin’.”

For the first time, heat blooms in your cheeks at the sincerity of his words. Shyly, you cast your gaze down to avoid the intensity of his eyes.

“Y’feel how hard I already am for you?”

He grunts, followed by a deep chuckle when you shift again in his lap, very intentionally brushing your ass against his groin. And yes, you do feel how hard he is, can feel the way he throbs against the material of his uniform. Another shift of your hips grinds you against him, earning a rough squeeze of the side of your thigh.

“Bet you like takin’ it raw in that little cunt, don’t you? Yeah, I bet you do, little slut.”

You shudder, near ready for him to take you on the pool table just a few feet away. As you open your mouth to reply, maybe even suggest it, Tyson approaches. Smoothly, he sets your drink down on the table beside you, then pushes another beer toward his friend before raising his glass in a toast.

“To a night well spent.”

The three glasses clink loudly and there’s a pause as each of you sip your drink, completing the toast and, by extension, the oath that the night will, in fact, be well spent. The vodka burns your throat — Tyson did deliver on his promise with Grey Goose — and you feel the heat settle into your cheeks.

Licking his lips, Tyson’s eyes flick to JT with a nod. “You want to do the honors, Tiger?”

Slipping off of JT’s lap and feeling instantly cold from the lack of scorching heat, you step aside to let the redhead approach the board, gathering the darts in his hand. With a wink, he easily flicks his wrist, the movement comfortable from years of practice, landing directly in the center of the bullseye.

All of JT’s hit their mark, and while Tyson isn’t quite as successful, they’ve both made more than decent headway toward hitting zero.

Taking the handful of darts from Tyson’s extended hand, you approach the faded line of tape in front of the dart board. You can feel the heat of both of their eyes on your ass, surprised there isn’t drool dripping from each of their mouths. With a perfected pout, you glance over at the redhead, who isn’t quite as familiar with your antics as his curly-headed co-pilot. “Comphy, can you help me?”

A smirk tugs at Tyson’s lips, though he stays quiet as JT saunters up to you, all too eager to take a place behind you, pulling your hips against his own as he murmurs instructions on the proper stance. Naturally, you’re a little dramatic, pressing your ass into his hips a little more than you need to, but the hitch in his throat tells you he doesn’t mind.

“Keep your elbow still, like this, then hinge it to move your forearm,” instructs the redhead, hand pressed gently against your arm. “Release the dart when your wrist is about parallel with your elbow.”

“Like this?”

The expression on JT’s face is priceless when you hit a bullseye, turning to smirk at him.

Tyson guffaws on the barstool beside you, hooting as JT stares in surprise, returning to his beer to nurse his bruised ego.

“Didn’t your co-pilot tell you how he ended paying my tab and a round for the entire bar the first time we met? He tried to hustle me and lost a round of darts.”

“No, he failed to mention that,” JT says with a grimace.

Shrugging, Tyson sends an apologetic glance in JT’s direction, though all three of you know he isn’t really sorry.

Your next two throws are successful, right on JT’s heels in scoring. The round carries on, flirtatious despite the now competitive edge to the conversation.

The game slips by amid some chatter and a brief pause for JT to head to the bar for another round of drinks. No one else is even eyeing the dart board, so the three of you are leisurely in your pace, taking your time to soak in the Friday night feeling, enjoying yourselves even if nothing were to progress past casual conversation amongst friends.

‘You Shook Me All Night Long’ blares through the jukebox in the corner, AC/DC bellowing a harbinger to what is waiting for you after one of you strikes 0 on the scoresheet. Your hips shake to the beat, singing to Tyson and JT into your dart-turned-microphone. They watch you, amused, speechless for once as you perform an impromptu karaoke routine, sure to rub up against each of them albeit briefly.

With a saucy alcohol-infused wink, you line up to throw, the second cosmo causing your dart to hit slightly off your usual target. Your trail behind JT lengthens, but you only smile as you go to collect the darts before handing them off to Tyson.

His next turn puts you in last place, giving JT the opportunity to seal the deal and close out the game on his next turn. Twirling the stem of your drink, you watch as he lines up for his first shot, and you hum thoughtfully.

“What’re you thinking about, pretty girl?” Tyson asks, right on cue.

“Oh, just debating who I want in my throat first.”

JT launches into a choking fit, completely flubbing his toss, the dart landing solidly in the worn wood beside the board. He looks at you darkly, fully aware of your scheme, even more peeved that it worked. With a wink, you allow your eyes to trail blatantly to his groin, imagining all that lies beneath the tan uniform.

“And? What’s the verdict?”

With a smile, you take another sip of your drink. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

JT grimaces, disappointed, though he knew you wouldn’t divulge that information. Not here. Not yet.

Led Zeppelin’s riffs sound from the corner, Tyson eagerly finishing his swig of his drink to offer his hand as ‘Whole Lotta Love’ begins playing. You accept, and before you can process, he’s tugged you into his arms to dance, hands slowing the movement of your hips. To the outside world, it’s harmless, silly dancing fueled by alcohol and a favorite song, but you know better. The heat of his body melds into yours, thickening the already absurd tension in your corner of the bar.

Tyson twists you around so your back is to his front, pulling your hips back against him in a clear invitation to dance on him. Though still conscious that you’re in public, you do, a watered-down version of what you might do if you were back at his place in the privacy of his bedroom. JT’s attention to the board is shot, staring at the way your waist sways against his co-pilot.

Lips ghost over the skin of your shoulder, not kissing, but teasing, tickling your neck before his mouth lands behind your ear. He sings lowly to the song, accentuating in particular the line, ‘I’m gonna give you every inch of my love.’

Giggling, you push him off of you, though you’d be lying if it didn’t spark a fresh throb between your legs and send a wave of heat to your cheeks. JT’s still staring, eyes roving over the lace on your chest, like he suddenly forgot how to play darts.

Needless to say, he��s more than distracted when he takes his final shot, making your victory within arm’s reach.

“I like French toast,” you taunt. “With raspberries and powdered sugar. A Bellini would be nice, but I’d accept a mimosa, too. You got that?”

JT grumbles, returning to the board to hand you the darts. Your final three shots are enough to pass JT’s low score, solidifying both your lead and your win, and with a cheer, you grab your drink and down the rest in celebration.

“A well-deserved win,” JT congratulates you, impressed with your tongue and your skill with a dart, even despite the slight impairment from the alcohol. He raises his glass toward you in a mock salute before clinking it with Tyson’s.

Watching Tyson drain the remainder of his beer, licking the foam off of his upper lip, the air between you suddenly changes, the tension even thicker than it had been before. You swallow thickly, eyes locked with the rich chocolate of his. Anticipation hangs heavily between you, and the invisible surface groans under the weight that JT adds when he sets his drink down with a hopeful smile.

“You about done? Want another round, or want to go home?”

Tyson nods in your direction. “You make the call, sweetheart.”

Your lip slips between your teeth, heart hammering in your chest as your eyes slide from his to JT’s, then back to his. “Take me home, Tyson.”

The brunette nods, his eyes locking wordlessly with his friend.

“Meet you back at your place. M’gonna close our tab,” JT says, understanding Tyson’s glance.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he urges, slipping an arm around your waist as he maneuvers through the crowd.

Outside, without the noisy chatter of the bar, the reality of what will come in the next few hours sinks in. A beachy breeze passes as you step into the parking lot, and you shiver; from the wind, or from the whispered promises of two pilots, you aren’t sure.

“Are you good?” Tyson asks, pausing as you approach the teal blue Bronco, the color as boisterous as its owner. He’s sensed your nerves, mistaken them for hesitation. “We don’t have to… if you don’t want to.”

The warmth of his body against yours is comforting in more ways than one, cool air licking at your arms, and you blink shyly as you glance up at him. His eyes are amorous, looking deep into your own as he searches for a sign of doubt. He’s caught by surprise when you press up on your toes to place a heated kiss against his mouth, instantly igniting the scorching flame that’s been simmering between you all night. Tyson quickly recovers when both hands land on your hips, pulling you tightly against his body with a low sound, halfway between a growl and a moan.

You allow his tongue to flirt with your bottom lip, accepting his familiar taste, this time stained with a pilsner. Your heart beats heavily in your chest as you murmur, “I want to, Tyson.”

He hums against your lips with a wry smile. “Then get in that car so I can get you home and back into my bed.”

Reaching around you, Tyson opens the passenger door and extends his hand to help you step up into the lifted vehicle. Heat settles into your cheeks and between your legs when he slams the door beside you, jogging around to the front as he hauls himself into the driver’s seat.

“Are you good to drive?” you ask him, trying to remember how many drinks he’d had. You’d only had the two drinks, but the thrill and buzz of what lies ahead had you feeling all but drunk.

“All good, sweetheart,” he assures you with a smile. “Tiger and I both took it easy. Wanted to make sure we remember every single second of this.”

Nodding, you shiver at the implication, the anticipation once again settling further into your stomach as he pulls out of the parking lot.

The drive back to his place is familiar, as is his hand that rests on your thigh. Tyson interlaces his fingers with yours, a sweet gesture, when he walks you up the same stone path toward his house, tossing his keys in the same dish by the door. He’s not ceremonious, doesn’t need to be, when he tugs you into his lap after he plops down onto the blue couch in his living room, instantly attaching his lips to yours.

It doesn’t take long for your thighs to find his hips, straddling his lap as you allow the desire that’s been building inside of you all night to lead the way, reveling in the feel of his tongue against yours after so much time.

Tyson’s hands grip your hips, inhaling sharply against your lips. His mouth makes a wet path down your jaw, finding the place on your neck that makes your knees weak, the spot that hasn’t failed to get you naked in his bed during your last three run-ins with him. As he’s sucking a mark into the flesh, tongue hot against your skin, you hear the front door swing open along with the sound of JT’s voice announcing his arrival.

“Started without me, huh?”

“You were taking too long,” Tyson mumbles against your chest, mouthing at the lace hem of your corset along your breast.

JT grumbles, something like a, “bet you didn’t even try to wait,” as you hear him kick off his shoes, tossed carelessly against the hardwood floor. He’s not wrong, but you’re amused at the childish disappointment in his voice.

“Don’t pout, Tiger,” you say, eyes fluttering open to meet JT’s, boring into you. His presence ignites a flutter in your chest, the anticipation that’s been sitting between you all night ready to come to a head. “You want a taste?”

He smirks, nodding, and he steps closer, bending slightly from behind the couch to claim your mouth with his own. The kiss is otherworldly, wings beating in your chest, aided in part by the way that Tyson’s mouth attaches to your nipple. JT tastes of hops with a slight hint of cinnamon, and his lips are plump on your own, slotting perfectly against your mouth. It doesn’t take long for his large hands to find themselves on either side of your face, cupping your jaw posessively while his tongue slips past your lips.

With four large hands on you, you’re in heaven. The two of them massage and grope and squeeze your body, all of it drawing more and more heat between your thighs. You’re pleased to find that they’re both enjoying this as much as you when you place a hand on each of their groins, finding them both already hard and tenting the zipper of their uniforms. The action makes your mouth water, an impatient expectancy coursing through your veins.

It isn’t long before they’re maneuvering you, encouraging you to shift to your hands and knees on the couch. JT sits down beside you, and you glance up at him with wide eyes as your hand eagerly works his zipper down. The redhead aids your movements, lifting his hips and shimmying his jeans off before he helps you tug the waistband of his boxers down, freeing his cock. Your mouth waters, and you lick your lips. He’s beautiful, in every sense of the word, hard and leaking at the tip, and it’s all for you.

Timidly, you wrap your palm around him, hot and heavy in your hand as you stroke him slowly, acclimating to the feeling of him beneath your fingertips. His eyes are warm, watching you with a slow exhale, savoring finally having the feeling of your hands on him.

Tyson, on the other hand, has the zipper of your jeans undone, working the skin tight denim over the curve of your ass before tugging them down your legs. You can feel the heat of his breath on your skin as he drags the material of your panties to the side, painfully slowly, probably to tease himself more than anything else.

“Shit,” he groans. “Almost forgot how pretty this little cunt is.”

“Did you forget how sweet it tastes?”

“Never,” he shoots back. “Go on, pretty girl, show him that thing you do with your tongue.”

You feel his hand trail up the ridges of your spine, and before you can process, your head is being pushed down onto JT’s cock. Despite the surprise, you still take him eagerly into your mouth.

He’s thick, pushing past your lips as your head bobs in a rhythm. Your tongue swirls around his head, teasing as you familiarize yourself with his size, and JT groans when you suck on just the tip. It’s a bit lewd, kneeling at his side while your entire sex is laid bare to Tyson, who’s kneeling behind you and kneading the supple flesh of your ass in his large hands. His mouth soon joins, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the insides of your thighs.

“Could eat this sweet pussy for days,” he mumbles against your skin.

You pull your mouth off of JT’s length for just long enough to quip, “You haven’t even eaten it yet,” before JT’s hand is pushing your head back down. “Didn’t tell you to stop, darlin’. Keep sucking.”

If it was any other man, you’d tell him off in an instant, but the redhead has you under a spell, eager to please and submit to his heady and libertine commands. Obedient, your mouth returns to his length, and you’re rewarded with the feeling of Tyson pressing his tongue flat against your core.

A muffled moan leaves your throat as he reacquaints himself with your pussy, his tongue delving into the depths, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your lower lips. Your mouth matches his, doing your best to keep your practiced tongue in motion despite the pleasure that Tyson is working on your cunt.

“Think she likes your dick, Tiger,” Tyson hums against your core, pausing to sink a finger between your soaked folds, groaning at the way you squeeze just one thick digit. “She’s fucking dripping.”

To affirm his observation, you shake your hips and press your mouth further onto JT’s dick, lowering yourself until he’s brushing against the back of your throat with a groan. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling it out of your face so he can watch the way he disappears between your lips. Another time — maybe later tonight, for all you know — you’d like to truly dedicate yourself to worshipping him the way he deserves, intimately learning every single inch and curve of his cock, but you’re distracted when Tyson adds another finger to your aching hole, the stretch drawing a strangled moan against JT’s length.

“Jesus fuck,” JT grits out, head thrown back against the couch cushion. “M’gonna come if you keep doing that, darlin’.”

Fighting against the urge to collapse forward from the way Tyson’s fingers work your cunt, you press up to kiss JT, tongue tangling with his while your hand continues to stroke him attentively. Softly, you murmur against his lips, “Come in my mouth, J. Want to taste you.”

He groans at your request, hips tightening when your hot mouth resumes its sinful work. Tyson, too, is determined to push you over the cliff, his fingers pumping with vigor, aided by his wet tongue. Your own tongue swipes a few more times over the pulsing vein resting just beneath his head, warranting a long groan and a warm explosion against the back of your throat as JT hits his climax, a string of curses under his breath.

You’re rewarded for your work by Tyson pressing his digits deeper, hooking in just the right way to hit your g-spot, and soon you’re following JT into euphoric oblivion, crying out as you do your best to swallow the salty liquid in your mouth amid your orgasm.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl,” JT groans, watching the way your back inadvertently arches when you come.

“Taste so sweet, like always,” Tyson adds, further accentuating his point when he sticks his wet fingers in his mouth.

JT helps you to sit up, a dopey expression on your face as the dopamine settles into your body.

“Heard how good you were at that,” he winks. “Turns out my co-pilot was right about something for once.”

“You know I’d never lie about something like that,” Tyson says solemnly. It’s only then that you realize he’s still fully clothed, and as you wipe a remaining dribble of cum off of the side of your mouth, you desperately desire to change that.

“Are you gonna take me to bed, or what?”

Your sass earns an amused chuckle from JT, and a sadistic glitter shines in Tyson’s eye as he regards you. Somehow, you know he’s undressing you entirely with his eyes and is envisioning everything he’d like to do to you, and the thought makes your skin hot.

“You know the way, pretty girl,” he says, gesturing with his hands for you to lead the way. You can feel the heat from both of their eyes on you — more specifically, your ass — as you make your way up the stairs and into the door on the left.

The room is the same as the last time you were there, the cluttered desk on your left and dresser along the right wall, a photo of Tyson and JT framed on its surface. His bed is made for once, the knit blanket folded neatly on the end almost enough to make you wonder if a feminine presence had placed it there — if you didn’t know better.

There’s a brief pause, a beat of silence that’s pregnant with anticipation as you turn to the two of them. Your body is hot, has been hot from the moment they both greeted you at the bar, feeling the all-too-familiar throb between your legs that happens whenever the two of them are in proximity.

“Gotta get this off,” JT breaks the silence by stepping forward, reaching behind you to expertly unhook the clips of your corset, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor and leaving you completely bare in front of them. “Wanna see all of you.”

Heat rises into your cheeks as they both drag their eyes along your bare breasts and over the miles of skin you present for them. Tyson smirks, glancing at his friend who is all but mesmerized at the sight of your naked body.

“Told you,” he brags, matter-of-fact. “C’mon, princess, want you to ride me.”

Haphazardly, he tosses the pillows on the bed to the side so he can lay more comfortably on his back. Climbing onto the mattress, you move to straddle him, and his eyes glitter before he’s wagging his finger. “Face Tiger. Don’t want him to miss out on the fun, now, do we?”

Another wave of heat blooms in your cheeks at the sentiment, but you comply with the request, turning around and facing the redhead, who’s still watching you intently. Your legs settle around Tyson’s, sitting back against his erection and savoring the feeling of it pressed up against your ass. JT smirks, eyes trailing slowly down your naked body, unabashedly admiring your curves. Hungry eyes watch your hand grasp Tyson’s length and you shift backwards slightly to line his tip with your core.

Your mouth falls open as you press back onto his cock, eyes fluttering shut as it slips into you inch by inch. You hear JT hum lowly with appreciation when Tyson bottoms out, the neatly trimmed hair at the base of his pelvis tickling your lower lips.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl,” Tyson rasps from behind you. A pleased smile curls upward on your face, his words encouraging you to move your legs to begin an upward rhythm.

JT’s eyes follow the sway of your breasts, mesmerized by your pebbled nipples. His audience creates an additional stream of desire, tapping into your deepest, most vulgar fantasies of being manhandled, enjoyed in all of your beauty for two — or maybe more — lucky men.

Tyson’s hands move to grip your hips, aiding your movements as he watches you bounce on his lap.

“Jesus,” he groans. “This never gets old.”

Determined, you lean forward slightly to simultaneously create a tantalizing view for them each, your breasts pressed together and your ass on full display behind you. While confidence wasn’t always your forte, tonight, you’re glowing, the embers in your belly stoked by the heated coals in JT’s eyes and Tyson’s hands.

“Fuck yeah, baby, ride me,” Tyson mutters, the encouragement enough for you to begin rocking your hips. You begin a slow, hypnotizing rhythm that has Tyson all but salivating as he watches your pussy swallow him whole, engulfed by your tight heat all the while your ass bounces in mesmerizing jiggles.

JT, on the other hand, is enjoying the frontal view of you, watching the lust invade your eyes while your arousal is driven higher with each roll of your hips. He’s tempted to drink the moans that fall from your pretty lips, torn between wanting to stand back to admire the artwork in front of him, and wanting to join the creation himself.

Fortunately for him, it isn’t long before his co-pilot is thinking the same thing.

“Lean back, sweetheart,” Tyson commands you gently. “Let’s give him a better view, yeah?”

Tyson shifts underneath you, tugging you backwards so your back is resting against his chest. His knees beneath your thighs spread your legs wider in a very lewd display, earning a low whistle from the redhead in front of you. His eyes are glued to your center, watching the place where you and Tyson connect. Your cheeks burn, partially from the effort of riding him, but mostly from the heat in JT’s gaze.

“That cunt looks so good stuffed full like that,” he muses. “Can’t wait to put my cock in it.”

“She feels like fuckin’ heaven, Tiger.”

JT grunts, hand moving to leisurely stroke himself, hard again, as he watches his own personal porno unfold before his eyes. Your head spins from the influx of sensations and the heat on your skin, the hands on your waist and the fervor in JT’s eyes nearly enough to set you on fire. Slowly, Tyson punches his hips upward to continue fucking into you, the angle perfect for striking the hot spot deep within your core. You find yourself meeting each of Tyson’s thrusts, desperate for the release his steady rhythm promises.

“Hold still for me for a minute, darlin’,” JT instructs, and your hips falter under his command, pussy fluttering dreamily around Tyson’s length. When JT leans forward to flatten his tongue against your clit, you let out a wail.

Distinctly, you see him spit on the place where your body connects to Tyson’s, and you moan when you feel the saliva sliding over your lips, coating Tyson’s dick. Beneath you, you feel Tyson begin to pump his hips again, pushing back into you while JT watches the two wet liquids combine into a frothy mixture swallowed greedily by your pussy.

“Tiger — JT, please —”

“You want my tongue back on that clit, pretty girl?”

You nod with a whine as Tyson presses into you with a deep thrust, bottoming out with a groan. He continues his movements, steady, while JT adjusts himself between your legs. He spits again, aiding the already absurd slickness, before his tongue flicks your clit.

“Fuck,” you cry out, the sensation of Tyson inside you paired with JT’s wet tongue almost too much to bear — no vibrator could replicate this feeling. “God, don’t stop.”

“Not God, sweetheart, just Tiger,” he winks at you before his tongue is back on you.

“Shit, keep doing that, Tiger,” Tyson groans beneath you, hands gripping tightly onto your hips. “She’s squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight.”

“Yeah? You gonna come with Rainbow’s cock inside you and my tongue on this pretty little clit?” JT asks, attention toward you. You’re a sight to behold, he thinks, with your thighs spread and wet pussy swallowing his best friend’s dick, swollen clit dripping with his saliva.

“Yes, please — please —”

“The lady gets what the lady wants,” he complies, pressing his tongue against you once again. He’s skilled, flicking and sucking with the perfect amount of pressure in tandem with the push of Tyson’s hips, and you come with a resounding cry. Your head falls back as Tyson groans beneath you, holding your waist steady while JT coaxes you through the waves of your orgasm with his tongue.

Dreamily, you blink in your coital haze, unable to stop the movement of your hips, chasing the feeling even as the euphoria slips away almost as quickly as it came.

“Jesus, m’gonna come,” Tyson announces.

“Come inside me, Tyson,” you call with a moan, willing your body to prolong the blissful elation. He feels so good, thrusting beneath you, aided by the slick from your own orgasm. “Please, want you to come.”

JT curses lowly as Tyson lets out a guttural groan when he reaches his own climax, hips stuttering once he’s pressed deep inside you. The warmth of his release splutters against your walls, filling you and earning a soft moan from your lips.

Once Tyson’s caught his breath, his hands grip your hips to gently lift you off of him. Instantly, you can feel a warm glob of cum slipping out of your used cunt, dripping back onto his still-hard dick.

“God fucking damn, what a fucking sight,” JT whistles, squeezing his dick in his palm.

As Tyson shifts out from beneath you, he gently helps you to your back and you sigh contentedly. Your eyes flick to JT’s dick, bobbing freely, and you feel another throb between your thighs, your pussy not ready to be done yet. With a smirk, you spread your legs in a silent invitation.

“Want more already?” he asks, eyes catching your line of sight. His lips curl up into a smirk that matches yours perfectly. “Greedy little whore.”

“You gonna fuck me like one or what?”

The redhead growls at your snark, his big hands gripping your sides to tug you roughly toward the edge of the bed. It’s a display of his physical strength, the military training making it all too easy to manhandle you in a way that has you stifling a moan. With one hand, he holds your thigh open while his other presses the tip of his dick against your opening, collecting all of Tyson’s remaining cum before nudging it back toward your aching hole.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” he mutters, smearing the liquid over your swollen, already sopping lips. His actions earn a fresh flood of wetness to the exact spot where his dick is caressing, and you preen with desire. Beside him, Tyson’s got a hand wrapped around his own dick that’s twitching with interest again at the sight of his own creation, dribbling between your thighs and catching on the head of his best friend’s cock.

JT teases you, prodding gently at your entrance, barely nudging past your folds even as you arch your back to draw him in. You whine, frustrated, glaring at the way he smirks, refusing to give in to what you want.

“You gonna ask nicely, darlin’?”

“Please, JT, want you to fuck me,” you say sweetly, shifting immediately and batting your lashes. “Want that big cock to fill me up.”

He smirks, enjoying the way you stroke his ego and allowing himself to indulge, listening to your agitated whimpers as he continues to prod at your clit. You watch his eyes drop between your legs again, moving his tip to push the latest bit of cum drooling out of your hole. “All this cum won’t stay in this slutty little cunt. Guess I should help push it back in where it belongs, huh?”

Beside you, Tyson nods hungrily and JT hums briefly, barely allowing you the moment to process before he’s pushing into your tight heat. Your head falls back in relief, quickly drawing a moan from you once JT’s snug inside you.

“Even better than I imagined,” he grunts out through a grimace. “Fuck, you feel good, darlin’.”

“Move, JT,” you sigh, then open your eyes to smile sweetly at him. “Please.”

Tyson chuckles. “So polite.”

“You’re lucky I’m dying to fuck this pussy or else I’d be making you beg for me for hours.”

“Guess it’ll have to wait til next time,” you quip back, closing your knees on his hips as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“Not even done and already talking about next time? Greedy girl,” Tyson chirps.

“If you could feel how hard Comphy is inside of me you’d be confident there’ll be a next time too.”

In response to your snark, JT punches his hips forward forcefully, any remaining sass exiting your mouth in a moan. He’s quick to find a brutish rhythm, gripping onto your thighs tightly while his eyes bore into yours. The furious pace is enough to render you speechless, your mouth hanging open as you’re unable to do anything other than take what he’s giving you.

You catch Tyson’s eyes, warm brown of his irises nearly swallowed whole with his lust-blown pupils. His lower lip, now a flushed pink, is tucked between his teeth.

“Do I look good getting fucked like this, T?” you breathe, watching the way his eyes zone in on the way your breasts bounce with each determined thrust.

“Fuck yeah you do, baby,” he groans, stroking himself leisurely. “Look so good takin’ dick like that.”

JT’s hand floats over your collarbone, grabbing your breast and kneading the supple flesh. “Perfect tits you have.”

“Taste good, too,” you shoot back, craning your neck to look back at Tyson expectantly.

He doesn’t need more encouragement than a quirk of your eyebrow to shift so he can scoot closer and wrap his lips around one of your nipples. You moan as he sucks, the additional stimulation driving you wildly close to your third orgasm of the night as JT holds onto his steady pace.

“JT — fuck, don’t stop, I’m gonna come.”

A smirk blooms beneath the thick mustache, amusement written on his handsome face. “Already? Barely fucked you yet, darlin’.”

“Thought you said you were gonna spoil me.”

Tyson glances up at you from his perch at your chest before reaching around your body, hand gliding over your hip to press his finger against your clit. A loud moan sounds from your throat as he circles it teasingly, returning his mouth to continue his work on your breast.

“You want to come?” he breathes.

Before you can even get words out, you’re nodding, tears pricking in your eyes from the buildup of your release. You’re desperate for it, only able to beg. “Please — please.”

“Come, baby,” Tyson murmurs against your chest. “Come all over his cock for me.”

His words are the catalyst for your climax, his permission all you need to let go of the band held tight in your belly. Pleasure shoots through you as your head falls back with a cry. Distantly, through the haze, you can hear a low groan — whether it belongs to JT or Tyson, you aren’t sure. The orgasm pulses through you, even as Tyson removes the pressure of his finger from your clit.

The two pilots admire the sight of you, sprawled on the bed and looking beautifully and thoroughly fucked. Your skin is glowing, hair tousled in that perfect bed head, your eyes lustful as you catch your breath. Groaning softly when JT pulls out, missing him instantly, your eyes close while your heart thumps inside your chest.

Your eyes open when you feel JT nudge the tip of his dick against your face with a cheeky grin. “Gotta clean this up, now, since you made a mess all over it.”

It’s meant to be in jest, a jab at you for your quick reload, but you know he’s more than pleased with himself for making you come so quickly. Biting your lip, you ignore the way your legs shake and move to kneel on the floor in front of him. You allow yourself a moment to admire his dick, glistening with the mixture of yours and Tyson’s cum, and Tyson chuckles beside you. “She’s lookin’ at you like you’re her last meal, man.”

JT responds by carding his fingers through your hair, resting his hand on the back of your head, not pushing, but enough pressure to encourage you to take him into your mouth. With a show, you lick a long stripe up from the base of his dick, collecting some of the cum coating his dick. Tyson whistles when you turn to show him the mixture melting on your tongue before swallowing fully with a moan.

“Yeah? You and me taste pretty good together, don’t we, sweetheart?”

“Why don’t you try for yourself?” you ask, repeating the action to collect another mouthful of cum.

Tyson hums, gripping your jaw to pull your mouth to his, tongue immediately delving between your lips. He groans at the taste, the mixture tangy on his tastebuds, eager for more as he deepens the kiss. Blindly, you reach your hand for JT’s dick, wrapping your fist around it and giving him a stroke while Tyson’s tongue explores your mouth.

“Your hand is nice, but I’m feeling a little deprived here, darlin’,” JT husks beside you. An impatient quip bubbles up in your throat, but Tyson’s mouth is far too tempting to bother. Finally, you tear yourself away from him with one last apologetic kiss and return to your original position in front of JT, looking up at him with your biggest doe eyes.

“What a fuckin’ sight,” he muses, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Always imagined having you on your knees for me.”

“And what is it that I do on my knees for you in your imagination, baby?”

His hand returns to the back of your head with a smirk, inching your mouth onto his dick. “Somethin’ just like that.”

Words are no longer necessary as your mouth envelops him. Your tongue runs alongside his shaft, lips wrapped tightly around him while you focus on his head. Now, you think, is your opportunity to blow his mind — literally — and you decide to take advantage of the time and study each inch of him.

So you do, dragging your tongue down his length, pressing your lips against his hard flesh, savoring the weight of him in your mouth. You explore the sensitive spots, noting which ones make him grunt and twitch in your mouth, throbbing against your tongue. He groans loudly, accompanied by sharp curses from Tyson, when your mouth trails to the base of his dick, dropping to tenderly kiss and lick at his balls. You’d do this for hours, if you could.

“Darlin’, as — fuck — insanely wonderful as you are with that mouth, y’gotta stop. Gotta be inside you.” His voice is deeper, raspy, his pupils blown as he gazes down at you, lips flushed from tucking them between his teeth.

You smile at him, smug, and send a wink to Tyson, who was enjoying your performance almost as much as his copilot. JT’s large hand reaches for yours to help you up to your feet, and you move to lay back on the bed. He watches, hand stroking himself, aided by your saliva.

“Can you flip over for me, sweetheart? Want to watch this ass bounce on my cock.”

Obediently, you shift to your hands and knees, arching your back in a way you know he’d like. It doesn’t take long for him to line back up with your slit, pushing into you again with a grunt.

“So fuckin’ tight, Bow was right.”

Tyson, taking his cue, smirks down at you, enjoying the blissful expression on your face as you’re stretched around JT’s dick. You feel the curl of his fingers wrap around your jaw and he lowers his voice. “You like that, sweetheart? You like takin’ his dick, huh?”

“Y- yes —” you wail, stuttering when JT delivers a particularly hard thrust.

“Yeah? Knew you would, little slut,” he coos. His gaze is hot, eyes ablaze while he licks his lips. You whimper when his thumb trails over your lip, swollen from the kisses and the dicks pushed between them.

Another whimper leaves your throat when he pushes your head back slightly so that he can spit into your open mouth. It’s warm on your tongue that you stick out to show him, his eyes watching it slide down your throat. JT groans behind you, fingers gripping tightly onto your hips as Tyson leans forward to kiss you again. His tongue is hot against yours, probing your mouth while he pulls the moans from your throat.

“Bet you fuckin’ love being between two big dicks, don’t you?” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips.

Your response is a whimper, all words completely void in your mind.

“So brain dead for dick she can’t even talk,” JT teases. Again, meant to be a jab, but honestly, he isn’t wrong.

“Yeah? You like being a pretty little slut, taking both of these cocks, don’t you? Spreadin’ these gorgeous legs for us two pilots?”

Tyson’s words are honeyed, sweet, but the way his hand shifts to wrap around your throat as he reclaims your mouth is anything but. The wet sound of Tyson’s tongue in your mouth is overpowered by the slap of JT’s hips against your ass, clapping rhythmically with his powerful thrusts. You already know you’re going to be aching tomorrow, body nearly pushed to the limit of pleasure.

“You ready for another one, sweetheart?” Tyson asks, standing up and wrapping a hand around himself.

Biting your lip, you nod, looking at him desperately. You don’t know if it’s the way JT’s fucking you, or your inhibitions flying out the window, or maybe you really are just a whore, but suddenly you’re desperate to feel him in your mouth.

Tyson shifts onto his knees in front of you, gently slapping your face with his erection, drawing another moan when JT slows his thrusts down to allow you to enjoy the moment. Your eyes look up into Tyson’s, who’s looking down at you like he might eat you alive, and he grunts when your tongue darts out to flick the tip of his dick.

“Open wide, darlin’,” JT coos behind you.

When you reflect on the night later on, you’ll wonder if they really had studied telepathy or if they were just that in sync with each other from years of drills and missions together. Either way, they’re able to read the other’s eyes with ease, anticipating the other’s next step every time. Seamlessly, Tyson follows his cue, pressing his hips forward until your mouth is full and you’re gagging. He takes his time, building up his pace slowly, until the two of them are thrusting in tandem, making you a literal human spit roast, but you don’t mind in the slightest. You feel so full, so complete with both of them in you, and it’s a sensation you’ve never experienced before. The sound of your slick blurs with the wet sound from your mouth, and you lose yourself in the filthy symphony that fills the room.

It certainly wasn’t what you had in mind when you stepped into the Hard Deck, but with pleasure radiating through your entire body, every nerve and cell in your body buzzing with heat, you can’t bring yourself to complain.

A slight shift of JT’s hips have you pulling your mouth off of Tyson’s dick to moan loudly, your eyes shutting in a moment of pure bliss.

“Fuck, Tiger, right there,” you breathe, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the base of Tyson’s cock to allow yourself a brief reprieve from his onslaught of your throat.

“Ah ah,” JT tsks from behind you, pausing the movement of his hips. You whine, and he slaps your ass in punishment. “I know it feels good, baby, but you gotta keep sucking him, or else you don’t get to come again, okay? If you stop, I stop.”

Your cheeks burn as you glance up at Tyson, who’s smirking far too smugly for your liking. With a motion of his hand, pointing lazily at his own dick, you debate if you should dish out some attitude. But then your pussy throbs around JT, desperate for a release, for him to keep striking the perfect spot deep in your core, and you have no choice. Instead, you opt to roll your eyes, opening your mouth to take Tyson’s length between your lips again.

“Good girl,” comes the praise from JT, along with another slap of his hand against your ass, this time a reward. “Know you like having that cock in your mouth, don’t you?”

Tyson doesn’t allow you the chance to answer, instead pushing his hips forward to render you effectively speechless, gagging on the dick he’s pressed into your throat. He knows you do, though, by the way you eagerly hinge your jaw to accommodate, blinking away the tears at the blunt intrusion. You can’t help your earnest, hungrily sucking on the smooth skin, tongue admiring the firm appendage.

“Make him come with that hot little mouth of yours, darlin’,” is JT’s command, voice ragged at the way you feel around him.

In any other situation, you’d bring a hand up to aid your movements, stroking in unison with your mouth, driving him to insanity. But with the rough way JT is pounding into you, your body can’t hold itself upright on just one arm, so instead you open your mouth wider, jaw aching, with a glance up at Tyson. He takes the hint, pressing a hand to the back of your head as he fucks your mouth, thrusting roughly into your throat the same way he did to your pussy earlier.

Your vision blurs with tears, breathing as steadily as you can to avoid gagging. Soon Tyson’s hand is gripping tightly onto your hair as his hips still with a groan, your lips pressed snugly against the base of his pelvis while he spills into your throat. It’s all you can do not to cough, tears spilling down your cheeks from the effort. Tyson pauses, holding himself in your throat while JT continues to thrust, and it’s the last inch of movement that has you gagging, causing a stream of cum and saliva to spill out of the sides of your mouth. You’re a mess, but you know Tyson wants you like that.

When he finally pulls out, you gasp for air, and Tyson smirks. “God, you look so pretty like this, baby. Turn around and show Tiger.”

Instead of turning, though, JT simply tugs on your hair and pulls you backward, twisting your head with his free hand to kiss you, his hips never faltering in their rhythm.

He hums, licking his lips at the taste of your saliva and Tyson’s cum. “Gorgeous.”

JT releases you, and you fall forward onto your hands again, bracing yourself against his brutal pace. Tyson catches his best friend’s eye, a silent message sent between the two of them.

“You gonna flood that tight little cunt, Comph?”

He grunts in response, and you turn your head to look at him with pleading eyes. “Please, JT, come in me.”

He responds by gripping your hips tighter, his other hand reaching to press your neck down into the mattress as he adjusts to drape himself over your back, his hips pumping at an even deeper angle that has you moaning. His breath is hot in your ear, panting, and you hear him whisper, “Fuckin’ come for me, sweetheart. Want you to cream all over my cock like a good little whore. Gonna fill up this tight little cunt with my cum. Yeah? Would you like that, baby? Gonna make you fuckin’ mine.”

All you can do is whimper, his filthy monologue filling your brain while the force of his thrusts destroy all other thought. He’s hitting spots you didn’t even know existed in you, the sound of his hips slapping crudely against your ass.

“J —” is all that leaves your throat, a hoarse whisper before you’re forced to succumb to what has got to be one of the most powerful orgasms of your life. Your limbs go rigid, the force of the release paralyzing you as it rips through your body.

JT’s hips stutter like he’d barely been hanging on, coming with a shout, pausing deep inside of you. You swear you can feel his cum hitting your insides, warm as it spills into your waiting and eager womb. He’s throbbing against your walls, near enough to send you spiraling into another final euphoric release.

Panting, he slumps against you, and Tyson chuckles observing the scene. Distantly, somewhere miles away, you hear the sound of feet padding on the hardwood floor, the feeling of being alone with JT registering vaguely in your brain. Your body buzzes, vibrating all the way down to your toes.

“Feeling less stressed now, sweetheart?”

Wincing slightly when JT finally sits up and pulls out of you, you nod blissfully. Your eyes are still closed, brain fuzzy as you process his question. “Yup.”

“Told you we’d show you a good time.” Tyson’s voice. Briefly, you wonder if you imagined him leaving the room or if he’d just returned that quickly.

“Never doubted you for… a second,” you say, breathless, rolling over with great effort once JT gently taps your hip.

“Tyson drew you a bubble bath, so I’m gonna help you, okay?” he asks. You open your eyes, vision still slightly blurred, to meet his own. All of the previous lust and heat in them has been completely replaced with care and a rich, warm russet.

“Wh —?”

“He got it going while we were… recovering.” He chuckles, amused at his own choice of words.

“W — why?”

“Darlin’, as incredibly sexy and hot as all of that —” he nods toward the bed, “— was, we definitely used this gorgeous body for all it’s worth, and you need to rest. You’re going to be sore.”

Oh.

Tyson laughs when you mutter, “Worth it,” against JT’s shoulder when he tucks you into his arms, picking you up. He’s warm and sturdy against you as he carries you to the bathroom, setting you gently into the tub that’s filled with warm, bubbly water and —

“Is that lavender?” you ask, the scent taking a moment to register. “Are you serious, Jost?”

JT snorts, laughing that your first real sentence is a jab at Tyson.

“Essential oils are a godsend when I have a hard time sleeping,” he shrugs from his post leaned against the doorframe.

You hum, only then realizing as the water soothes your muscles that JT was unfortunately right and that you are, in fact, already sore. The redhead takes your hand delicately in his own, pulling it toward him to press a kiss against your knuckles in a simple gesture that you’re ashamed to admit has your heart melting. “Rest. We’ll check on you in a little bit, okay?”

Tyson offers a smile and a nod before he turns away to head back into his bedroom, mumbling something about finding pajamas. JT stands up with a grunt, placing a lit candle on the edge of the tub by your feet before he, too, turns to leave.

“JT —”

He turns back, holding your gaze, and you try to say everything in your head without saying any words, unable to form a coherent thought even if you wanted to.

“I know, darlin’. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

Your heart flutters at the thought, and you smile and nod, whispering, “Okay.”

Returning the smile, he goes to close the door, pausing just before he does. With one more glance at you, he adds, “After your homemade french toast.”

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revenant-ao3 · 5 days

Text

The Hounds of Fate - Ch: 3

Read on Ao3: Here

Since he ran away, Shoto grew amiable to the idea that fate was fucking with him around the third time he encountered a random mugging while just walking down the street.

Now he’s positive there’s some higher being pulling the strings to give him a headache. Only, this time it’s not because he walked into an on-going turf war or anything of such nature. Rather, he hasn’t seen a single illegal act since leaving his hideout. No shady drug dealers trying to peddle to middle schoolers. No tweaked-out carjackers. Not even a jaywalker. (Not that he’d do anything about that particular crime. If he called Eraserhead over for that, he’s pretty sure the hero would arrest him on the spot purely on principle.)

For once, he’s looking for crime.

For once, he can’t find any.

He’d say it’s fate’s fickle whims, but he’s pretty sure fate just wants to see him suffer in whatever mild and unobtrusive way it can.

In theory, it was a simple idea. He'll walk around downtown Shinjuku and wait for one of the criminals that like honing in on him like heat-seeking missiles to find him. Then, he'll radio over to Eraserhead that he has a situation on his hands. The pro will show up. The trash will be taken out. Then, he can corner the hero and make his absolutely insane request. An easy night of non-work.

In practice? Well, that's an entirely different story.

The veritable conga line of crooks that felt like testing themselves against his skill has all but vanished tonight. It's a little frustrating. He's pretty sure he hasn't knocked the crime rate down to zero around here. Must be a slow night, he supposes. Of all times, this is perhaps the most inconvenient. Appropriate, given his luck.

Twilight stretches closer and closer to dawn as he prowls across blackened rooftops. He stopped actively looking for crime just after midnight and instead took to the high ground in search of the hero. Far easier said than done. Eraserhead chose wisely with his uniform as spotting him from a distance in the dark is nigh impossible without the help of gadgets or enhanced vision. He feels like he’s playing hide-and-seek with a shadow.

Shoto leans wearily against a large neon sign that’s barely hanging on to life. It advertises a pawn shop that looks more suited for money laundering than any legitimate business, but maybe Shoto's just judgmental. He hadn't spent much time outside of Musutafu's upper-end district. Living in Shinjuku's equivalent of a slum has been eye-opening. A sigh escapes his lips as he gazes fruitlessly across the horizon again, hoping for a glimpse of the lithe hero but knowing he’d sooner see a shooting star through all the smog and light pollution.

Maybe this is a sign. Some divine intervention.

The odds of Eraserhead agreeing to this proposal are so astronomically low that Shoto should consider checking himself into the same hospital his mother’s in for even thinking it might work. Insanity is the only plausible reason he finds himself now sitting on that roof, looking for the hero who threatened to arrest him for vigilantism. Asking said hero for help furthering his not-vigilante career? Absolutely crazy.

And yet, here he is.

Maybe he well and truly cracked from those minor displays of human decency, like the inverse of his mom. Maybe it’s genetic. If he looks into the Himura medical history, he wonders if he'll find a predisposition to lapses in sanity or psychiatric concerns. It'd certainly explain a lot. He finds himself touching the mask where his scar is hidden. With an annoyed sigh, he lets his head fall heavily back against the sign. That momentary burst of inspiration and starry-eyed belief wanes.

“Why am I even here?” he muses aloud to the night sky. Predictably, there is no answer.

I should leave. Go back to the store and mind my own business.

It’d be the smart thing to do; the safe thing. But dissatisfaction curdles his blood at the idea. It reeks of cowardice.

How many other Ishikawa’s are out there, crying for help? How many people can he be saving? How many kids could he protect? If the number is even one, then he has to keep pushing forward regardless of the risk. Becoming sedentary and hiding like a frightened little rat for the rest of his miserable life isn’t an option. When he looks into the future and sees that, he sees someone so pathetic, so worthless that he might as well have never left home.

He’ll just have to be smart about this. Somehow. He’s still ironing out the finer details of his plan, but he’ll need help first.

Help from a hero. Shoto doesn’t even try to contain the derisive scoff. He’d been so confident earlier, but as time ticked by and the night stretched on, he felt less and less certain. Eraserhead has been the exception to the rule so far, but how far does the exception reach? How much faith can he reasonably put in the man before he gets hurt?

The only way to find that out, unfortunately, is to keep testing his luck.

He gets to his feet with a huff and tries to stop overthinking. What he needs is action, not introspection. He has plenty of time to deal with his complicated feelings later.

---

Much to his mounting frustration and uncertainty, he can’t find a convenient reason to call Eraserhead to him. To make things more complicated he doesn’t actually know Eraserhead’s patrol route well enough to find him himself, either. Though, he's also not certain the hero would appreciate him popping up on him uninvited. It feels a bit like crossing an unspoken line, like entering into someone's house uninvited. So, he figures he’ll do the next best thing: Sit in a very obvious location and wait.

It’s not his greatest plan, he admits, but it’s what he’s going with.

He ends up on the same rooftop they met last time. This is the most logical method he can think of to find the man, not counting just calling him on the earpiece, but he doesn’t want to annoy the hero if he’s busy for something trivial. The comm is for emergencies and he’ll respect that. If Eraserhead showed up here the night he fought those goons, then odds are this is in his path. It's unlikely anyone had reported that initial fight, otherwise authorities would have arrived sooner. Or, rather, he hopes that's the case. The more time he spends doing their job for them, the less certain he is about the police's efficiency. Given that he had minimal expectations of them to begin with, they miraculously still managed to limbo under that bar.

Shoto paces atop the roof, eyes darting across the bleak horizon like he'll suddenly develop the ability to see in the dark. The night remains quiet, almost eerily so. He's grown accustomed to falling into near-nightly brawls and listening to the city's raucous residents. They have a degree of life and vigor he's unused to. Music blares from cars with enough bass to rattle the windows of the buildings they pass. People out at all hours, boisterous and chatty. It's so unlike the suburb he comes from. Everything there is neat and quiet and pointedly tame, especially with the hero Endeavor around. Shoto wonders fleetingly if their neighborhood associations are just as exuberant. His own family never bothered to take part. Endeavor hadn't seen a point. All of that's moot now, he guesses. It's not like he'd be able to join even if he wanted to. His residency isn't exactly fixed and he certainly couldn't afford the fee.

He wants to groan, long and loud, at his trailing thoughts. They're useless musings. He should be fine-tuning his talking points that he hopes will convince Eraserhead of the value of his plan. But, it seems like whenever he tries to focus on it, his mind wanders again, too busy looking into the distance for a sign of life to hold on to any actually important thoughts.

There’s still no sign of the hero. Shoto, much to his own surprise and chagrin, is a little worried. It’s ridiculous, he knows. Eraserhead is plenty skilled and experienced. The man took him down with barely a scratch on him. The odds of the crooks in this city besting him are quite low. He’s likely busy or they might be moving parallel to each other. Shinjuku is large enough for Shoto to skate its entire length and never see the hero.

All those reassurances can’t keep a pit from forming in his gut.

For a moment, he bounces on his toes and shakes out his hands to release some of the nervous tension brewing in his chest. Then, he resumes his stride.

Three laps across the roof later and there’s still no sign of Eraserhead. Shoto sighs and settles against the access door, sliding down to sit on the gravelly roof. He hopes the hero shows up soon.

Shoto really would prefer not to be stuck on this roof all night. That’d be an unfortunate use of his time when he could be spending it with Soba or finding a secluded place to practice his quirk. A very secluded, very private, very far-from-Endeavor place. The little bits of training he’s done pale in comparison to what he’s used to. It makes him feel stagnant; like he’s weakening. But, he doesn’t have much choice until he finds said place. It’s not like he can make a glacier in the middle of the city. That’d be a little conspicuous.

Hopefully, Eraserhead will be kind enough to point me in the right direction.

He’s not confident in that, but it’s worth a shot. It’s one reason he wants to speak to the hero. If anyone would know of such a location, it’d be the man who patrols the city for a living.

While he waits, he starts to count the stars. Maybe he’ll find his lucky one.

---

Shoto startles severely when a boot nudges him.

He hadn't even realized he had fallen asleep waiting on that roof until a pressure taps on his calf, jolting him like a bolt of lightning. Being stuck somewhere in the liminal space of dreaming and wakefulness turns him into a creature of pure instinct. For a moment, he doesn't remember where he is or what's going on. All he knows is that he's vulnerable and someone is over him. Like an animal backed into a corner, he lashes out.

He rolls out of the way and smashes a hand against the gravel to throw up a burst of piercing ice.

Nothing comes.

Panic slams into his chest before his sleep-heavy eyes land on the slouching figure before him. Eraserhead’s hair is on end, but his hands are in his pockets. He looks entirely unbothered, as if this is a normal occurrence for him.

Right. Eraserhead.

Shoto breathes heavily for a moment to get his heartbeat under control. Somewhere, in the further reaches of his mind, it occurs to him how very odd it is that he should relax so quickly in the presence of the hero. That goes against his very nature. Like a feral dog being weened into domesticity, repeated and pleasant exposure has been turning him docile. Shoto isn't sure if he's happy about that. It makes him feel exposed. Unsafe. A thought to chew on, he supposes.

Then, once he sludges past that odd tangent and through his sleep-addled fog, it hits him that Eraserhead is here.

He jumps to his feet with fresh determination and takes two steps closer to the hero.

“Train me,” he says, blunt as a brick to the head.

The hero’s hair falls back into place. From the way his goggles shift, Shoto’s pretty sure he raised his eyebrows.

“Hello to you too,” the hero says archly.

Ah, right.

“Hello.” Shoto gives a polite little bow as he speaks. It’s entirely unnecessary and just this side of over-the-top as neither has been formal so far. It gets a snort from the hero. When he straightens up, he speaks in a voice just as demanding as before. “Train me.”

Eraserhead stares at him with a flat look. Shoto stares back, blank mask doing well in depicting his own non-expression. Silence stretches on. If it had been any other duo, Shoto imagines someone would have started feeling awkward at this point. Between them, however, he wouldn’t be surprised if they stood here for hours. Awkward silences didn’t exactly work on either party.

He starts to think that maybe something is wrong when realization hits him.

Right. Manners.

“Please,” he finally adds on. It sounds less like a request and more like a command. Too late to fix his tone, he just grimaces and hopes the hero won't be affronted. There might be weight to some of those passing remarks on his spoiled nature after all. It's something he'd thought was beneath him, but now he's not so sure.

Somehow, that 'request' still prompts Eraserhead into action. The hero just sighs and rolls his shoulder.

“And why would I do that?”

As lackluster as the question comes out, there’s just a mild hint of curiosity lying underneath. Shoto hopes that’s a promising sign. He latches onto it like a lifeline.

One thing he’s noticed about the hero is his concise and brusque disposition. So far, in their interactions, there’s been no social padding or meager attempts at small talk. Every conversation has been practical exchanges, save a few bits of snark. It’s something that Shoto appreciates, as he’s of a similar nature. Though, his side can potentially be attributed to his stunted social life. Regardless of the origin, he likes that he can speak plainly with the hero and not be chided for his lack of awareness. So, he thinks the hero will appreciate his succinct explanations and reasoning.

“Well, it would be the most efficient way for me to get better,” he starts, posture mirroring the other’s easy stance. Old habits keep his spine straight, like his former etiquette teacher is hiding somewhere nearby with a ruler, ready to reprimand him. “You excel in close-quarters combat in a way that I lack. You can also help me deal with my over-reliance on my quirk.”

After he finishes he stares expectantly at the pro. It's always like biting into lemon when he has to ask for help or confront his imperfect nature. Admitting his shortcomings is like taking a direct jab to his pride, but that’s something he can get over. Growth is more important.

Eraserhead tilts his head a little, expression impassive. It’d make Shoto nervous if he weren’t well accustomed to hiding his own thoughts behind a vacant expression. (That’s a lie, he’s still a little on edge.)

“You seem to have been doing just fine without your quirk,” Eraserhead points out, breezing by the other particulars and request.

The hero isn’t wrong by any stretch. Shoto’s been handling himself admirably, given the situation, but he still isn’t satisfied. Anyone with half-decent reflexes and a good enough right hook could have done what he has. After a lifetime of expectations, he can’t let them go so easily. It’s like when he flew from his cage, he dragged it along right behind him.

That's not even to mention that encounter with that group of well-organized thugs that had him on the ropes and a breath away from using his quirk. He wasn’t ready for them or how much better they were than the rest of the rabble he's dealt with. It unnerved him to even think about it. How long can he keep going at this pace before his skills are dulled to blunt edges?

“I’d rather not let myself become complacent,” he says tersely.

Eraserhead examines him for another stretch before huffing.

“You’ve given reasons why you want me to train you. You still haven’t answered why I should.”

That, Shoto fears, is a much harder question to answer. He’s spent scarce enough time around the pro to come up with a concise and compelling argument. The truth of the matter is that he doesn't have a particularly good reason, not one worth the risk to Eraserhead's career. It's a blatantly self-serving proposal. The best he can do is appeal to the man's better nature, whatever that may be. As stated, he knows the man prefers curt answers and direct information. Beyond that, there’s little else he can conjure. The man likes cats and he keeps his word. Not exactly a riveting amount of information to go on. He’s also shown to be more sarcastic than Shoto expected.

While he isn't exactly a paragon of social grace, he knows he's capable of his own brand of sarcasm. It's something that's gotten him into plenty of trouble before. And isn't it common for others to bond over wit and similar senses of humor? Hmm...

“...Because you’re a kind and benevolent hero.”

It comes out so uninspired that it almost impresses Shoto himself. He can’t tell if it amused Eraserhead like he was aiming for, but the man tucks his face further in his scarf for a moment before pushing his goggles up to his forehead and shooting him a look. It's hard to decipher, as most expressions on the hero are. Somewhere between exasperated and just barely homicidal. Shoto is not what one can call an 'Eraserhead Whisperer' but he thinks that might mean Eraserhead found it a little amusing. It's like the man gets annoyed at his own funny bone when it gets hit.

“I’m going to push you off this roof.”

Shoto remains still, relatively certain this is one of those sarcastic moments he was just pondering about.

“That would be illegal,” Shoto says, managing to make the monotone phrase still sound a little cheeky.

That gets him a withering glare.

Shoto is slightly less convinced this is sarcasm now.

“Do you know what else is illegal?” Eraserhead asks. He slows his speech so each word is pulled out and pointed like a knife aiming at the vigilante.

Is this a trick question?

“Murder…?” he states more like a question, as if he's uncertain that murder is really illegal. The look he gets for his less-than-stellar answer has him shuffling a step away from the hero.

“Vigilantism.”

Oh, that again. Shoto rolls his eyes. He is starting to have trouble seeing what the deal is. It’s not like he’s causing any harm. To his knowledge, all those criminals he put down made fine recoveries. Being pushed off a three-story roof seems like the more egregious offense, in his opinion. Heroes and their hypocrisies, he thinks with no real heat. Eraserhead gets a pass this time because Shoto is self-aware enough to know he's being intentionally annoying now.

“...Murder is also illegal,” he says and it comes out both utterly bland and blatantly petulant at the same time.

The man’s eye twitches just a little. He holds up his hand and pinches his fingers together.

“This close. This. Close.”

Shoto squints and leans forward a little to inspect the hand, like he can see his expected lifespan threaded between those calloused fingertips. He frowns.

“...Your fingers are touching, though?”

Eraserhead stares with bloodshot eyes like he can’t believe his absolute misfortune to be stuck in this conversation. He drops his head in his hand and groans. If Shoto listens closely enough, he can almost hear the man grumbling to himself.

Must’ve been a long night. Weird, I thought it was calm.

“Are you still on patrol?” Shoto asks, voice back to politely flat. He's willing to step back from his unfortunate attempts at teasing. The hero doesn't look really up for it at the moment, not that he ever does. His head tilts in concern.

Eraserhead glances up, looking nothing short of haggard. Perhaps he's been assigned a rough case or had a grotesque amount of paperwork to do.

“Shift already ended,” he says roughly.

Then, he does something so unexpected, that Shoto can do nothing but stare in silence.

He sits down.

Eraserhead sits on the roof, leaning against the access door like he had done earlier, and relaxes. It’s a show of trust that has Shoto’s stomach flipping. No hero, especially one as vigilant as Eraserhead, would ever put himself in such a disadvantageous position unless they were sure they're safe. He trusts that Shoto wouldn’t hurt him. Not that he couldn’t, that he wouldn’t. Something warm and kind unfurls in his chest.

“So, you’re interested in heroics now,” Eraserhead finally asks, tilting his head back to look up at Shoto.

The vulnerability of the position makes Shoto almost as uncomfortable as the question. Feeling like he has a station of power over the other makes his skin crawl for some odd reason. So, he sits down too.

He thinks over the inquiry for a moment and frowns a little. It wouldn’t be wrong to assume he does have a renewed interest in heroics, but the truth of the matter is far too complicated for a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Yes, he wants to help others and be a hero. No, he doesn’t want to be a licensed pro. Something more like a—

Shoto cuts off that train of thought and mentally groans. Eraserhead is going to give me so much shit for this.

“In a manner of speaking,” he says instead because finding the right words is difficult.

Eraserhead just stares at him, dissecting him as well as he can.

“Clarify,” he commands. It’s calm but forceful. He needs an appropriate response before he’s willing to even consider Shoto’s request.

Words and reasons roll around like loose marbles in Shoto’s head. He struggles to catch them all and place them in order. It’d be so nice if he could look at heroics with the pure, untainted enthusiasm that most civilians have. If he didn’t have memories wrapped in barbed wire strangling each interaction with the profession, things would be so much easier. He tips his head back and looks at the sky as he thinks it over.

“I don’t like the hero commission or how it’s run,” he starts conversationally. “I don’t like most aspects of current hero society, to be quite frank.”

His attention is momentarily caught by the huff that comes from Eraserhead. He tilts his head a bit to look at the hero. There’s no judgment on the man’s face. In fact, he seems to have a sliver of understanding. Somehow, Shoto figured he would. Eraserhead didn’t seem like a conventional hero, avoiding the spotlight and peacocking that most get into the profession for.

“Admittedly, I never gave a fair, unbiased thought to underground heroics.” And isn’t that embarrassing? All his life, Shoto’s been surrounded by nothing but heroics. His entire birth and life revolves around the concept. He’s been taught what it takes to get his license and run an agency. But, in all his years, the very concept of going underground just slipped right by him. The brilliant blaze of Endeavor blinded him and burned the idea of ‘heroes’ into ash for the teen. To see someone new, someone who challenges his entire life’s perspective, is greatly humbling.

“It seems...different. Better,” he decides after a moment of thought.

The him from years ago would balk at the idea of ever admitting that any type of professional heroism is anything but vile. It’s a concept he’s still struggling with, but a small weight drops off his shoulders as he finally speaks his belief into existence.

Eraserhead is quiet as he examines Shoto, sleepy eyes far sharper than they have any right to be.

“Didn’t expect to hear that from you,” he says without any heat.

Shoto hums and looks back at the man who’s given him a reason to start believing that good might still exist in these dreadful times. It's almost unfathomable to acknowledge, but he concedes that maybe, just maybe, the path of heroes isn't beyond saving. It has a long, hard road to go until it's back on track, but Shoto doesn't think the nuclear option is the only option anymore. Just...mostly. Hope is a rare commodity he barely ever got to experience but it seemed to crop up in bundles when he talks to Eraserhead.

“I’ve been given a reason to reconsider my stance as of late,” he says. Then, because he doesn’t want to give the hero too much expectation on how far his perceptions have changed, he tacks on a curt, “At least a little.”

He'd hate for Eraserhead to think that Shoto is suddenly okay with the concept of hero society as a whole or the atrocious way the HPSC is run. That's a can of worms he isn't going to bother touching just yet. It's doubtful the hero wants to hear his particularly sharp take on all of that.

Eraserhead just stares for a moment longer before grunting and looking away. It takes a second but Shoto quickly realizes he never really answered his question.

“What I mean is that, despite my hangups, I want to help people. Properly.” His voice is strong, unwavering. This is a point he isn’t willing to back down from. If Eraserhead declines, he'll be more than disappointed. It'll actually hurt in that softening part of him, but it certainly won't stop him. He'll just have to be craftier. It could be another form of training to get around the erasure hero. If he fails, then he'll know for certain he isn't good enough. But, he isn't going to give up the ghost yet. He isn't down and out until they drag him away.

Shoto didn’t want to be a hero, not since he was a toddler. He didn’t want to follow Endeavor’s plan and give in to that monster. Every little appeasement and concession felt like he was crawling further and further under Endeavor's boot. He’s been so blinded by his hate and hurt that he’s missed the smaller, less-trodden path. The one that can lead him to helping like he wants without giving in to his father’s demands.

“You already know something of agency work. How much do you know about the actual process of getting licensed?” Eraserhead asks, following his train of thought.

The question sends him back to his home where he’d have to sit for droning lessons on the procedures involved with entering the workforce. It's one of his earliest and most oft repeated lessons. He sighs deeply.

“One must obtain a provisional license and graduate from an accredited heroics school with a minimum number of work-study hours completed to be eligible to enter into the profession,” he states blandly as if reading off of a script. This has been drilled into his head so many times he could likely recite the process in his sleep. He stares off into the distance as he drones on, “After both steps are completed, two exams are given: a physical one to test the abilities of the aspiring hero, and a written one to test their knowledge of foundational laws and procedure. A score of eighty-five percent is necessary to pass and obtain an official hero license.”

He finishes and looks back at Eraserhead with an empty expression – not that the hero can see it, but Shoto feels it might be a bit obvious from the absolutely unenthusiastic recount.

The hero stares at him, somewhere between tired and barely impressed.

“I see you’ve done your homework.”

Shoto snorts indelicately. That’s one way of putting it.

“I take it you don’t have a provisional license,” Eraserhead says once it’s clear Shoto isn’t going to say anything.

“No.” Then, after a pause, he continues, “I didn’t go to heroics school either.”

That gets a visibly surprised face from Eraserhead. The hero’s brows climb to his hairline as he looks at Shoto.

“Really?” he asks, not even bothering to mask his disbelief.

It’s understandable, Shoto supposes. He hasn’t exactly given the hero any reason not to think he’s had a formal education in the subject. It's not everyday a random civilian can recite the tenets of procedural justice off the top of their head. (Not that Shoto showed him that particular trick yet, but it can be inferred.)

“Yes,” he confirms.

Eraserhead hums then looks off to the skyline, scratching his chin in thought.

“You can take the equivalency test and get a diploma that way. The test is long, though. About five hundred questions.” The hero grimaces as he finishes, no doubt thinking over how obnoxiously large the test packet must be.

Shoto stares at him for a moment, utterly confused. He’d have to be at least eighteen to take the equivalency test or have an approved age waiver, and even then he’d have to wait until he’s sixteen. Why...

Then, it dawns on him.

Eraserhead thinks I’m older than I am. Oh. Oh, no.

He feels bad, like he’s been purposefully lying to the hero this whole time. Would the hero treat him differently if he knew the truth? The thought makes him grimace and a sick feeling starts roiling inside him. The deception wasn't intentional, honestly. Now that he realizes it, though, he'll have to keep up the ruse. It's the only thing that'll keep him safe. If the hero knew his age - his identity - then Shoto is almost positive the man would turn him over, if not for clout then because it's the 'right thing to do' since he's a minor. He doesn't like lying. He isn't good at lying. If he's lucky, and history shows he's not, then he can just keep on acting the same and Eraserhead simply won't catch on. If there comes a moment where he's compromised, he'll have to make a run for it. Go to another prefecture. Maybe Toyama, there doesn't appear to be any super high-profile or particularly threatening heroes there.

Oh, he hopes it doesn't come to that. Odd as it is to admit, he's grown sort of attached to this shithole of an area. The whole of Shinjuku is quite nice, but Shoto settled into a rather ugly side. He found it has its charms. It'd be a shame to abandon it now.

What is he going to do? Eraserhead thinks he wants to get a license. That...is a safe assumption to have made, given the progress of the conversation, but Shoto can’t for several reasons he would prefer not to divulge. That small weight that fell away is replaced by an overpowering guilt. He tilts his head down, the largest admission of discontent he's willing to give, and thinks.

What the hell do I do?

He doesn’t want to fuck up whatever tentative truce the two have. Eraserhead, Shoto is abashed to say, has become someone he’s started to look up to. There has to be a solution. I just need enough time. A few years and I'll be free of Endeavor. Perhaps I can give him reason enough to believe I can't take the test. I can’t tell him the whole truth but maybe just a little? Just enough.

And so, Shoto, with all the verbal grace and tact bestowed upon him by his father, starts to talk.

“I’m the product of a eugenics project meant to create the perfect quirk,” he says apropos of nothing.

Eraserhead does a violent double-take that’d be funny in any other context. The conversation whiplash hits the hero like several fully loaded freight trains. How it went from a chat about the licensing process to that is well beyond his understanding.

“What?”

It's as articulate as he can manage at the moment. The contrast between his bewildered tone and Shoto's underwhelming inflection is stark.

“My father bought my mother for her quirk. He wanted to create the ultimate quirk; one with no downsides and great power,” he says as if talking about the weather. There's a low undercurrent of anger that bites at the end. Subtlety isn’t a learned skill of his, so he lays his trauma across the table like a losing hand.

The hero opens his mouth and closes it. His brows pinch in thought. Somehow, he looks significantly more tired and yet more awake than moments ago. The reality of this situation finally seems to set in as he sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“There is a lot to unpack here."

Shoto gives him a moment to gather himself. Eraserhead huffs and sits up properly. He’d been tired enough to slide down, nearly laying on the roof, but this info dump straightened him into an alert posture.

“Why did he do that?” he asks, his focus entirely on Shoto.

He can imagine this is what Eraserhead looks like when starting a new case file; intense and completely engaged. This new scrutiny is nearly overwhelming. Shoto imagines the next answer will be sufficiently surprising.

“To beat All Might,” he says, still as indifferent as if making idle smalltalk.

Eraserhead stares at him with an expression so vacant it’s a little worrying. Shoto remains silent and watches as the hero clicks the pieces of his past into place.

“You were created to beat All Might?” he asks incredulously.

Shoto sighs but nods. “That sums it up, yes.”

The hero rubs his hand down his face before looking properly at Shoto, as if trying to see just what it is about him that can possibly compete with the number one hero. He is left severely wanting.

“That is easily one of the stupidest ideas I’ve ever heard,” Eraserhead says with exactly zero delicacy. Shoto would laugh if his life weren't so shit because of it, because he agrees. It is. It's the most idiotic, harebrained scheme his father could have cooked up. He would have had better luck trying to create the future president.

“Tell me about it,” he grouses. The idea that anyone can even touch the hero’s legacy let alone beat him is absurd. He’s more myth than man, at this point. “I’ve spent my entire life being trained for it because I’m ‘the Masterpiece.’”

He spits the title out like it's a piece of rancid meat. If Eraserhead could see his face, he’d see it twisted into absolute contempt. Shoto can't even enjoy a damn museum trip - not that he's allowed to go on them - because just hearing that phrase in the context of a painting triggers a deep-seated anger response. No part of his life was his until he ran away. It was all for Endeavor. All for his goal to surpass All Might. He was nothing more than an object, a means to an end, to the man that should have been his father. But Endeavor didn’t want a son, he wanted a tool. The thought hurt so deeply when it first came to him, that he doubted he’d ever fully recover from it. Being raised as a thing instead of a child ruined him in ways he isn’t sure he can fix.

“I never wanted to be a weapon for him,” he says spitefully, desperately, like he's trying to convince Eraserhead. His fingers claw at the gravel on the roof and his limbs quake with the urge to let his anger and pain explode out in a torrent of ice. “Once I realized that I’d lose my humanity if I stayed, I left.”

He had to. He had to. If he stayed, who knows what would have become of him? How much more dehumanization could he take? How much longer could he handle being a vessel for another man’s dreams before there’s nothing left of himself? Or would he end up just another photo on their shrine? Another broken, failed arts-and-crafts project.

Once he started, it’s like he can’t stop. All this has been building in him, like water against a failing dam. Just a tiny crack and it comes rushing out. His grievances hit the air and it's less about explaining his motives now. He needs understanding.

“My brother died and my mother was driven insane for his ambition,” he says. It comes out angry and flat but there’s a wetness in his eyes that he can do nothing about. He takes a deep breath and forces away that urge.

Eraserhead is silent as a the grave now. His expression is empty but his eyes hold such intensity, they seem but a moment away from glowing. Shoto can't meet that look. He stares at fixed point in the distance, well beyond reality and down the halls of history. The doors there are battered and closed off with police tape.

“I resent him. I resent him and his ego and this damn quirk he gave me. It’s all I am in his eyes,” he finishes, hands shaking in anger and hurt. It's sickly thick, leaving him nearly breathless. The gravel in his right hand is stuck together from the thin layer of ice he accidentally coated them with.

Shoto hates him. He hates him so fucking much that it burns away any good he feels. It’s like an inferno that he can’t escape. He shouldn’t have brought this up because now all he can think of is his father and those hateful blue eyes that look through him like he’s not real. He thinks of his mother and the tears she couldn’t stop shedding. The sobs and screams. The scalding water. He has to pace his breathing before he begins to hyperventilate.

“Is that why you wear that mask everywhere, so he can’t find you?” Eraserhead finally asks. He’d been so quiet that Shoto nearly forgot he was there, too stuck in his thorny thoughts.

Shoto blinks at him, takes a deep breath, counts to four, and lets it out. He slowly unclenches his aching fists, relishing in the slight sting of pain echoing from his abused joints. It helps ground him in the moment.

“Yes,” he says, far calmer sounding than he feels. “I’d rather die than end up back in his clutches. If I have to live in this mask to be free, then I will.”

And he means it. Oh, does he mean it. Suicidal ideation isn't a new concept to him. The thought of what it must be like to die, how pleasant it would be. How he wouldn't mind a beam in the house falling, bringing the roof down on his head. How he sometimes thinks about crossing the rode without looking and hoping. It's always there, in the back of his mind, like a pervasive demon on his shoulder. Even miles and miles away from the hell, it's still there, urging him toward the edges of roofs and giving into l'appel du vide. It isn't rational nor is it healthy, he understands. It's the only thing that kept him from acting on these wretched impulses. Logic dictates that he is suffering from some type of mental disturbance. Therefore, he will not entertain these thoughts, even if every impulse in his body demands otherwise.

He is thankful once more for his mask and disturbingly monotonous voice, because he would rather if Eraserhead didn't realize the depths of that statement. Becoming intimately familiar with the process of involuntary hospitalization isn't on his bucket list. Having a secondhand experience was more than enough for him.

Eraserhead stares at him, searching for something, face still pointedly blank. If he's frustrated at not being able to read Shoto, then he does well in hiding it. He looks away after a moment and rubs his tired eyes.

“Why tell me?” he asks. His voice sounds rough around the edges, worn in a way that goes beyond sleep deprivation.

He looks away, not wanting to see if the hero is disappointed by this admission.

“So you understand why I can’t take that test or get my license,” he says.

There is no response. Shoto isn't sure if that's good or bad yet.

“I...I used to want to be a hero. It was my dream,” he admits softly. It hurts to confront that childish fantasy of his and see where he is now, homeless and on the run with an anger in him that he can't suffocate. “If I take that test, my identity will be revealed and it’ll only be a matter of time until he comes for me.”

He stares into the horizon and tries not to get swallowed by the ghosts of his past. Maybe Eraserhead would reconsider shoving him off the roof. That seems preferable to dealing with all of this. He thinks of asking, maybe phrasing it as a joke, but eventually decides against it. It likely wouldn't be well received.

“And I take it you won’t tell me who your father is?” Eraserhead asks, even though he knows the answer. Shoto just shakes his head. The hero sighs.

“So, you want me to train you so you can continue vigilante-ing.”

Shoto looks at him from the corner of his eye and sees the hero watching him carefully. And here it is.

“That’s not a word,” Shoto points out.

The hero very maturily throws a piece of gravel at him. Shoto dodges and huffs, chest feeling a little less like it’s getting stepped on by an elephant. He isn't sure if that was the planned effect, but he appreciates that casualness regardless. Big emotions and big responses never really sat right with him. “And I’m not—”

“—A vigilante. So you’ve mentioned,” Eraserhead cuts him off with a glance that gave the distinct impression he was rolling his eyes without actually doing so. Shoto takes the opportunity to fling a piece of gravel back at the hero, who catches it without batting an eye. “But you want to become one.”

If it weren’t for the multiple bombshells Shoto just dropped on him, he imagines that the hero would look obnoxiously smug right now. Unfortunately for him, Shoto excels in exceeding social expectations in the most awkward and inconvenient ways possible. It’s hard to say, ‘I was right,’ to the guy who just revealed his horrific childhood trauma to you.

“Possibly,” Shoto reluctantly concedes, because he does not want to give the hero the satisfaction of a full ‘yes’.

Eraserhead still manages a scoff, smirk tucked away behind his scarf.

“Still illegal,” he points out.

Shoto flicks another piece of gravel at him childishly. Eraserhead catches it without even looking.

“So is aiding and abetting an alleged vigilante,” he says, stressing the word to annoy the hero. It’s his turn to catch the gravel that gets flung at his face.

“Don’t you have a random crime to stumble into?” Eraserhead asks, sounding much less serious than he’d like his grumpy face to convey. Definitely sarcasm.

“If you did your job today, then no, I don’t,” Shoto retorts nonchalantly.

It's impressive just how much emotion the hero is capable of putting into the tiniest shifts of his features. With just the slightest slant of his brows and narrowing of his eyes, he levels Shoto with a look that can rival Endeavor's most venomous of glares.

"Don't think I can't strangle you from this distance," Eraserhead says as he lifts his scarf.

Blessed with a brief moment of wisdom, Shoto decides it's time to stop prodding the exhausted man. He raises his hands in surrender like some sort of white flag. As much as he trusts Eraserhead - and that is strange enough for him to admit, trusting a pro - he doesn't want to push his luck too far and genuinely anger the man. Based on their previous encounters, Shoto believes pride isn't a sore point of his, but there are only so many friendly jabs one can take before that spot gets sensitive. The idea of pissing the man off is frightening for several reasons, only some he can equate to Endeavor.

They lapse into familiar silence. Shoto sits for a few moments longer, just enjoying the cool morning air. It's not something he'd ever really been able to do before: stop and smell the roses, so to speak. His life had been scheduled all the way down to what he was allowed to eat. Sitting around and doing nothing is a bizarre luxury, one he thinks many people take for granted. It's...nice. He's still getting used to it, the lack of responsibilities and expectations. There's still a small, waspish voice in the back of his mind that tells him he should be doing something. Time is precious and should not be wasted lazing about. It's gotten easier to quiet that voice, but after a few minutes, he can't keep the anxiety at bay any longer.

He's had his downtime, now he can go do...something. Clean his hideout, maybe. Keep scouting training locations. Exercise. He'd passed some cinderblocks behind a decrepit garage before that he could use as makeshift weights.

With a sigh, he gets up and pats down his clothes. Another habit he hasn't quite broken yet, presentability is fundamental to establishing a strong first impression. As if there's anyone around who'd care that my pants are wrinkled.

As if that were some cue, Eraserhead gets up as well. He's slower to rise, pressing a hand on his knee as he stands up with a grunt, clearly still tired from his shift. Shoto feels bad keeping him here so long when he could be sleeping.

They look at each other for a moment, neither particularly inclined to pleasantries but they've reached the point where it feels a little odd not to at least acknowledge one another upon arrival or departure. Or, it could just be the awkward bonding moment Shoto foisted upon the poor, socially drained man.

“Think it over,” he says as a way of a goodbye. “Please.”

Eraserhead grunts ambiguously, which doesn't raise Shoto's hopes too high. Then something over Shoto’s shoulder catches his attention. His brows knit in concentration.

Shoto turns to look behind him. Nothing is obvious until he looks down. On the sidewalk, just in view of them, is a woman staring up at them. Her expression is hard to make out but it’s very clear she’s looking at them. When she realizes they're looking directly at her, she startles, attention bouncing between the two like a ping pong ball. She seems drawn back to Shoto over and over, like a moth to a light, but glances nervously back at Eraserhead every few moments. A man is beside her, gesturing, but his back is to them so Shoto can’t even begin to guess what he’s saying.

“What?” he asks as he watches the two. Her behavior is odd, yes, but not entirely unexpected from a civilian looking at a hero – even an underground one - and spotting a supposed vigilante is a rare spectacle. It could explain the staring. But, it still rubs Shoto the wrong way. Has he seen her before? He feels like he has.

“I recognize her,” Eraserhead says. From his tone, it’s not entirely good. The fact he hasn’t descended to apprehend her means she isn’t a villain on the loose, but something is still off.

What is it?

“From where?”

Eraserhead grimaces and fixes his goggles into place. Gone is his relaxed slouch and abrasively amicable expression. He's shifted back into 'on duty' mode. It's an almost surprising contrast as Shoto hadn't initially noticed a change in his demeanor until this very moment. “I saved her from a mugging the other day.”

That weird feeling clicks into place.

Wide, amazed eyes flash in his memories.

“That’s why she looks familiar,” he says to himself.

Eraserhead tilts his head questioningly at him.

“I also saved her,” he explains. “A purse snatcher targeted her.”

He remembers how odd it was that she seemed so awed by his simple act, like there was something decidedly divine about him. Thinking back on it now and seeing the way she's staring at him like a hawk makes his skin crawl. The fact that they both saved her doesn’t sit right with him, especially now that she’s here.

“Odd coincidence,” he says in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t think it’s a coincidence at all.

Eraserhead snorts. Shoto gets that familiar feeling the man is judging him again.

“I want to say you’re the last person who should be talking about ‘odd coincidences’, but I agree this time,” he says, almost begrudgingly.

He'd like to defend himself from the toothless jab, but there isn't much he can feasibly say in his defense, so he focuses on the more important part of the situation.

“Think it was a setup?” Shoto asks.

That notion makes him grimace. If it's true then there's something dangerous at play here. It'd be one thing if it only happened to Shoto, but Eraserhead is a pro hero. Involving him adds so many different layers and stakes to the situation that it nearly gives him a headache just thinking about it.

The hero hums in thought.

“Potentially,” Eraserhead says, not wanting to commit to the answer but believing it’s the most likely option.

“But what’s the goal? To get close to us? She isn’t exactly hiding now,” Shoto muses aloud. It doesn’t make sense. If she has an ulterior motive, why end up here? Why risk being seen?

“She do anything to hint at her quirk when you encountered her?” Eraserhead asks, formulating his own theories.

Shoto recounts the moment. She’d been enthusiastic, yes, but that’s it. He hasn’t felt any lingering effects from any type of quirk. There have been no odd symptoms he can recall. Usually, there'd be some sort of sign that he's been affected by a quirk by now. It's been days since their encounter.

“No. She just thanked me,” he finally says after running through the mental checklist of potential signs.

Eraserhead hums, lips downturned in a slight grimace.

“I’ll be back,” he says and launches himself from the roof to swing down in front of her.

Shoto watches from the edge of the building on high alert. That man she’d been talking to is gone. He’d left while they were theorizing, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hiding just out of sight, waiting to ambush them. If she tries anything, I'll turn her into an ice cube, warrant be damned. Granted, he knows Eraserhead doesn't exactly need the backup for one target, but he'd rather be safe than sorry in this unknown situation.

From his angle, it looks like a simple conversation. The woman is wringing her hands and her attention keeps darting up to Shoto. It’s making him exceptionally uneasy. There’s something about her that lights a warning sign in the back of his mind. What does she want with me? And he's certain there's something she wants. He can't imagine she'd be eyeing him up so fervently if there wasn't.

As quickly as the conversation started, it ends and Eraserhead is back on the roof. His expression is grim, displeased with whatever they spoke about.

“She said she noticed us here and wanted to thank us for helping her,” he says blandly, not believing it for a second.

Shoto raises a brow at that. How very convenient that she just so happened to spot them on this roof.

“I’m not very good at reading emotions,” he starts tentatively, “but she seems especially nervous for someone so thankful.”

“Yeah, she does,” Eraserhead says as he eyes the direction the woman hurried off in. Any trace of exhaustion that weighed the pro down evaporated the moment he noticed her. Then, he looks back at Shoto. “I didn’t get a good look at who she was talking to, but I think I can identify her later.”

Either he has a fantastic memory or... Shoto looks more closely at Eraserhead, namely his gear. Does he have cameras in his goggles?

“Those aren’t basic goggles, are they?”

A sly smirk pulls at the hero's lips.

“Wouldn’t be very effective at night if they were.”

Very true. He isn’t sure what sort of support gear he has, especially since his quirk leaves him little in the way of offensive or defensive capabilities. He imagines there must be even more supplementary tools on him.

“Keep your comm on. If you encounter her again, let me know,” Eraserhead says, turning on his heel and heading toward the edge of the roof. This new mystery has lit a fire under him, it seems. Shoto wishes he could help him investigate, but there isn’t much he can offer that wouldn’t hinder the hero’s progress. He'd only just started shadowing his father and begin learning about investigative procedures when he ran away. He'd be about as useful as a wet-nosed intern.

“Alright,” he says, already fitting the piece into his ear. “Stay safe.”

Eraserhead just raises a hand in an unspoken, You too. Then, he’s off.

Shoto turns and starts on his way back to his hideout. It feels like eyes are following him, so he takes a convoluted route that stretches his path out half an hour past his usual time. A little disappointing since he wasn't able to grab those cinderblocks. Ah well, next time, he thinks dryly as he dodges into a crowded street market. It isn't until he slips into a particularly dirty konbini and darts out the employee exit in the back that the feeling of being watched disappears. His hands buzz with nerves.

He checks again to make sure the comm is on, just in case.

#shouto todoroki #shoto todoroki #shota aizawa #aizawa shouta #fanfic #my writing #hounds of fate

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tentacledwizard · 3 months

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Tumblr User tentacledwizard Reviews: National Treasure

[absolutely INEXCUSABLE longpost ahead. Im sorry for being a Nick Cage fan. Not really, though. Also, SPOILERS for the first National Treasure movie.

Hey, everyone, it’s your favorite reviewer t-wiz. Back at it again, posting like 5 days after seeing the actual movie. I know everyone must have been dying of anticipation. Well, so was I. We’re all in the same boat. And that boat is called the Charlotte, which is where the secret lies. That’s right: the movie was National Treasure. So I may get a little overexcited in this review.

Let me set the scene. @cgtg hosted another moviy nite on Friday. This time, the movie was Ghost Town starring Ricky Gervais. …Nobody really enjoyed it. I was only there for the last 20 minutes, and it sure wasn’t as fun as Employee of the Month. So I suggested National Treasure, starring the inimitable Nicolas Cage. The fact that I have a “nick cage” tag on my blog should probably tell you some things. I find his current status fascinating, as his thespian commitment is oft-regarded with snickering. He was fairly restrained in this movie, but still did a good job. I have a bit of a history with this movie. I first put it on as payback for having to see 50 First Dates, and was pleasantly surprised (by, among other things, Riley Poole). So I’m happy I got to see it again for like the third time in one month.

PLOT:

National Treasure is the kid-friendly saga of Benjamin “Ben” Franklin Gates (Nicolas Cage), whose family has been consistently wrapped up in a quest for a stash of treasure. This treasure is a big deal. Pharaohs longed for it. This whole group called the Knights Templar were big Treasure Stash stans. A secret society called the Freemasons are also closely involved. Turns out many of the founding fathers were also Freemasons (I’m pretty sure this is actually true). So of course Kid Ben learns this from his grandpa in a spooky attic, but his dad (Jon Voight) is all “heck nah son, treasure is NOT where it’s at.” And he has a point! The search for the “National Treasure” has clue after clue after clue, and it requires Cage to make some truly insane leaps in logic (especially in the sequel. Yes I have seen both films). But it is consistently entertaining. Don’t worry, I won’t go through the entire plot because that would just be a synopsis.

Okay. So we’ve set up a MacGuffin (the treasure) and Grandpa Gates has given us a clue (“the secret lies with Charlotte”). Time to fast-forward to the frozen North, where Nick Cage’s adult face appears in all its shining glory. So does his hairline. I’m a bit concerned- shouldn’t his face be covered up better? It must be freezing. Oh well. A Bri’ish chap named Ian (Sean Bean = oddly pleasing name) and a former cubicle worker named Riley (Justin Bartha) are also members of the expedition. They unearth a ship called the Charlotte, and inside is a clue that leads to the Declaration of Independence. Ian offers to “borrow” the Declaration. Ben, being a historian, is all “heck nah Ian, stealing important documents is NOT where it’s at.” Ian is all “A fair point, however, consider the following: Gun.” We get some tasty blue and orange color contrasts, the stunning revelation that the Brit was NOT to be trusted, and a badass explosion.

After this, shit gets real. Well, it was real from the start. It simply snowballs in realness throughout the movie. Benjamin and the non-evil expedition member, Riley, take this issue to the FBI, among others. The FBI will also get involved later on in the movie. Ben meets Abigail Chase (Diane Kruger), who is the love interest by way of being blonde and also knowing stuff about American history. Truly a match made in the National Archives. She tries not to laugh at their outrageous story. He patronizes her coin collection. They part ways, sure to meet again.

After failing to convince anyone the Declaration is in danger, Nick, I mean Ben, decides to steal it before Ian’s team can. Turns out stealing important documents is where it’s at.

Resident smartguy Riley tries and fails to talk Ben out of it.

Hey, it’s an important clue, and it has some serious historical value, and Ian has to pay for his perfidy. It’s nice to see/hear Ben and Riley when they’re not obscured by a haze of ice, because Riley is amazing. More at ten. Thus begins DECLARATIONTHEFT 2004, aka Awesome Heist Sequence. I love this scene. We get to see the early-2000’s CGI in all its glory. We get to see Riley and Ben do their thing. (Ben’s thing is history and secret clues. Riley’s is techy stuff.) Also the scene transitions? If I knew a thing about camerawork, I probably wouldn’t even mention this. But hey.

Then the actual theft happens, and it’s pretty neat. Nick must go from National Archives employee to nerdy guy at a gala to, well, Declaration thief. Meanwhile, the British have weapons and they’re not afraid to use them. Kudos to Riley for being the guy in the chair. Double kudos to Abigail for having to put up with the thieves. Triple kudos to the giftshop lady for taking Visa.

Wow, this got long! This is what I get for summarizing the first part of the movie instead of ACTUALLY REVIEWING. Okay, here goes.

REVIEW:

National Treasure, as I’ve said, is important to me. Sure, it seems pretty formulaic, but it’s fun. I got this inexplicable glee out of seeing Nick Cage work out each impossible clue. He is operating on a level we cannot understand. Every little plot-relevant thing about American history I could remember was like a major win for me.

This is an action movie, not a rom-com, so it’s certainly less character-driven than, say, Employee of the Month. The characters tend to be more developed stock characters, so it’s pretty hit-or-miss. For instance, Abigail and Ian are the mandatory Blond Love Interest and British Bad Guy. There’s not much to say about either. However, the Disapproving Parent, FBI Man, and Guy in the Chair were unexpectedly great. Especially that last one.

There are plenty of great scenes: heists, dungeon crawling, tomb raiding, Nick Cage talking. The soundtrack is also good: they’ll have the usual action-adventure track and then give us a sudden drum lick like it’s no big deal. Okay, I admit that this is a very silly movie. And I am probably very silly for writing so much about it. But so what, it’s entertaining. Certainly not as homoerotic as Employee of the Month, but after all this is kid-friendly. As long as you don’t really tear into whether the “treasure” stuff is plausible, this is great to watch!

Not only that, but Nicolas Cage was great to watch. His performance was oddly hypnotic, just as in every other movie he’s ever been in. My father was roasting his appearance for the entire movie, but I won’t get into that whole can of whales. On to the characters part.

CHARACTERS:

Benjamin Franklin Gates (Nicolas Cage). Ben Gates is a dedicated treasure hunter and historian. He supplies a considerable amount of the movie’s intense autism vibes (perhaps I am projecting, considering how much I vibe with this). However, I don’t like how condescending he acts towards Abigail. If I hadn’t seen the sequel, I’d probably still be annoyed by this. Like she’s unwillingly in your getaway van, show her a little courtesy and stop telling her to shut up. I wish he didn’t have so much casual misogyny. :| As I’ve said, Nick Cage was oddly mesmerizing as he did things like splonk off bridges and steal sacred American documents. I cannot think of him as “kinda cute actually” the way I did of Dane Cook, but that’s definitely for the best. Everyone thinks I have a celebrity crush on Cage. They don’t UNDERSTAND.

Uh. Sorry, got off track. So Ben’s character kind of captures the crux of Cageness, in a way. Nobody understands how important this quest is to him, and he has to go by “Paul Brown” to avoid being a laughingstock. Do I see parallels with how Nick Cage changed his name from Coppola to Cage? I mean, they are there, but I’m probably looking into it too much. Side note, I enjoyed Ben’s one brief display of raw hopelessness. It’s the sort of thing you chuckle at when it’s taken out of context, but so are many of Cage’s big movie moments.

Not much else to say about his role in this movie? Nick Cage certainly does “adventure hero” well. His most “Cagey” moment in both movies is absolutely when he faked a drunk argument with Abigail and then screamed “HAGGIS” at a Buckingham Palace guard. But here I am getting ahead of myself. The entire moviy nite group was surely gazing at Nicolas Cage’s hairline and aquiline nose for the entirety of the film. We basked in the sound of his soft ‘s’s and ‘t’s. We tried to parse his historical theories. Truly, his mind contains galaxies. Ben/Nick Cage operates on a whole other level than what we would believe.

(aaa look at him ok im done now)

And with that said, let’s move on to the other man of the hour. That’s right, Riley Poole (Justin Bartha). Man, I love this guy. What can I say, I’m a sucker for sarcastic guys in chairs. Bonus points for nerd glasses. Riley gets all of the points. He is a gem. I’m pretty sure there was a whole article on Medium about his character, so maybe check that out if you are genuinely interested in this thing I’m typing here?

So yeah, Riley is very much the guy in the chair. He provides comic relief, but is also a genius in his own right. Unlike Ben, he never seems to act self-righteous about this. Riley has this great mix of sarcasm and sincerity, and he’s a good foil to Ben/Abigail’s historical ramblings. Autism king tbh. I enjoyed his occasional infodumps.

Riley is also 10/10 in the sequel. We see more of his self-sacrificial side and low self-worth. He’s intelligent and funny, but in the end he just doesn’t see himself as that important. Except he is! He makes things happen! Without him, Ben would never have gotten the Declaration.

And that’s what makes Riley compelling to me. Yes, he is a silly nerd from a silly 2000’s action movie. But you just kind of want to let him know that he deserves better from Ben and everyone who dismisses him. Probably by shaking his shoulders and yelling in his face, since I’m not sure how else one would get it across.

All in all, Riley is our king. And that’s not all there is to say on the matter, but I think I covered most of it. Riley should consume some jams and jellies. He’s earned it.

Dr. Abigail Chase (Diane Kruger): The holy trio of autism is complete? She fills in the “blonde love interest” void, but she does have interests and a personality of her own. Abigail is an archivist at the National Archives, so she’s probably the most qualified to handle the Declaration of Independence.

I, on the other hand, am not qualified to talk about Abigail. I don’t remember much about her, other than the fact I just stated. She’s pretty smart and helps on Ben’s insane treasure quest. She… collects campaign buttons as a hobby? She has an alleged German accent? Yeah, so she’s not a bad character but I don’t have much to say about her. At least not in this movie. A shame. I am glad that she recognizes Ben’s sense of entitlement for what it is, and their relationship over the two movies is reasonably entertaining. Her sibling relationship with Riley is 10/10 as well. So that’s Abigail. We love to see ladies who understand what’s going on!

Ian Howe (Sean Bean): Ah yes, Mandatory British Bad Guy. Now, Ian is a treacherous piece of shit. He has many allies, and is just as obsessed with the treasure as Ben. But where Ben, Riley, and Abigail solve clues based on historical facts, Ian just keeps tags on them and then uses brute force to get what he wants. This is shown particularly well in the Declarationtheft scene- Ben and Riley have this whole heist planned out, whereas Ian’s guys are like “GUN.” As I’ve said, Ian is treacherous. He gets antsy at even the most temporary alliance. He seems to know Ben pretty well, as they played poker in the past. I imagine the movie would have been more yaoiful if they’d had more scenes together.

Patrick Gates (Jon Voight): The dad. Like Riley, he is a foil to Ben’s treasure hunting stuff. Like pretty much everyone, he is also very competent and knows what’s going on. I liked his father-son relationship with Ben, and the way both of them make dubious bluffs in times of crisis. I have some stuff to say about his relationship with his ex-wife in the sequel, but this is a review of the first movie. So anyways, Patrick sees the search for what it probably is: a goose chase. He keeps it real!

Agent Peter Sadusky (Harvey Keitel): Now this is another wise guy. Sadusky is an FBI agent who’s seen it all. He wants to get the Declaration back, and he knows someone has to go to jail for stealing it. And who stole the Declaration??

(Epic scenes ensue.)

Dead Guy: A casualty. Yeah, he DIES. It is so sad. We hardly knew him. Oh wait, we didn’t know him at all. Ever. Welp.

Money-Driven Child: I have no idea where Riley found or hired this kid but he is hilarious. I don’t even know who plays him. Whoever his actor is, I hope he is doing well and avoiding nefarious Brits.

Cashier: She takes Visa. It makes a pretty funny scene.

And that’s a wrap on National Treasure. This film is a national treasure. Great camera work and scene transitions, great action scenes, and an all-around awesome (and very 2000’s) film. I eagerly anticipate the next moviy nite, as it may feature the actor for Jorge (EOTM.) If you made it this far, thank you for reading and I’ll see you approximately Friday. Long live Nicolas Cage.

#nick cage #m writes #moviy nite #Movie #movie review #national treasure #aw yeah

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tenebraevesper · 1 year

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The Sonic Adventure (Story Concept)

To preface, this story is a Fantasy AU based on a dream I had a while ago and I genuinely want to turn into a story because I really loved the premise. I will write down a detailed description of the dream, but I need to describe the setting first. Please note that, if there are inconsistencies, that’s because, again, this story was based on a dream.

The story is set in a fantasy world, something akin to Sonic the The Black Knight, with kingdoms, magic, quests, dragons, etc. The characters present in this story so far are Sonic, Tails, Amy, Knuckles, Shadow and Dr. Eggman. Also, note that in the dream, everything looked like it came out of the Sonic the Hedgehog (IDW) comics (except for one moment), shown in the image above.

The premise of the story is that Sonic, Tails, Amy and Knuckles are adventurers, going on various quests of helping people or seeking treasures, with Sonic seeing himself as the greatest adventurer in existence. Sometimes, he’s accompanied by his friends, sometimes he goes on solo adventures, being a huge thrill seeker.

He and his friends also fight Dr. Eggman whenever he causes trouble. In this story, Dr. Eggman rules over the Eggman Empire, a literal empire populated by his Badniks and he tries to expand it by conquering other kingdoms, but is always foiled by Sonic and co. I guess Metal Sonic, Orbot and Cubot are also present, even though they didn’t appear anywhere in my dream.

As for Shadow... well, let’s just say that his and Sonic’s relationship and dynamic was the main focus of my dream and Sonadow fans will have a field day with this one. It is kind of insane.

To start off, in the dream, it was made clear that Sonic and Shadow have a history together (an iteration of Sonic Adventure 2 happened; don’t ask me how, it just did). However, for some reason, Shadow is depicted as an evil king/warlord with his own kingdom and he and Sonic are considered enemies. He has his own castle and land, and there were even banners with the Black Arms logo, so I assume Shadow has sided with Black Doom and that this is the Black Arms Kingdom.

It is established that Sonic and Shadow have been fighting a lot. Basically, whenever Sonic goes on a solo adventure, expect Shadow to pop up somewhere to fight him. Their constant interactions let them grow closer, where they see each other as rivals and always look forward to their next encounter.

At some point, Sonic learns about a mystical artifact with unknown powers and wants to find it, going on another solo adventure. Shadow also learns that Sonic is trying to find that artifact, so he follows the latter, deciding to make it a competition to see who will find it first; something Sonic agrees on.

The scene cuts to Sonic running through a cave filled with blue crystals, avoiding traps, only to find Shadow at the end of it. Surprised, Sonic observes Shadow as the ebony hedgehog reaches for the artifact, a blue crystal orb on a stone pedestal and places his hand on it, suddenly having a vision.

The vision in question? It is this scene:

I’m not even kidding, the whole dream looked like something from Sonic the Hedgehog (IDW) comics, and when Shadow had his vision, it was literally the cutscene from Sonic the Hedgehog (2006) where Sonic is killed by Mephiles. Oh, and Elise was standing in the background for absolutely no reason. I was legit baffled when I saw that. Also, once the vision ends, the whole sequence goes back to the Sonic IDW art-style.

Shadow is stunned for a moment after having this vision and spots Sonic, turning to his rival and telling him that he’d team up with Sonic because he saw the future and he wants to prevent it from happening (confirming that the artifact they were searching for can show the future to the holder). Sonic is baffled, walking up to the orb and places his own hand on it, getting a vision of himself being killed by Mephiles and then turns to Shadow with a serious look on his expression, nodding in agreement.

Unfortunately, that’s where the dream ends.

However, there are a few interesting details I managed to gather from the dream regarding Sonic and Shadow’s relationship.

As I mentioned above, Sonic is an Adventurer and Shadow is an “Evil King” (even though he doesn’t do anything evil in the dream) and both see each other as rivals. They are also very competitive, with Shadow being more than willing to just leave his kingdom to confront Sonic, while Sonic is okay with derailing the adventure to deal with Shadow.

It is also implied in the dream that, despite being “enemies”, Shadow actually deeply cares about Sonic, but refuses to admit it, and those confrontations are their way of spending time with each other.

While he tells Sonic that the reason he wants to team up with him to save him from his death at Mephiles’ hands is because he wants to be the one to defeat Sonic, it is heavily implied that Shadow is unable to imagine a future where Sonic doesn't exist and it is hinted that Sonic is his only friend.

It was also implied that Shadow is kinda possessive of Sonic, but tries to pass it off as just being part of their dynamic as rivals, but Sonic understands Shadow’s true feelings towards him and doesn’t press the issue. Neither would admit that there’s more to their relationship than it just being a rivalry, but they are also aware that they do have strong feelings towards each other.

In any case, this is all I got. I do really want to eventually expand on this story to at least give it a proper ending, but for now, I’ll be keeping on working on Sonic Cyber Revolution, where Shadow is also kind of a tsundere towards Sonic.

#Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer (Masterlist)

#Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonadow #amy rose #miles tails prower #knuckles the echidna #dr eggman #mephiles the dark

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thegayfromrulid · 1 year

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My Yujikiri Fanfics Thread

I apologize for the wait, my life is insanity @kiri-sleep. Since you didn't really specify genre, I'll try to group things by fanfic theme just in case you have any particular preferences or squicks or absolute no-go's. Does include some more Yujikiri heavy Yujikirisuna and one Kirito is horny for...every cute boy.

If you prefer to just browse, my AO3 is aj_linguistik.

These are just mine since I don't do much reading on my own time, but I encourage other people to make their own posts and/or add their own fics/suggestions to the bottom of this one for a long Yujikiri-themed thread!

Alternate Universe - Possible Within Canon Timeline

Blushing - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; The pair share a bath, and it gets a little flirty/horny. CW for implied sex, nudity. One-shot.

Bold Enough - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kirito works up the nerves to kiss Eugeo. CW drunkenness, dub-con kissing. One-shot.

Montage - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Eugeo deciding why he wants to reject the Piety Module being based around his love for Kirito. One-shot.

A Little Goes a Long Way - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kirito is a bit of a tease, and little kisses can lead to making out. One-shot.

Tomorrow, My Heart - Cis Guy Kirito/Trans Guy Eugeo; Eugeo comes out to Kirito and finds acceptance. He's pining hard for Kirito, and hopes some day he can come clean about this too. One-shot.

What Works - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kirito and Eugeo give relationship advice as, uh, "knowledgable" senpai. One-shot.

Security - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Eugeo doesn't understand what PTSD is, but he does sense that Kirito is suffering with something unpleasant. He does his best to comfort him. CW PTSD symptoms. One-shot.

A Bond Stronger Than Forgetting - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kirito remembers his history with Eugeo. One-shot.

This Will Do - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Eugeo having a silent crush on Kirito, but thinking he has love for someone else. Ambiguous as to who Kirito's affection is for. Treated as unrequited love. One-shot.

A Lover's Gratitude - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kirito muses over why he lied to Eugeo about losing his memories and laments that he never got to tell him the truth. CW angst, the Eugeo does die. One-shot.

Canon Divergence – Eugeo Doesn't Die/Stay Dead

Familiarity Within - Trans Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kirito and Eugeo wind up having sex after being arrested in episode 10 of the anime, and when Eugeo dies and Kirito goes comatose, Alice takes care of him only to realize he's carrying Eugeo's child. The condition winds up waking Kirito up, and Alice sees Kirito's distress over the course of the War of the Underworld missing his lover and decides to plead to the humans of the real world to resurrect Eugeo. CW for LN canon typical war violence, pregnancy, and cheating. Ongoing.

Solitude - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo/Cis Girl Asuna; Eugeo wakes up moments after being killed and is alarmed to see that he's not dead. He quickly realizes that he may be the only person alive in the entire Underworld, as the place is unusually and eerily quiet. He travels around the Underworld in search for answers, completely unaware that from the outside in Rath, Kirito has rebuilt his code and is desperately trying to steal his data from Rath. Completed.

Let's Try GGO - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; When Eugeo arrives in the real world, he's invited to play GGO with Kirito and Sinon. He reacts to Kirito's GGO avatar. One-shot.

Canvas - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kirito and Eugeo both become Integrity Knights as background. This is just a short smut one-shot between the two as knights. CW smut. One-shot.

Just a Touch - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; After his death, Eugeo's data doesn't get completely erased. Rath pieces him back together and asks him to return to the Underworld to try and wake Kirito from his comatose state. CW canon-typical war violence. Complete.

You, Above All Else - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kirito refuses to accept Eugeo's death and makes a deal with Administrator–his allegiance as an Integrity Knight in exchange for bringing Eugeo back from the dead. CW canon-compliant violence. One-shot.

My Mind is on a Different Mission - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Another Eugeo tries out GGO situation, but this time he's very turned on by Kirito's avatar and absolutely does not want to focus on gameplay. CW implied sexual themes. One-shot.

Movie Night 101 - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Eugeo gets to the real world, and Kazuto wants to teach him what the meaning of a movie night is. One-shot.

Behind the Wheel - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Eugeo gets to learn how to drive. It's not great. One-shot.

The Perfect Gift - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kirito gives Eugeo a birthday gift for his first birthday in the real world. One-shot.

Human - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Eugeo develops hanahaki disease within a quest in ALO. Angst with a happy ending. CW hanahaki, thus vomiting/blood. One-shot.

Rebirth - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kazuto works endlessly to resurrect Eugeo from the dead. When he finally achieves his goal, he's overwhelmed with joy. One-shot.

Snow Faeries - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kirito takes Eugeo on an ALO date in the snow. One-shot.

So Long As You're Alive - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Eugeo survives the battle with Administrator, and there is a tender moment between the boys while he's in his weakened state. Listed as platonic, can absolutely be read as ship. CW canon-compliant gore. One-shot.

A Lover's Eyes - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo/Cis Girl Asuna; Star Queen Asuna watches Star King Kirito and his knight Eugeo interact and confronts Kirito to get him to admit he's in love with Eugeo out of a desire for him to be happy. One-shot.

The King's Desire - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Wedding day for Star King Kirito and his beloved knight Eugeo. One-shot.

Alternate Universe – Eugeo is a Real Human

Rosebud - Cis Guy Kirito/Trans Guy Eugeo; Kazuto and Eugeo have been married for a while, and the topic of having children has come up once or twice. Eugeo feels that he's finally ready to try for a baby and medically preps to do so...but finds it difficult to admit this to Kazuto. When his reluctance to admit he stopped HRT winds up with a positive test, the pair have to prepare for their newest addition–with no small amount of help from their loving friends, of course. CW pregnancy. Completed.

Bloom - Cis Guy Kirito/Trans Guy Eugeo; Sequel to Rosebud. Kazuto and Eugeo want another baby, but apparently trying makes it a little more difficult. CW pregnancy, implied sexual themes, motorcycle accident. Ongoing.

Planting Roots - Cis Guy Kirito/Trans Guy Eugeo; in the Rosebud universe, Kazuto and Eugeo and newlyweds. One-shot.

Seedling - Cis Guy Kirito/Trans Guy Eugeo; in the Rosebud universe, when Eugeo first comes out to Kazuto as trans. One-shot.

Pistil - Cis Guy Kirito/Trans Guy Eugeo; in the Rosebud universe, Eugeo thinks about Kazuto's eyes. One-shot.

Cattails - Cis Guy Kirito/Trans Guy Eugeo; in the middle of the Rosebud fic, this details the adoption of Pickles the cat. CW pregnancy, sad unwell kitty. One-shot.

Focus - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Small town boy Eugeo and international student Kazuto get assigned as roommates in college, and it's not long before they hit it off. The only trouble? They have to focus on passing classes in the meantime. CW smut, alcohol/drunkenness. Completed.

Twice the Trouble - Trans Guy Kirito/Trans Guy Eugeo; Crack-fic in which there is a miscommunication and Kazuto and Eugeo both get a successful IVF. The unfortunate result leaves them with a very awkward period where both are pregnant. CW pregnancy. Completed.

Heartstrings - So this one includes some Kirito/Eugeo (both cis), but is more of a gay harem type fic. Kazuto is a member of a band called Heartstrings, and he pretty much sleeps with everyone else in the band. Eugeo joins the band as a technical worker, and Kirito immediately sets his sights on adding him to his list of guys to sleep with. CW sex. So much sex. And naturally drama. Ongoing.

The Honor Student's Mistake - Cis Guy Kirito/Trans Guy Eugeo; Eugeo is the perfect student. Perfect grades, perfect attendance, perfect record. So when fooling around and having sex with his boyfriend after classes end turns into a positive pregnancy test, his perfect record is on the line. He'll do whatever he needs to do in order to make sure his parents keep seeing only that perfect record; well, that is, unless they find out. CW implied underage sex, pregnancy. Ongoing.

The Hero's Fear - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kazuto is afraid of storms. Eugeo is there to comfort him. One-shot.

Rainy Day Date - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; The pair decide to do some baking when stuck at home on a rainy day. One-shot.

Garden of the Heart - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; The pair go on a date at the park. One-shot.

Symphony - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kazuto finally asks Eugeo on a date, and he's nervous. One-shot.

The Stars in His Eyes - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Proposal fluff. One-shot.

Les Fleurs du Mal d'Amour - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Flower shop AU. Yes, this is in English despite the French title. One-shot.

Oasis - Trans Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; A fate encounter on a cruise ship doomed to go down leads to an unlikely international love story. When Kazuto is finally found, he's been separated from Eugeo in a moment when he needs his lover the most. Now readjusting to the shock of being back home after a year lost at sea, Kazuto must handle reporters bothering him and the changes in his own body while only wanting one thing–to be reunited with Eugeo. CW shipwreck, survival themes, pregnancy. Ongoing.

Meaning - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Wedding drabble.

Alternate Universe - Fantasy

Vector's Lost Child - Trans Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Underworld is a real location and not a VR, and the story follows the unfortunate struggles of Kazuto as he navigates being a demigod, falling in love with someone illegally, and the ever-present threat of the gods to his family. CW for implied sexual assault, implied underage sex, a bit of fantasy violence, and pregnancy. Ongoing.

Invitation - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Vampire Eugeo living with his human boyfriend. Eugeo wants to have sex with Kirito, but there's a small, important detail standing in the way. CW implied sex, nudity. One-shot.

Seahorse - Trans Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kazuto falls in love with a handsome merman who he's certain no one will believe is real. But he has to tell this to his friends when two problems suddenly arise–a positive pregnancy test he didn't think was possible, and a missing boyfriend who might be in grave danger for sleeping with a human. CW implied sexual content, pregnancy, gross (somewhat fantastical) medical stuff. Ongoing.

Bliss - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Kirito is entranced by the siren song of merman Eugeo. CW ocean trouble. One-shot.

The Ruby Palace - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Aincrad's beloved Prince Kirito makes some risky decisions that lead to the loyal Knights of the Blood Oath declaring his family unfit to rule Aincrad. As the rest of his family is beheaded for his own treason, Kirito is swept away from the palace and sent into hiding with his loyal knight and bodyguard Eugeo. Their goal is to reclaim Kirito's throne and avenge the royal family, no matter what. CW graphic violence, possible sexual themes. Ongoing.

Alternate Universe - Sci-Fi

Starship Centoria - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; On a deep space vessel, the UW Centoria, Integrity Agents supposedly keep the peace for the residents on the spacecraft. When suspicious individuals break onto the UW Centoria, Eugeo begins to have an odd connection with the famous criminal who keeps crossing his path, and quickly discovers that his enemy may actually be something much more. CW comedic violence, sci-fi violence, body horror/gore, and some sexual themes. Ongoing (close to the end!).

Starfall - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; On floating continents that rest on a starry sea, one boy from Aincrad travels to Underworld to study his strange innate magic. While he's there, he meets a handsome boy named Eugeo, who seems to be willing to work through his strange powers with him patiently. Ongoing.

Meteor Shower - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; Inspiration one-shot for Starfall. Just a piece about a bad crush on a cute Eugeo. One-shot.

Through the Water Wall - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; While wandering through Rulid one day, Eugeo and Alice discover a site with strange people trying to work with a strange object. He gets too close to it and falls through the object, which turns out to be an interdimensional portal. On the other side, he's alarmed to see a modern Rulid unlike the one he just left–and a confusing man who seems to have mixed feelings about him even though they've only just met. CW nudity, plot-relevant suicide. Complete.

Elucidator - Cis Guy Kirito/Trans Guy Eugeo; In a dystopian society, Eugeo is one of the Integrity Officers charged with the duty of protecting Administrator, the dictator ruling over the country. When war breaks out, his main duty is to protect her, but he's incapable of doing so when it's discovered he's with child. In an effort to save his husband from rebels who desire to kill him, Kirito takes Eugeo into hiding. It's only then that they learn the truth about their regime, and they're faced with a decision: save their family or die. CW guns, war violence, pregnancy. Ongoing.

My Partner - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; The squad as mecha pilots. Just some Yujikiri flirting nonsense, though. One-shot.

Alternate Universe - Alicization Lycoris Setting

Reckless Heroics - Cis Guy Kirito/Cis Guy Eugeo; After a battle that gets Kirito injured, Eugeo cares for him and tells him off for being so reckless. One-shot.

#sword art online #sao #sword art online alicization #eugeo #kirito #kirigaya kazuto #eugeo synthesis thirty-two #yujikiri #kiriyuji #CW for individual fics are listed with the fics #aj_linguistik #my fanfiction #i didn't know what you liked so since you said all i copied all of my posted yujikiri and yujikiri heavy poly fics

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