#but it wouldn't have made sense without context

[manyegos]

Originally posted on May 3rd, 2023 This movie made me cry. I posted about it before. It really reflected a deep seated pain I had, a trauma I had as a kid. I love that movies and start help us make sense of things that we all go through but no one dares to speak about it. The movie is heavily inspired by the study by Niobe Way on Boys friendships and crisis of connection, titled "Deep Secrets" . . . I happen to have such book next to me. there is this moment in the life of men, when we all stop having such rich incredibly and intense friendships with one another. . . and even with ourselves. This is not an attack to masculinity or a forced advocation for sensitivity and delicate gentleness of males, but rather a conversation of a deep unspoken pain men carry. The movie does have some "imagery" a little over the top given that these are kids and they are boys, but it is not sexual nor it is intended to be this way. However, in context as a boy growing up with straight friends I can tell and I can remember very well how closed and sensitive we all were and little by little that went dying. At some point because of whatever it was, we wouldn't dare to hug, cuddle or have heart to heart conversations (remind you women do this all the time without being lesbians and gay men do this with their friends without engaging in any sort of sexual activity) We as men, and specially straight men carry this heavy burden of not being able to relieve their pain. It is a crisis. We are emotional animals, we need to touch, we need to feel and cry, and we need to be close to one another. Women have (and even used to have way deeper) friendships, stronger at times than their marriages. It enriches their lives. We men do, but something loose and aloof. We live without really living. There have been times I wish I knew how my buddies felt, I have a friend for example who lose his mom at 20, was a virgin and feeling lonely. I wish He had talked more about his feelings to me, how he felt, that He knew we would be there for him. Men only get "touchy" seek affection, connection, closeness, emotional, they get real when they drink. That's why men drink in my opinion which is dissapointing. While very few have the fortunate luck of having a wife that knows their most sensitive vulnerable side, even there is as if they abnegate everyone that can understand aspects of them than even women can't, but designate their poor wives to assume all these roles (not only their mother, but also an equal male buddy... ) Women unfortunale will never understand what is like to go through life as a man, same as us will never understand what is like to go through life as women (not even if we transition) So why do we live limited lives? why we as men have this strange disconnection with ourselves and lack of deep friendships? anyways, I love this film. _______________________________ Funny Story I used to have a best friend around the age of the characters, we were close like this. At some point because my inner fears of my own sexuality, I treated him so bad so I could push him away. He was my best friend from childhood. I destroyed a possible meaningful friendship and life story. I deeply regret of such. It was one of the worse emotional pains I went through and I caused it because I was afraid our closeness was too gay (he was not gay, and I did not have romantic or sexual feelings for him, I was just deeply scared of his closeness and that He found out there was something broken with me) I wish I could take all of that back.

close (2022) + male intimacy

[moonpie016]

Idk why the last post is labeled as mature. They're just being silly!! ... Anyways.

Uhhhh. So. I just decided to doodle this.

---

---

Context for this: The Sims 4.

Ok more elaboration. As spoken in some random post. I made HMS's house in da Sims.

But, some other stuff just happens. Like, a burglar snuck into the yard, so Soul went to go fight them. Annnd now he's been scared of burglars and screams at everyone occasionally. (He also started two fires before. And has a chicken statue in his room, with a dead fish named Bernard.)

Uhh. Y'know Mind doesn't do much. He hates Heart though. Mostly plays on the computer. Uhhhh. Yeah.

Heart. He brings a guitar with him everywhere. (They all do. They all just share one guitar.) Kinda gloomy, talks to himself, has glasses cus there ain't no blindfold.

They all live on tea and coffee.

Whole is just..there. He's not friends with Heart (for some reason.)

(Heart can also magically get with any random Sim NPC Somehow??? It's happened two times... Both successful.)

Also, there's just a guy in their basement. I hired them a pianist, told him to leave after his glorious performance, but...he didn't. Soo now he lives in the basement (which is blocked off.)

Either everyone's up at 4:00AM bickering or just cooking for whatever reason, or it's just a chill time. Until it isn't and everyone's passed out.

.. almost like a cycle.

No one has a job. And Soul can make drinks. And this one guy he's friends with ALWAYS APPEARS...

---

I think that's all the random rambling I can do. Idk why I decided to do any of this.

But...uhhh. idk. Funny stuff.

(I also made my ocs, but it's been so long since they were mentioned here.)

---

[fractangle]

Meme jacket progress that I completely forgot to post like a month ago:

The Goncharov poster patch is cut out of a t-shirt from @beelzeebub's redbubble, and all the rest are either linocuts I did (top/bottom text, and the shoelaces) or freehand with various levels of planning (most-to-least planned: man door hand hook car door, down with cis bus, "do you like them" text, effervescent snail (yes I'm aware the spiral's backwards)).

As of yet, there are no patches on the front or sleeves, but this will change (ominous).

[flame-of-tar-valon]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by @ferrocyan -- thanks so much!! Most of my writing mutuals have already been tagged in this by someone else -- so if you're seeing this and you haven't been tagged yet, consider this your Call to Adventure!

This WIP is one I wrote the first two chapters of for NaNoWriMo back in 2015, then revived in 2019, and again in 2021, but never made it more than 3 days into. Here's the opening of the prologue:

Once upon a time, there was a darkness. And in that darkness lurked a terrible secret, a secret that would imperil a peace that had reigned over the town of Widowsveil for centuries. The secret was a beast, a power, an omen — the secret was married to the greatest treasure of all of Widowsveil: the Book of Iron.

Nobody remembers where the town of Widowsveil got its name. In fact, all of the origins of Widowsveil were long forgotten, lost to the ruins of the old city of the old nation that had long since fallen into dust by the time the first band of travelers, weary and looking for the crudest shelter, had found themselves among the stones. What was once a night’s shelter became a frequented waypoint, then a bustling market — and then, the first treasure hunters had arrived to pick over the ruins like vultures discovering the carrion of the day.

And one day, they found the Book of Iron.

From that day forward, it was as if a god itself had ascended. The bustling market was supplanted by an equally-bustling church, and the influx of treasure hunters dwindled to a smaller train of curious pilgrims. The road taken by the first travelers to the town of Widowsveil was abandoned as shorter and safer roads were built, leaving Widowsveil perpetually out-of-the-way, left to age and die. 

The decline of Widowsveil may be attributed to the fact that it was, in fact, haunted. But the decline was slow, because the people of Widowsveil were tenacious and capable, and they had spent centuries learning how to dig their roots into the toughest soil and blossom, year after year, despite everything. 

It was particular happenstance that one day, a knife wormed its way into the middle of the road while old Miss Berthe was out to buy food for her chickens. Knives are, perhaps, not strictly sinful — they would be better described as either heretical, portentous, or diabolic, depending on whom one asked. Regardless of the religious terminology, the people of Widowsveil were long familiar with the dangers that came of a knife finding itself in their determinedly peaceful town. They are best left alone — and kept far, far away from the mountain at the heart of the town. But not all townsfolk were equally resolute when faced with such an omen, and thus fled Miss Berthe from the road, screaming as if there had been a murder committed. And, in a way, there had.

It took several days for one of the minor priests, an apprentice exorcist by the name of Mathieu, to convince the town that he had cast out the vindictive spirit lurking within the contraband. The market reopened, and the evil instrument was delivered to the head of the town’s church, Father Nestor.

Perhaps it was mere coincidence that Father Nestor passed away mere days after the discovery. Perhaps it was the shock that unsettled his aging bones — never having had to deal with the purification rites for the presence of a real, flesh-and-blood knife before. Perhaps putting such an emotional toll on someone so infirm was a failing of the townsfolk, and of Mathieu in particular. 

In any case, Mathieu atoned by taking the burden of the knife upon himself. He commissioned chains of the purest metal the town blacksmith could obtain, which would be used to bind the knife around the neck of the imperious statue that sat behind the altar. Mathieu himself used all the knowledge of theology he possessed to carve the correct runes into the blade with the utmost precision, binding in place the evil that all knives contained by nature. The dagger was forgotten there on its perch for several years, as if the statue had absorbed the knife, cleansing it of evil; or, at least, as if the statue’s presence would divert the evil from inflicting calamity upon the town.

Alas, it is one of the first laws — spiritual binding cannot be permanent, unless it be exacted by an eternal light. The darkness shall reach up and claim what is left unattended. 

Some decades later, when all of poor old Miss Berthe’s chickens had long ago perished of age, the purity of the metal chains had tarnished, whether from the ravages of time or from the corrupting influence of so evil an instrument held in such close proximity. The chains finally gave way one cold autumn evening, as the children of Widowsveil gathered for a rehearsal. The town was preparing for the dark season, training their children in the songs that would keep the darkness out of the people’s hearts, just as the lamps kept the darkness out of their homes.

Mathieu — he was old now, too — was running late in packing his things to head to the rehearsal hall. If he had been a bit faster, more punctual, the church would have been empty as the knife slipped free from the weary chain and tumbled to the ground. But Mathieu was there, and he heard the ungodly clatter of iron against stone, and it filled him with dread from head to toe.

But dusk was falling soon, and the children's choir could not wait forever. So Mathieu, arms laden already with sheet music and candles and bells and leather portfolios to distribute, simply added the knife to the pile, somewhere it could not cause any more harm. It had already been exorcised, and the runes on the blade should hold, but Mathieu was not a man to take pointless risks, so he made sure to grip the knife only by its handle, and that only through a layer of cloth, which he resolved to burn as soon as possible — and certainly before nightfall.

[...]

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

I miss main story Sylus so much (;_;)

Don't get me wrong I adore memory Sylus. Soft!Sylus is everything to me. But I have to admit that I really want to see more of the other equally valid and real side of him as well. That being the rough, morally grey crimelord we see during Long Awaited Revelry and in his Anecdote. Apart from Sylus on the job being hot as hell, there is so much about him and his motivations that we don't know yet and that I'm dying to find out.

I will also freely admit that a huge part of the reason for why I fell for Sylus and why he still has me in a chokehold is his complexity, his duality. I like that he is neither devil nor saint. Neither black nor white. Neither red flag nor forest full of green. He is so much more multifaceted and layered. He has real tangible flaws, and is certainly not a harmless cinnamon roll. He is a loverboy, yes, but equally a dangerous criminal whose hands have and will continue to kill others. And this duality is what makes him a great character in my eyes.

Hell, as much as it hurts me to witness, I like that he monumentally fucked up his initial meeting with present MC. And the narrative is very clear on this — his actions towards MC were wrong. He was forceful. He was cruel. Let's not sugarcoat this. Sure, us players know why he went about doing it the way he did and we feel bad for him as a consequence, but that doesn't make what he did in any way right or justifiable. MC was right to feel fear and disgust, and she would've been fully justified in never forgiving him imo. And honestly, I think Sylus would agree. He realizes just how badly he screwed things up, even if it took the harsh but true wake-up call from the shopkeeper to bring him to this realization. And it's a hugely important moment, both for him as a character and for his relationship with MC. Afterwards, he puts in the conscious effort to do better. To be better for her. To make things right. To me, this decision and commitment of his wouldn't have hit nearly as hard or been as meaningful if his prior actions hadn't been what they were. They proved that he is capable of real self reflection and growth. It's a massively important moment in their relationship.

The rocky start to their relationship also makes cards like Razor's Dance so impactful. Same with Goodcat Code and some phone calls and interactions where Sylus' fears and insecurities regarding MC's feelings toward him shine through. With the context of his behavior in LAR, it's completely understandable for him to have these fears. He knows he fucked up. Had he been a cinnamon roll made up of purely green flags, neither his feelings nor MC's would have made sense. Nor would MC's eventual forgiveness, and ability to once more see in him what others cannot, be near as powerful.

I don't know, am I making any sense with this or am I just rambling lol 😅

My point is that I love and appreciate all sides of Sylus. Both good and bad. It's what makes him him. And I would no more want to trade or give up main story Sylus than I would memory Sylus. I want big bad ruthless boss of Onychinus just as much as I want soft loverboy Sylus. They are equally important to Sylus' character. He wouldn't be himself without either. It's a package deal.

Perfect/flawless characters bore me. If Sylus were simply soft and green through and through, I would've lost interest. Honestly, I most likely wouldn't have downloaded the game to begin with. It was the danger mixed in with the comfort that drew me in.

It's like a friend and I have discussed many times — the fact that the hands that have wrought violence and death upon countless people are the very same ones that touch his beloved with such reverence and tenderness, is incredibly hot. Duality ftw.

So needless to say I am waiting with baited breath for the day when we will finally see main story Sylus again. Or for that matter, just a memory of Sylus in boss of Onychinus mode.

🐉❤️ 🐦‍⬛

[weebsinstash]

I wanted to share another piece of American history and also queer history with you guys that I've been thinking about since, what I consider to be the vandalism of "Portrait of Ross in L.A", and also because it is relevant to our current polticial climate, where even the company I currently work for has publicly declared that they will no longer have diversity and inclusion programs

John S. Boskovich was an American homosexual man living in America during the AIDS epidemic of the 80s and 90s. He had a partner, Stephen Earabino. During the epidemic, Earabino contracted AIDS and eventually passed away in 1995.

This was during a time period where the AIDS crisis was being intentionally mismanaged as a direct attempt to "purge" queer people and make them socially unacceptable, and many families often hid the deaths of their queer family members for being AIDS-related out of shame, fear of public ridicule, and/or homophobia. The shifting of the blame of AIDS onto exclusively gay and bisexual men was so intentionally heavily prevalent that it lead to many deaths of heterosexuals, lesbians, and even the creation of a now famous poster by that read "Women Don't Get AIDS: They Just Die From It", which was also created as a plea to the CDC to address the crisis and EVERYONE who faced it

So, in that social and political context, after Stephen passed away, his family came to the flat where their son was living with his lover and completely cleaned out all the belongings in the apartment, erasing any evidence of Earabino and Boskovich's relationship, but also, leaving Boskovich with absolutely no possessions and nothing to remember his lover by except for a single box fan

Boskovich, in his grief, made this single electric box fan an art installation by encasing it in plexiglass with holes cut into it, protecting the fan, lionizing it, with the breeze coming through the gaps meant to symbolize his lover's breath and how this art installation, in a sense, keeps Stephen Earabino's memory alive. The name of the piece is "Electric Fan (Feel It Motherfuckers)" and it has been theorized that the "feel" refers to not only the breeze of the fan symbolizing his lover and memorializing him, in a sense giving him eternal life, but also for the viewer to "feel" the grief and anger of Boskovich losing his lover and the cruel aftermath that followed

Boskovich made this piece of artwork in 1997, and eventually passed away 9 years later in 2006 in his home at 49 years old of causes that were never fully disclosed, some theorizing that he committed suicide. His artwork now sits in the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles.

This is another influential and emotional piece of history that goes to show just how extremely important it is to hang onto the truth that queer people and by extension any marginalized people have a right to exist. It shows the lengths to which lives are destroyed by the hatred and policies of those who revel in intentional cruelty and exerting their own authority for no other reason than hating those that do not share the same views as them. When we do not fight to hold onto our history, those who decide we do not need to be a part of it will fight hard to erase it completely and pretend that we were never even here in the first place, much like Stephen Earabino's family would have completely erased his existence without the voice of John Boskovich, or how Ross Laycroft and his struggle wouldn't have been known without him becoming memorialized by Felix Gonzales-Torres' sculpture intended as an act of love

We are here. We are alive. We will continue to make our voices heard and refuse to die in darkness. I will not be driven from my home country because of what is QUICKLY becoming an American fascist dictatorship.

We are all eternal in the memories of those who lives we touch and change. We are made stronger by the bonds we build with each other and our communities. We must never stop fighting for our right to exist.

We must never make it easier for them to erase us, not just from being alive, but from being recorded in history altogether

[existence-is-a-pain87]

With No Eyes I Weep

Part 3 to With Eyes I See (Part 1) and Without Eyes I'm Blind (Part 2). This a finale to a three part series, and I recommend reading the first two parts if you're new to this if ya would like context. No pressure though. :D

Yandere!Forsaken x Reader

Warnings: Obsession and other general yandere behaviors; dark themes; blood; death; murder; cannibalism; violence; and more. Please read with caution and, if you're a minor, please be extremely cautious.

Note: Nothing to say just yet, teehee. Hope yall enjoy the finale though and I wrap the series up well.

---

@amistakehadhappened

--☆☆☆☆☆--

Your screaming attracted others, naturally. Why wouldn't it?

But it wasn't the survivors you expected. Hell, what you hoped for. What you prayed for. What you wished for.

But your hopes truly went to die when you were approached by John Doe.

You stared up at him as he loomed over you, your screams dying on your tongue as your wings extended to shield you in case he tried to harm you.

You didn't even realize your screen was off.

He just stood over you, staring at your bandaged face and every aspect of your body. Then he crouched down, slowly reaching out to touch one of your wings.

You just panic and shove him away before running, eventually just climbing onto a tree and cowering.

Didn't the Forsaken Killers stay trapped in their own personal limbos? Was this your limbo, being trapped in a clone of the lobby except with Killers rather than Survivors? Why? WHY?!

WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY

You wrap your wings around yourself like you're trapped in a cacoon, desperately trying to figure anything out as you notice the red particles weakly emitting from your body, namely the eyes of your wings.

You stare at it, before hollowing asking. "Did you do this?"

The entity doesn't respond. Well, you suppose you should refer to it what it really is.

The Spectre.

You made a deal with the Spectre to get your sight back.

How didn't you figure this out earlier?! Why did it bring you here? Oh god- OH GOD-

You don't get to stay in the tree for long, though. The bough is easily snapped off by John and you squawk as you come crashing to the ground.

You're too stunned to fight back when he picks you up, placing a hand on your cheek. He hesitates, before whispering your name.

You can't stop yourself from perking up and looking directly at him when he says your name.

"..." You stay silent for a long moment, before booting up your screen. "...I'm sorry."

"...for what?" John asked you, staring at you as if you're beautiful.

"...for all the sins I've done, and for all the sins I have yet to do."

--☆☆☆--

Meeting the other Killers was quite awkward, so say the least. At the very least, less than half of them knew you previously, so perhaps everything would be fine and peaceful.

Oh, how wrong you were.

The moment your name exited your lips, c00lkidd was upon you with a tight hug and sobs of "Mom! Mom!!"

Even if he was now roughly nine feet tall and loomed above you, he was still a child who missed you. You hugged him back, of course. Why wouldn't you?

Jason ignored your existence, which made sense. All they did was nod slightly to acknowledge you.

1x1x1x1 barely spared you any mind. Then again, all you knew was their creator and not them, so it made sense why they barely cared about you.

You didn't notice how they stared at you whenever you weren't paying any attention to them. That hungry, greedy stare.

You tried to ignore Mafioso as his head seemed to snap up at your name, and how they seemed to watch you as you met the other Killers, John hovering around you like a guard dog of sorts.

NOL1 didn't even look up until c00lkidd hugged you, before his eye widened and he started to cat call you.

He ceased after a death glare from John, but you figured it wouldn't be the end of it.

Pr3tyPriincess just said, "Oh thank god, someone else who at least looks like a girl" when she saw you, and Bluudud just wasn't there. Probably off streaming somewhere.

Guest 666 saw you and quite literally sprinted towards you. You were practically tackled in a tight hug, and felt awkward watching as they bickered with John over who you should be around right now. You tried to pay it no mind, hoping they wouldn't be as... obsessive, as before.

You did note they never one apologized or tried to talk about your argument.

You didn't bring it up either.

And you let out a sob of joy when Gubby came bounding towards you and right into your arms.

Everything seemed fine, even if you had to kill people in rounds every couple of days or so. Though you could probably try to avoid harming others as much as possible if your curse still functioned the same.

If only you knew then...

But the moment Azure approached you, all hell broke lose.

Screams ripping from your throat, feathers being wildly sent back as you used your wings to try and keep him away, stumbling back as any human composure you had gave way to animalistic terror.

You didn't dare say what he did to you. Didn't dare let him get close.

But he didn't get too close after that.

It didn't stop him from following you around at a distance, watching over you as their tendrils writhed and twisted when you looked back at them, trying to court you as if they were a bird with impressive displays and such.

As if any of that could mend any of the damage he has done.

--☆☆☆--

This round's Killer is

You took a breath as your name appeared after that text. After your identity was revealed to the Survivors.

This would be fine.

...

You couldn't ignore how your vision was worsening, a clear sign of you needing to eat soon.

But why? You ate recently. Just before coming here, in fact. You should have more time. Far more time.

Was this the Spectre pressuring you into killing? Forcing you due to your desperation to see?

You didn't know. You just hated the uncertainty.

But, you would make do. Eat, while frantically apologizing and hoping they would forgive you upon respawning in the lobby.

Or perhaps they'd hate you. Perhaps that would be better. Because then there would be no more obsession if they didn't like you, right?

At the very least, you could kill Two Time. And you figured you find joy in that. Find glee in the pain on their face.

If that made you a bad person, it was worth it. Worth it to finally get a bit of fucking revenge for what they did to you.

And once you spawned, the hunt was on.

Your abilities were unique as a killer. You had the classic Slash (where you'd use your talons to main a victim slightly). Your passive allowed you to take whatever damage you did to survivors and use it to heal yourself (plus improve your sight) and give you minor boosts in speed and damage when you got a kill.

You had an ability that essentially allowed you to teleport to a survivor you had damaged by flying and crashing down into the ground, something you only could describe as a variation to Jason's Behead that was more of a stunner than a damage dealer, with you inflicting Slow II upon a successful hit, and something that essentially allowed you to reveal all Survivors location on the map by using your magic.

You were, to put it lightly, a LMS nightmare no one would want to deal with.

This was fine, you could make this all work. You always could.

You had a specific target in mind, after all.

You darted about, screen glowing as the dark environment didn't phase you.

It was easy to find the survivors. Hell, most of them seemed to be actively searching for you.

But Two Time wasn't even hidden. And when you loomed above him, he merely looked over at you with a smile.

A smile you despised.

It was maniac, yet adoring. The smile you gave someone you loved, though warped with obsession.

"Hello, little bird." They mused at you, reaching up to touch your cheek, and you flinched at the contact. The lack of any fear in the action sent shivers down your spine. "...you're going to kill me, aren't you?"

"I'm going to devour you while you're still alive." You told them, purposefully trying to scare them. To make them fear you so they'd stop obsessing over you. "I'm going to rip your body apart and eat it. I'm going to leave you alive as long as possible so you suffer."

"I'm honored for the blessing." Two Time told you, looking adoringly at you.

"I'm going to make you feel as much pain as possible."

"Every bit of pain you give me is a gift from you, and I will cherish it." They replied, unphased.

"...you should fight back. Be angry."

"I won't." They told you, "I wouldn't dare harm your beautiful form."

"...I hate you."

They smile. "I know."

--☆☆☆--

Eating Two Time both made you want to throw up and made you feel more glee.

But you felt disgusted by how he relished in you feasting upon him. The pleasure evident on his face as you ripped into his body and devoured, keeping him alive for as long as you could until it sunk in he was... enjoying this.

You then killed him quickly after that and finisned him off, trying to hold in the bile that rose in your throat by his adoration and joy.

At the very least, your eyesight was better afterwards. But...

God you felt starved.

...

Oh god, the Spectre made it so you never felt satisfied after eating so you'd eat more. So you'd kill more.

Even without your eyes, you felt tears sting them. Your bandages got moist with the tears that leaked out of whatever remained.

You almost threw up. You barely held it down.

You just stood up and started to move again. You could hold yourself back, couldn't you? You didn't need to kill. Your eyesight was fine. You could ignore the starvation.

You had to. Right?

You just roamed this map a bit, trying to find a good spot to hole up so you wouldn't have to deal with any other survivors. But they found you.

"Babe? BABE!!" Chance's voice ripped through the air, and you flinched. Your feathers were ruffled as you looked over at Chance speeding towards you, before practically tackling you in a hug.

You let out a squawk as you tumbled to the ground, Chance squeezing you tightly as he talked at a thousand miles an hour. You realized he was both restraining you and hugging you at the same time, and you respected him for it.

"Oh my god- what happened to you?! Why- what did I miss? Who hurt you? Who's responsible for this?!"

"Love," You say, your tail tentatively poking him, "I can't breathe."

"I- I'm sorry. I can't let you go." Chance tells you, grimacing, "Can't risk you... killing me."

"I'm not going to do that..." You remark, "But... I understand. It's okay."

It wasn't hard to tell he barely held himself together. They were not taking you being a Killer well... at all. You didn't blame them. You just tentatively stretched out a wing and wrapped it around them as a hug.

That just made him break down sobbing. You let him cry, giving him a moment of peace before you got punched square in the head.

Letting out a panicked caw as you felt dazed, you immediately fluffed out your wings as Chance let go.

You laid on the ground in a daze as Chance told someone off, before managing to turn your head to stare at Guest 1337 as he argued with Chance about not fighting off the Killer.

You just stand up, feeling pangs of hunger clawing at your stomach, and you feel desperate to not snap and eat one of them. So you dart off, not noticing the miserable look Chance has when you're gone.

You just holed up until the timer ran out and hid in your cabin, not wanting to talk with anyone.

You didn't know how Two Time bragged to the other survivors about how you ate him.

--☆☆☆--

Interacting with Mafioso was... awkward.

He loomed over you, as you shuffled there awkwardly, holding Gubby in your arms.

"I- uh- heard you took care of Gubby before I showed up." You said, avoiding eye contact (mostly since you had none and his were hidden), "Thank you for that."

He just stared down at you, before suddenly saying, "I apologize."

"...wha?" You chirp out, startled, "What'dya mean?"

"My goons went to the wrong house," He tells you, arms crossed, "You weren't the right person we were going after. My boss told me that if I didn't find you and apologize, I was as good as dead. Shame that came to be before I met you."

You stare at him as he finishes, "I just wanted to finally do what I was told."

"...I don't know what to really think about that..." You murmur. What Mafioso's goons did never really was in the front of your mine. Yeah, they hurt you. But... you didn't resent them nearly as much as you did for Azure and Two Time.

You stood there, lost in your thoughts as Mafioso sighed and ruffled the hair on the top of your head. "Your rabbit's cute. Lemme know if you need any help looking after him."

You merely nod, and you both go your separate ways. Though it was the beginning to a friendship of sorts.

...

...

...

There were more friendships among the other Killers. Even if they became unhealthy quick.

--☆☆☆--

You didn't like how often you were chosen as the Killer in rounds. What you enjoyed even less was how more and more people seemed willing to let them eat you the moment they learned you did that to see.

You wanted to put a stop to it. But you didn't. And you didn't know why.

You told yourself it would be fine if they hated you. But all you could do was nervously tell them no.

The moment they learned of your constant hunger and how only eating people helped to satiate it?

Everyone you knew refused to let you take no as an answer.

The only one who really had any semblance of sense was Guest 1337, and that was because he refused to trust you.

At the very least, he'd let you have a short conversation with him as you tried to avoid the others. He made you feel... normal. Or at least, not like you were some being who deserved worship.

He listened to you, and you listened to him and did your best to offer advice. Eventually, he warmed up to you a bit.

You were so relieved you didn't notice he too became obsessed too.

...

You did notice. You just deluded yourself into ignoring it.

You were just so tired...

--☆☆☆--

You hated the obsession. You hated how it just worsened here and now. No one you spoke to was safe.

Even if you still were dating Chance on a technicality, it didn't stop any of the love directed at you. It didn't stop the others from fighting with him.

It made everything a Hell. A Hell you couldn't escape from.

When you broke up with Chance out of fear for his safety, he didn't take it well. And god, it made everything for you so much worse.

You gave up on it all, holing up in your cabin and only really talking to Mafioso, Gubby, and the children.

During rounds, you just slaughtered and tried to end it all as quickly as possible. Though they slowly learned your strategies. They survived and kept trying to speak with you.

Eventually though they'd just started ganging up on you and doing... things.

The things would vary. Usually, they'd just talk to you and get upset when you didn't reply. They would always be one of them who let you eat them, though.

You hated them. You hated them all.

And god, you were so fucking done.

Why the hell did it have to be you? Why did you die and be reborn into this world? Why did you have to be found out? Why did they adore you?

So many whys and no answers. You hated it. You hated it so much.

So you were going to put an end to it, though any means necessary.

"..."

You sat alone in your cabin, having asked Mafioso to look after Gubby for a bit. You stared at your unfurled wings, your screen blank as you breathed. As you shook. As you prepared yourself.

Them you spoke.

"Spectre, I want to make another deal."

...

...

...

...

...

You don't regret what you did.

And you know you never will.

After all, you were never an angel.

You never wanted to be worshipped. You never wanted this attention.

You've dealt with it long enough.

...

...

...

...

...

...

You didn't know the Spectre had the ability to do this. But it felt weird.

Everything was different. But you loved having eyes again. And being an entirely new person was nice.

Of course, it came at a cost. Everything did.

But exchanging dozens of yanderes for one was something you enjoyed much more. Even if that yandere was a humanoid version of the Spectre. It would be fine. You knew it would be.

You just took a breath, staring at the clear blue sky in the living world as you glanced over at it.

"Thank you."

It nodded, content.

You smiled, feeling the wind gently caressing your cheeks. You let out a quiet sigh, feeling bliss for the first time in months. Real, genuine bliss.

And from your eyes came tears of joy.

[andy-wm]

"Who wouldn't want it when he looks like that?"

Yes, Olly Alexander knew exactly how JK felt

I've been absent, I know. Life. But look, one chirp ;) from the lovebirds and I'm back hehehe

With no preamble I'm going to sweep straight past the cute and charming interactions between Jimin & JK on Weverse - always together - and only glance at JK's song recommendations because right now I'm more interested in what came before.

This post by the fabulous @slaaverin, about JK and the song he posted 10 years ago - Memo by Years & Years - hit me so hard in the feels, I had to sit down. Even though I've mostly paid attention to their song recommendations (yes, I know I can do better) this one passed me by completely.

How could I not know that JK posted a song by Years & Years??!

And especially in 2015, when he was really going through it. He had feelings bigger than a house and nowhere to put them.

This for me is a key moment. Watch Gayo 4 and tell me JK wasn't dying of love.

He was - and still is - a boy with big feelings that he doesn't always have words for. His face and body language have told us that he's filled up to the brim but he seems to keep it inside unless he's made up his mind to say something.

Which of course makes the song recommendations in 2015 so significant. We know it wasn't only about the songs - it never is - it's all about how he's feeling at he time. And he picks out the lines so carefully, so precisely, so that they can speak for him.

And if you read the lyrics of all those songs from 2015 and focus on the lines he picked out, there's a clear message.

I'm pretty sure he wasn't looking at Eels cover of Elvis's Can't Help Falling In Love for musical inspiration. And picking out I'll give you my everything - a cheesy love song from the '70s - so he could say I have something to tell you? Neatly in between the 2015 Osaka fan-meet and the notorious RBT concert in Hong Kong?

Smooth...

Very smooth, JK

He was in love. He was in lust. He was probably confused and afraid of the consequences, but he couldn't let it go. I know this has been thoroughly dissected so I won't go down that path.

What I am stuck on here, is Years & Years.

Where some of the lines he posted could be the result of searching for songs with particular words in the lyrics, like I have something to tell you, Memo doesn't hit the same way.

I want more (x4) isn't romantic or emotive like some song lines he chose and also it doesn't convey a specific message like others. Without hearing the rest of the song it feels a little brash but in the context of the rest of the lyrics, and with the gentle melody, it's honestly very soft.

He must have listened to a lot of Years & Years because Memo is a beautiful song but it isn't one of their hits. It vanished into obscurity pretty quickly.

Memo wasn't just an LGBT+ song. Years and Years was a very brazenly LGBT+ group.

Olly is a huge icon.

Gay, out, and unapologetic, Olly was singing pop songs about genuine personal feelings and experiences. The songs explored all the nuanced feelings of lust, yearning, hurt, and uncertainty that come with falling in love. They have authenticity. They're the same type of songs Troye was singing in 2016 but a little more... adult. A little further along the track towards resolution. Olly was living the life of a young gay man and his songs reflect that. The content is pretty direct.

Years & Years weren't huge like The Pet Shop Boys, Depeche Mode, or The Communards, but they were successful and popular especially amongst the lgbt+ community. They did get radio play in the UK too. Outside of that I think the group was relatively niche.

And yet, JK found them.

That he found them, says to me the he was searching for something. Searching for ways to make sense of his feelings in an environment that would be stifling for a young queer boy who was in love with his best friend.

The songs might not have been #1 on Billboard, but what they WERE was authentic and unambiguous.

Maybe I'm making too much of it but it makes me wonder where he would have been without a group like Years and Years.

If he hadn't heard those words in those songs, and felt the connection with the feelings expressed, would he have had certainty that what he felt was honest and real?

If he hadn't listened to someone else articulate emotions he could relate to, would he have had the words to describe his feelings when he finally confessed?

If Years & Years, and particularly Olly Alexander, hadn't been as successful as they were in 2015, would he have had the determination to face up to the company?

Who knows... maybe none of it really mattered and it was just a line from a song that he liked. But knowing - as ARMY - how much music can change your perception and your life, I don't think that's true. I think it meant something.

I'm so glad he found them.

💗💜💗

In case you've never seen him in action, here's Olly with the other members of Y&Y in concert at YES24 Hall in October 2022. He's wearing a yellow body stocking and thigh boots. Absolutely stunning performers.

[nanaminokanojo]

Honey, Oh Sugar, Sugar

JJK men as your sugar daddies and what happens when you tell them you're breaking​ things off cause you've secretly fallen for them and "breached" the contract. Or me just being hung up on the whole concept of sugar daddies cause I don’t wanna work anymore and I need Nanami in my life.

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo x you/afab reader TW/CW: angst | smut/implied smut | sorta dubcon | age gaps | aged up characters | kind fluffy | mentions of alcohol/drugs | some mafia stuff | mdni Word Count: 8.1k

MASTERLIST

NANAMI

'I can't see you right now.'

Those words glared at you, sharp black slashes that marred the white backdrop of your screen. They may not carry much weight without context, but they broke you a thousand times weighed on you like the sky had fallen over, crushing you as you heard the voice behind the words, making you regret every other choice you've made so far.

They blurred out as tears started to flood your eyes, falling on the device in your hand, but the pain they caused didn't fade in the least. If anything, you felt exponentially worse, enough to make you wish for death. It was more for the fact that you knew it was your fault, a result of your weakness and lack of prudence, your over-estimation of yourself and biting off more than you can chew. 

Still, how were you to know back then? How the fuck were you supposed to know that things would end up making you feel as miserable as you did? How the fuck could you have been able to tell that you'd be wishing to tear yourself away from the only thing that seemed to make your life make sense? 

If you were told that gods existed and walked in Prussian blue button-downs and khaki shorts as they surveyed their domain from the balcony of their private beach houses, you wouldn't have believed it. But Nanami Kento came into your life in that same exact form, a stoic, tall blonde, ten years your senior, successful in all his endeavors but always too busy for anything. 

Nanami Kento was your best friend's neighbor – at least at their beach-front rest house. It was funny how he was supposed to be this well-known yet aloof individual in the community. And yet, the moment you were introduced to him, he purposefully made a way to be around you where you fell into easy conversation with him. Your friend told you their neighbor hardly ever stayed at his summer retreat for longer than two days, popping out one day only to be replaced by the caretakers who would then tell them that "Nanami-san had an emergency business trip." On top of that, he never really showed up when your friend's parents would invite him for whatever, consistently declining politely, but because of you, he finally honored one of their invitations. 

However, it made you wonder what he found so interesting in a university student like you when his life was so much more exciting, being the founder of his own company. He was a bachelor at thirty two, and he's got everything figured out while you were in the final year of your higher education, and you still didn't know what to do with your life. 

The reason became evident when you met him again after insisting that you should before you parted that evening at the beach, even leaving you his calling card. 

How your conversation went from how his work was going and how your studies were to his proposition for you to be basically his sugar baby was something you couldn't fathom at that time. He just went on about coming clean and expressing his real intentions, then later asked you to think about it before dishing out a conversation about how the two of you should meet again to draft the parameters of your arrangement. Nanami later apologized, smiling apologetically for startling you – the biggest understatement of the century – adding that he wasn't one to beat around the bush. 

"I hope I didn't scare you away," he said when dropping you off to campus.

A week later, you signed a contract with him, and then he kissed you, taking your breath away instead of shaking your hand to seal your pact. Everything went smoothly. It seemed a good idea back then. Boy you wished there was a time when you could have been more mistaken in your life. 

You let out a mirthless laugh as you realized you were at the end of the rope regarding Nanami. You cannot handle it anymore when, for the past half year, you've been putting off talking to him about the state of matters from your end. You know you're breaching your agreement, which is a testament to the reality of your liaisons. You failed at keeping it emotionless, evidently, and every single time you think about coming clean and facing rejection, you felt like cowering in fear. 

You already know how binding those agreements were. Nanami had been clear about what he wanted, and you also agreed because you thought you wanted precisely that – an arrangement without commitment, one you can easily get out of without issues. He would not want you if he knew the truth, and although it took far too much strength and courage to accept it, you managed. But now that you have finally decided to speak to him, he tells you he can't be there. Then again, you didn't even have the right to demand his time. 

It came in a cocktail of emotions when you realized you didn't want his money or anything else he had to offer. You only wanted one thing: his heart. Too bad it was off the table. It's not something he offered to ever be in your contract. 

You hated yourself for being weak, for opening up when you should have remained frozen even towards him. But you couldn't help it when your heart started confusing his caring side for actual feelings over his usual acts of reminding you that he was still the older one between you and actually had the responsibility to take care of you whether you've got an arrangement or not.

You sure as hell didn't regret the perks that came with it – trips to any place you could name, things you get with just one word, and the amazing love-making that came with it. Nanami was a great lover. It never just felt like sex in a transactional manner. It always showed how much of a sensitive soul he is, how much he cared for you. But it's not exactly in the way you wanted it.

"I like you, and I enjoy your company, but being me, this is all I can offer at the moment."

Those were his words, and though it's not explicitly written in the contract, you knew it was over when you started perceiving him as the center of your universe. That was no good, and maybe he knew, considering how he had been "too preoccupied" when you said you wanted to talk. Suddenly, he didn't have time for you, but you wanted to tell him of your decision to end matters in person. He deserved that, at least. Nanami was just too good, and you didn't want him to do the guesswork.

That same night, you walked out of the luxury flat he rented for you, packing a bottle of wine, which you ended up drinking at your best friend's house.

You woke up the next day, still groggy from all the alcohol you drank, to the sound of your best friend speaking angrily to someone in hushed tones. She was telling someone off and threatening them about answering if something ends badly, but then you hear your name.

"Y/N's a really sensitive person underneath regardless of what she says," she tells whoever she is talking to. You don't hear the response to her statement, but there was a long pause, and then you hear the front door open and close with her declaration to give this person their space.

It wasn't long before the guest room door opened, and you found yourself face-to-face with Nanami. You motioned to get up, but he shook his head and sat beside you on the bed.

"Why did you leave?" he asked, straight to the point as always. You didn't expect anything less, but you couldn't look him in the eye as you said, "I can't do this anymore." 

Much to his surprise, you started crying the moment you spoke. It was so atypical of you to show him any kind of weakness, always so independent in your actions and words that he felt useless at times, so he found the need to reach out and hold you.

You flinched. "Please don't."

Nanami sighed, running his fingers through his usually perfect hair. For the first time, you notice how it's not fixed the way it should be and how he has dark rings under his eyes, his cheeks a bit sunken. He looked at you, expressions unfathomable, but you saw how he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Why not?"

His question angered you, that much he could tell, and it was obvious how you were trying your very best to calm down. You sat up and he felt the need to brace himself for whatever you will say.

"I'm ending this...this..."

"Arrangement," he supplied for you, to which you nodded, the sting of that word evident on your face. "Yes, that."

He nodded in understanding, but he stared you down with a pensive look on his handsome face, and you wanted just to run before you fell even harder. "May I at least know why?"

You bit your lower lip, looking elsewhere but him as your eyes filled with fresh tears. You didn't know how on earth you were going to explain it to him in detail, but as he gave it to you straight and simple, you thought it best to do the same. It would be self-explanatory anyway.

Wringing your fingers, you all but whispered, "Kento, I'm in love with you." When he didn't speak, you started rambling on about how you knew things wouldn't change if you said it and that he's got more important things to deal with over your "childish feelings" but that you can't help it.

"Say that again," he told you.

"What?" You didn't realize he had moved closer, his face merely inches from yours and his other arm caging you on your spot.

"The first thing you said. Say it again." He sounded commanding as he was used to, but then he let his forehead rest on your shoulder, feeling defeated. "Please?" he said, sounding small, unsure.

You wiped the tears off your face, sniffling. You've resigned yourself to the bad outcomes of your actions. "I'm in love with you."

"If that's the case, wouldn't you want to be with me?"

"Because you said you could only offer me this arrangement."

At that, he looked up at you, cupping your face with his hands and staring you straight in the eyes, eyes you couldn't lie to. You were somewhat surprised that he didn't have a single clue as to what had been ailing you as perceptive as he was. Then again, maybe you were just too good at hiding it until you weren't, everything hidden behind the smokescreen of your physical intimacy and the pretty smiles you would offer his way.

"Be honest with me. Did it ever feel like it's just that?" he asked cautiously, groping for words.

This time, you couldn't hold back and began tearing up again, your anger finally rearing itself on the surface. "That's exactly the problem!" You pried his hands off of you and stood up. "I can't figure you out, and I don't want to be confused anymore. We had an agreement, I know that, and I'm sorry, but it hurts too much knowing you can give me anything I ask for but not what I want the most."

He also stood up, invading your space and pulling you towards him. He wasn't about to just lose you, not without a fight. Nanami made you look at him, his arm around your waist tight as he commanded your attention but still gentle and giving you your leeway to run if you wanted. You, on the other hand, didn't need much restraining nor convincing as you found yourself looking into his eyes and wanting nothing but to be close and be able to hold him, own him and all that he is, love him, and love him hard, love him over and over again, surrender your heart and let him have you even if you knew he could never give it back.

But all your notions were dispelled with a few choice words. "You never asked."

"I – what?"

"The thing you want the most that you claimed I can't give you. You never asked for it."

Ah. You chuckled without humor. Of course, it's on you for not asking. "Because I can't! That's not how it works. It's not my place to ask. I've no place of that nature in your life."

"Really now, Y/N?" Nanami looked stung, annoyed even, when typically, he wouldn't even show you a disapproving look at your worst behavior around him.

"It's okay. This is on me." You stepped back from him, resigning yourself to the idea of not seeing him again and saying goodbye. "And I know you're busy, so don't worry about me. I just really wanted to tell you personally, at least. I'll be fine."

"I won't be..."

"Stop it! You said so yourself –"

"I said 'at the moment' back then if I remember it correctly?"

You shrugged. "Kento, you don't have to hyper-analyze what you said back then. Don't stress –"

At that, his expressions changed, and he appeared manic, so different from his calm and composed demeanor. "This is stressing me out."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

You shook your head. Pity was the last thing you needed, and hearing those words in such a context, even less so. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. You can't just assume things like that. And though I detest confrontations like this, I'm prepared to be in conflict with you for it if it means you stay with me."

You smiled ruefully at him, coming closer to hug him, holding onto whatever you could while you still had time, taking in the way he smelled, the way his hair felt against your palms. "You're really too nice. Don't say things like that even if you feel bad for me. You don't have to."

Nanami sighed again, looking absolutely tired, but had it in him to smile despite your words. "Y/N, I just got the shovel talk with your best friend after I told her I love you – rather graphic, too – and you're telling me you don't have a place in my life? I would not even be here if you didn't matter to me. You, of all people, should know that I don't waste my time on things I don't find worthwhile, but I am here, am I not?"

You felt your heart thundering in your chest as you minced his words, unable to process everything at the moment, but you found yourself overwhelmed with joy that your feelings weren't one-sided. "You are."

"But you're right, so let's end this arrangement."

Swallowing hard, you nodded.

"Let's make this the real thing without agreements and roles. What do you say about that?" He tilted his head to have a closer look at you. 

Everything be damned, but you were taking your chances. "Okay," you whispered.

"I love you. I'm in love with you, too. If it's my heart you want, you can have it. It's yours. All yours, my sweet."

You bit your lower lip, fighting a smile as you glanced at him from under your lashes, not trusting yourself to speak.

Nanami leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he held you closer. "I love you," he repeated.

"I know."

He chuckled. "Now you know. But that's not what I want to hear, Y/N. I said, I love you."

Instead of a response, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close as you stood on your toes to claim his lips with yours, your toes curling as he reciprocated in kind. This one felt different, not like some sort of transaction or a thank you for the things he provides for you. It felt like the real thing...like love.

"Then I love you, too."

TOJI

"She's an associate, Y/N. Stop being such a brat," Toji tells you the moment he arrived at the penthouse where he was housing you a good hour after you stormed out of the party he was hosting. You looked over your shoulder to find his tall, broad form leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed and...smirking.

"Or are you doing this on purpose 'cause you want daddy to punish you, hmm?"

You scoffed as you angrily wiped your tears, entering the walk-in wardrobe and slamming the door shut. You just wanted to be away from him, be able to think without him influencing your thoughts. If Fushiguro Toji was a drug, he'd most certainly be heroin – absolutely addictive with slim chances to none in terms of recovery, but you still wanted more, more, and some more. And you fell right into that trap, very much aware of it all.

You were a budding freelance journalist who got into a tangle with his organization after a wrong lead. He had been nice to you on the get-go, the understanding and very accommodating kumicho letting Miss Nosey off the hook. You kept running into him after that until one drunken evening at one of his clubs, where he had to rescue you from a guy who couldn't take no for an answer.

He drove you home, and instead of getting out of his car, the two of you got talking, and he started showing you pictures of his adorable son. And after fucking you senseless in that same car, he offered you an arrangement you thought you couldn't refuse at that time.

Slowly, you found yourself weaving into Toji's complicated life and seeing beyond just the ruthless gang leader who showered you with everything and anything he could give. The sky is the limit where Toji was concerned, and he was outrageous about the presents he would give you. But that always came with a catch. He took as much as he gave, probably more, and he was possessive of you. It wasn't healthy how he could do whatever the fuck he wanted while your rewards came with limitations attached to them.

Still, you stayed and got lost in the maze that was the workings of his mind and his personal life, which was just about his little boy. You instantly fell in love with Megumi and, in the process, with Toji himself. You know that now without a doubt, and it scared the living daylights out of you.

That realization came gradually. At first, you chalked it up to just a physical response, inducing chemicals in your head that gave you the illusion and delusion of emotional affection. What's love got to do with it, right? At first, it was little things like wanting to see him at the most random times of the day, missing him, and such. Then it escalated into incremental degrees of possessiveness, which you thought was fair given his inclination to call you his, be that in words while he's balls-deep in you or the way he would suddenly hold onto you with those large hands in the presence of others.

And quite frankly, you seemed to have picked up on that habit the wrong way, learning to reciprocate in the same way. It was messy business at best, but then again, it started just as messy.

The thought and reality of it hadn't felt as real as it did when you saw another woman clutching just as possessively at his arm. It seemed innocent, but seeing those blood-red nails brushing on his muscled arms as if their owner had any right to do it or had probably staked their claim made your blood boil, and your heart break. All the while, in your head, you were repetitively saying, "He's mine. I had him first."

You're in love with him, and that's a fact. Because why else would you be having such intense emotional outbursts over the fact that he was dangling another woman in his arms? It's a fact you didn't want to face anyway. He's supposed to be your sugar daddy, nothing else. It came with its perks, but you're human, and Toji is irresistible in more ways than one and never limited to just how he satisfies you physically. You loved him, his son and everything that he is included.

And you thought it had to stop. He didn't see you that way.

You emerged from the wardrobe, pulling a suitcase behind you, and suddenly, tension filled the air as Toji straightened to his full height, sapphire eyes shifting between you and the luggage. 

"What are you doing?" he asked. Gone was his playful mood from earlier, replaced by something darker. He wasn't expressive, almost always looking bored out of his wits, and his facial muscles only rearranging in minute details to convey change, but it was enough to tell you to be on guard.

You walked towards him, mustering all your courage as you said, "I think we should end this."

"Because you're jealous?" He arched a brow at you. "I already told you –"

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his cheek, smiling as you traced downward before running your thumb against the scar at the side of his lips. While it made him look like a hooligan, you always thought it was a part of his charm. "That's hardly the issue here. As cliché as it is, it's not you; it's me. Thank you for everything, Toji. Give my love to Megumi."

At that, he chuckled. "And you expect me to just sit back with that sorry excuse? What do you take me for?"

Your eyes flashed in anger at the way he was undermining the circumstances. "Toji, I'm serious. It may be a sorry excuse for you, but it's not the same for me."

He stepped closer, looming over you. "So, speak up. Do I look like I'm playing here, sweetheart?"

"I...I can't..."

"What now?" He smirked, but you saw hurt cross his features, making you hesitate. It was too late when you realized you were stuck between a hard place and Toji, literally and figuratively. Your back hit the wall, and a second after, he slammed a palm just beside your head, staring you down. "I'm just a lowlife so I don't even deserve any proper explanation, is that it?"

"What? No! That's the last thing on my mind!" you retorted.

"So what? You're done writing your little reveal-all piece on me, so you're cutting me loose?"

How dare he, you thought. You were faithful to your agreement with him, and not once did you ever think of betraying him like that. Again, you were overwhelmed by the intensity of how you felt for him. You shook your head, trying to hold it in when your feelings were close to slipping out of your lips from the tip of your tongue. You didn't like the way he was looking at you as if you murdered his son and only family, but why were you making him angrier?

"If that's what you want to think, then fine."

"So fucking tell me, woman!"

"You should know by now that your intimidation tactic doesn't work on me," you told him dryly.

"You really are my woman," he says proudly, almost love-struck, but you weren't about to buy it.

"Let me go."

"And if I don't?"

"You wouldn't like what I will do, Toji."

"Oh, is that so?" Toji wasn't a patient man, but he always took his time with you, and that trait of his was proven to you for the first time when, in the next moment, you found yourself upside down after he hauled you onto his shoulder and easily carried you to the bed.

Before you knew it, you were on the mattress, but upon realizing what he was about to do, you started beating him on the chest with your fists, tears spilling out of your eyes. It was futile, you knew that, but you still wanted to get away from him. He easily pinned your hands down, silencing your protests with his lips as he took possession of yours. And just like that, you were docile as a kitten under his mercy and the heat of his touch.

"Do you still wanna leave me?" You just glared at him, your lack of response making him grit his teeth and tear the dress you were wearing off of you.

"Toji, what the – mmph!"

Again, he swallowed your words, his hands roaming over your now naked body. He pulled back only to say, "I'm giving you a chance to talk now, darling. Don't waste it." He then started kissing your neck, going lower and lower, the sounds he was making distracting you. "I'm listening, Y/N. And don't give me another bullshit excuse."

Your misery mingled with the carnal pleasure he was pulling out of you, coming in rivulets of tears as you half-sobbed, half-moaned at the way he was touching everything his hands could reach while he ground his crotch against yours.

"Toji, please stop," you pleaded, and he did, flashing you a pained look. For the first time, it seems that he was showing you the real person behind all the facade, the version of Fushiguro Toji exclusively reserved for Megumi.

He sat on his haunches, looking down at your vulnerable form as you covered your face with your arms and continued to sob. "I-I'm sorry..."

"No. I'm sorry," you answered between deep draws of breath. You weren't crying because of what he was doing. It was more for the fact that you were hurting him as much as your arrangement was hurting you. "But what the hell can I do?"

He hovered over you, prying your hands away from your face as gently as he could and peppering your face with kisses. "What is it, darling? Come on, tell me."

"I broke our agreement..." You looked away from him.

He eyed you quizzically. "And how did you do that?"

"By falling in love with you." You finally met his gaze. "I know you said our liaisons will not go beyond just what we really are to each other, but I couldn't help it. I care for you and Megumi, so much so that I want to be a genuine part of your lives. And it's not my place to ask, so I'm sorry."

To your surprise, he laughed, like really laughed, and you haven't felt so embarrassed in your life after pouring your heart out to him. You wanted the whole place to crumble into a pit and take you with it. 

When he was calm enough, he said, "Fucking finally!"

"What?"

He sighed, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. "Do you know how long I've waited for you to say that to me?"

You paled but at the same time, you felt your face getting hot, realizing what he meant. "You knew?"

"From the moment it happened, yes. You think you can just walk out on me like that?" He shook his head. "Don't act like you don't know me at all."

"Y-you –" You didn't know what to say, getting up halfway only to be met with a scorching kiss that left you breathless.

Toji undid his pants, letting his cock spring free, and then lifted you onto his lap, holding you close. "I knew you were made for me the moment Megumi's eyes lit up the first time he asked if you were gonna be his new mommy."

"He did?" you asked in muffled tones against the crook of his neck.

"So what do you say? 'Cause I was dying to say yes." He kissed your temple, and underneath, you could feel him preparing to align himself with you.

You pulled away, holding his head between your hands as you looked at him in disbelief. "You were?"

He rolled his eyes. He really wasn't good at this. "Yes, darling. Now, are you still gonna leave me? Us?"

You pouted. "You're not just using Megumi to make me stay, right?" You gasped when he nudged your entrance, knowing he's got you in the bag. "I won't even let you near my son if I didn't want you as much as I do. But I got the best wingman, no?"

You just stared at him in disbelief but he prompted you by thrusting upward and breaking you away from your reverie, a high-pitched moan ripping out of your throat.

"Come on, Y/N. Decide so I can love you as much as you want me to." He grinned deviously at you. "Not that I plan to do otherwise if you decide to go."

"And if I go anyway?"

He smirked. "I don't know, love. I'm yakuza after all."

"Is that a threat?!" You smacked him on the chest, earning you a chuckle and a kiss to your forehead. "Yes. Can I love you now?" he asked and you swore he looked just like Megumi when he would beg you for goodies. So, how can you say no to that?

~*~

GOJO

"Where have you been?"

The silence you expected to arrive to at the penthouse was broken the moment you walked by the vast living room. You almost dropped the red heels you held when you heard that familiar voice echo through the room, quiet yet deadly.

You visibly froze before turning around to see the owner of the voice. He looked upset, those usually bright orbs of aquamarine having turned into cold, hard gems as they regarded you. The darkness of the room that surrounded him like a miasma didn't help in quelling the tension in the room. If there was one thing Gojo Satoru hated, it's when he is disobeyed, and you flouting his orders and going out to party wasn't an exception. Sure, he doted on you and always showered you with gifts and affection, but being part of his world meant you needed to follow strict rules in exchange for the lavish life he provided for you.

You knew you should not have gone anywhere apart from your university and the place you called home. You knew you should not have given his men trouble by thinking you were at home after you snuck out, but you thought, why not? Gojo wasn't supposed to be back until the following day anyway, "Negotiations," he called them. You didn't want to feel alone in such an empty space, which was becoming more frequent as of late. You understood where he was coming from, but at the same time, you refused to and you wanted to act out.

Choosing to aggravate his foul mood further, you shrugged and attempted to walk past without saying anything, but you effectively stopped when he said, "Stop right there. We're not done talking."

Veering to look at him with the coldest expression you could muster, you retorted, "I went out with my friends. What's the big deal?"

He stood up from his seat, evidently pissed off at your attitude. "I thought I told you. It's dangerous, Y/N. I'm just trying to protect you. What if something happened to you?"

"They're your enemies, Satoru, not mine."

"It doesn't change the fact that they will hurt you if they can!" He had such a menacing look on his face when he was angry which you thought never belonged with those easy smiles and generally perfect visage of his. Someone so beautiful being shrouded in darkness was a violation to nature, and Gojo was just so.

"Well then, maybe I shouldn't have gotten together with you!" you shouted back, throwing your expensive shoes on the floor, imagining it was an extension of him you wished to hurt. "I could be in danger; I understand that. I'm not stupid, but I never cared for any of that as long as I have you, but you're never there! Why should I stay put when you tell me to?"

Gojo was evidently taken aback at your outburst, not believing that this was the welcome he gets after being away. At the same time, he felt guilty and deserving of your harsh treatment of him, feeling his heart sinking at your words. "You'll be safer that way," was all he could say.

You smirked at him, shaking your head. "And lonely. You forgot lonely." You shrugged, walking away from him. "I'm tired."

Having ended up in the bathroom where you found solace from Gojo, you leaned your arms and propped your chin on the rim of the huge tub, staring at the city lights through the glass walls. It seemed like a good idea to get tangled up with an older male who wanted to take care of you at your darkest moments, having been fired from your job and thrown out of your apartment which made you resort to sleeping in your car. 

That's how you met in the first place, making the mistake of parking around the outskirts of the city, hugging a can of pepper spray in your sleep when Gojo and his men decided to make an exchange at the empty parking lot of the warehouse nearby. Safe to say, it went awry when men started to pull out guns.

He took you home after his right-hand man spotted you in the car when your phone lit up at the wrong time. At first, he was suspicious of you, thinking you were an asset for an enemy clan. You were probably traumatized or in utter shock when your first reaction to him after seeing him break someone's neck a few yards from your car was to tell him he was beautiful while also shivering at the thought of how easily those gloved hands could murder you.

Gojo had been straightforward from the get-go, never hiding his intentions the moment he thumbed at your chin, forcing you to behold his beauty in all its glory which was just a bonus with how gentle, kind and caring he was towards you. And you clung to the dark angel who offered you a comfortable life away from the dangers of the streets, even offering to pay for your studies when he found out just how well you did in them. It seemed you were embroiled in more danger than you anticipated, however.

To say that you didn't know what kind of life you have entangled yourself in would be a lie. You knew just what kind of person Gojo Satoru is, his pretty hands and his very name stained in blood. The tattoos that adorned his beautiful alabaster skin were a dead ringer of just what kind of clan he belonged to, and it didn't help that he was surrounded by ruffians like a lone rose in a sea of thorns all the time.

They called him The Prince, even his enemies, and what a fitting name, at least to you with whom he showed his better side and true self underneath the emotionally constipated yakuza overlord that he is. But that was the very thing that broke your heart.

You had an agreement. Blatantly put, you are his pet, and he is your owner who poured money on trinkets he thought would make you happy in exchange for favors. That's it. You give him your body, and you get to have him for all those moments he is available. You wouldn't deny that it was an economically good proposition and beggars probably can never be choosers as was the case for you, but you never anticipated just what a lonely existence it would be on top of it being dangerous when you were deemed his weakness.

What a laugh. You weren't his weakness, not even remotely close. It was all for naught when your life is being put in line because of stupid assumptions his enemies resorted to. You will die if you don't toe the line according to Gojo's standards, and for what? They'd probably think they hurt him, but really, they're just giving him an excuse to go on a rampage, which will be for reasons vastly different from their thoughts.

But more than anything, the most significant matter at stake was your heart, if not your sanity. Letting that information out during your outburst was a faux pas on your part, and you emotionally prepared yourself to leave the kind of life Gojo granted you in the first place. You've fallen for him, and that wasn't a good thing when he made it clear just what purpose you served for him.

The sound of water droplets from the faucet was suddenly interrupted by the glass doors sliding open to accommodate Gojo, who had already changed into a fluffy, white robe, shedding it off as he approached you. You didn't acknowledge his presence and merely watched his reflection through the wall. That didn't deter him from coming into the bathtub behind you and pulling you close.

"Would you please look at me, sweetheart?" he asked, his melodious voice making every fiber of your being tense. He wrapped an arm around you, his breath ghosting over your nape. "Did I make you that upset while I was away? I'm sorry, my pet."

His apology always came with a catch. You didn't have to enumerate them when you're only supposed to understand.

"Still mad at me? What does my Y/N want, hmm?" Gojo started placing kisses on your shoulder, moving upwards to your neck, but before it could cloud your judgment, you moved forward, gently taking his arm off of you, much to his dissatisfaction. He sighed, letting you have your space. "What's the problem?"

You hugged your knees to yourself, feeling the coldness of the air when you lost contact with him. "It's not something you could fix by kissing me." As if on cue, you absently scooped some soapy water and rubbed it over the areas he touched.

Being the brat used to having his way, Gojo scoffed. "Are you literally washing away my kisses?" It's just like him to ask about the trivial things when he feels like it. He reached out to touch you when you didn't answer but stopped when you flinched. He immediately turned serious, the air around you becoming charged with tension. "Y/N, will you please tell me what's bothering you?"

"You are."

"What?"

You leaned your forehead on your knees, feeling vulnerable to the whole world as you calmed your inner turmoil and tried to put in words how you felt, how things would end by your hand before he casts you away.

"I breached our contract."

Silence followed your words, and those mere seconds of pause felt like an eternity as you feared the worst. But then he said, "Will you elaborate on that?"

You lifted your head, throwing it back as you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I know I don't have any right to be demanding things from you, least of all hold it against you when I miss you in your absence."

"You miss me?"

"But I have no control over how I started feeling the way I do, becoming more pronounced whenever you're not with me. We had an agreement, I know that, but because I broke it, I guess I'll have to take it upon myself to end this."

"End what?" He straightened up, his blue eyes filling with dread. "What – what are you talking about?" He sounded angry this time but like that of an animal cornered as opposed to being the hunter.

You looked at him from over your shoulder. "I'm leaving you, Satoru."

A mix of emotions started to take shape with every nuance in his expression, as if he could not make up his mind about how he would feel about what you just said. For a split second, he looked at you as if you had obliterated his whole being, but then he calmed down, massaging the point between his blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. I know my role, and I should just walk away before it gets out of hand."

"What role?"

You laughed without humor. "I am, in essence, just your sugar baby, Satoru. You give me things that you see fit. I don't get to demand anything from you."

"Is that how you see yourself?" His tone was scathing but calming at the same time. It makes things easier for you.

"Let's not pretend anymore, okay?"

"So what exactly are you telling me?"

"Do I have to spell everything out for you?" you asked in exasperation, your tears finally dripping from your eyes.

He let up on the harsh expression on his face upon seeing them. "Y/N, baby, don't cry. Please. I just need you to explain. I deserve at least that when you're telling me you want to –"

"I love you, Satoru." You smiled at him through your tears, the most sincere one you gave his way since you realized how you felt.

"You do?"

"I don't regret it regardless of the consequences."

"Y/N, I'm confused."

You didn't address that. Gojo was probably one of the most brilliant people you knew, but it was always easy to feign ignorance, regardless of that. Without addressing it, you motioned to get out of the tub, wondering where you'll start with packing, but then almost everything you owned was technically Gojo's. It would be easy, you thought.

"Anyway, you know now. I should go." 

Gojo wasn't having any of it. He stopped you, pulling you towards him. "You just told me you love me, and you're leaving me behind?"

You blinked. "Am I...not supposed to?"

Gojo smirked at you. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?"

You sank into the water, creating splashes in your wake. You didn't know how to feel about that. It was a choice between succumbing to that false sense of security you learned to accept during the three years you've been with him or relief over the possibility that he reciprocated your feelings. However, before you could even decide, Gojo chose to addle your brain by leaning in and taking possession of your lips, giving you no choice but to melt and submit to his touches.

It was passionate as usual, setting every ounce of your existence aflame while his hands roamed around every inch of your skin, marking his territory. You appreciated that about him, not holding back and giving you what you wanted without inhibitions, but you've always accepted that what you wanted the most, he could never ever give. You've resigned yourself to that fact, and yet, whenever he touches you, you are convinced otherwise because his actions always contrast his words. You hated how hope started to grow in your chest, and although he quickly turned you on, you fought against it and pulled away from him.

"N-no. Stop."

"Why?" He looked at you, kiss-drunk and dazed.

"I can't do this anymore. I'm not going to force you to be beholden to me." You inched backward. "Just let me go."

Gojo clucked his tongue, sighing profoundly and covering his face with his hands in utter frustration. "What have I done?"

You shook your head. "It's not your fault."

"No..."

It was your turn to reach out to him, forcing his hands off of his face as you kneeled before him. "Satoru, you can hardly be blamed for how I feel. It's okay. I am not mad at you."

"Yeah, but I sure as hell am mad at myself." He let you take his hands but immediately reversed roles and held your hand in his. "Oh, Y/N. My sweet, sweet Y/N." His broad shoulders drooped down. "It's my fault why you're doing this right now for making you feel like you had to toe boundaries with me where your emotions are concerned."

"We signed a contract..."

He lifted his hand to tenderly graze your cheek, his icy blue eyes showing that misplaced warmth you've become familiar with even when he made someone beg for mercy. Gojo Satoru always shone brilliantly amid the darkness that surrounded him. You gravitated towards that light no matter how twisted it was.

"This is my doing."

"No –"

"But it's true." He smiled sadly at you. "I know what I am, and I am so deep in it that nothing could right the wrongs I've done. That contract was supposed to be a shield for you against me, Y/N, not the other way around."

"What?" Now you're confused.

"The moment you called me beautiful despite seeing what you did all those years ago, I knew I had to have you with me to have someone to see past the fear I instill in anyone who crosses paths with me." He shrugged. "I didn't want you to feel like you had to feel for me, nor did I want you to feel responsible for anything that involves me. I'm not so cruel that I'll subject you to that, but it's too late, no? I put you in danger, and you don't owe it to me that I am protecting you or giving you everything I thought you would want while keeping a safe distance. Turns out I've hurt you more."

You were taken aback, to say the least.

"But I do care for you more than I can admit or fathom." He beamed disarmingly as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I am in too deep, and maybe I should just accept that I do love you."

"Satoru..." 

"I love you, Y/N. Words are cheap, and it may be too late, but I really do." He placed his head on your shoulder as he embraced you, holding you tight, skin on skin. "But if you want to leave, I will let you. I will not be selfish and ask you to stay with me. I want you to do whatever you think is best for you without thinking of me."

Laughter wanted to escape from your throat, not because of mirth but from relief. But with that came the realization that you weren't free anymore, not where Gojo was concerned. He's setting you free, but the lock to your prison wasn't his to hold in the first place. You held yourself captive to him in the first place, locked yourself in, and threw the key away. Knowing he reciprocated your affection towards him just sealed you in a reinforced vault, dunked into the deepest trenches of the ocean that was his warmth. How the hell were you supposed to leave him now when you mistakenly thought you were grasping at straws when he was shackled to you all along?

Shrugging, you wrapped your arms around him, shaking your head at your foolishness. At this point, saying you didn't know what you were getting yourself into is a big, fat lie, and it was probably one you will never make the mistake of doing anyway, unable to deny yourself of what you wanted...what you needed.

"You really are a piece of work," you muttered.

"What did I do?" he whined like a child. In such moments, you almost always forget he was shy of a year to a decade older than you.

You chuckled, returning his words to him. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?" 

Gojo's head snapped up, now wearing a cheeky grin as he regarded you, his hands climbing up the back of your thighs before cupping your bare ass. "Is that so? I'm letting you do what you want, Y/N."

You scoffed. He's back to his usual self, toying with you, but you see the subtle difference in how he deals with you. "I am doing what I want right now."

"Going once..."

You relaxed in his hold.

"Twice?"

"No."

His expression turned dark, eyes hazy with lust as he drew you closer, making you sit directly on his half-hard cock. "You can't complain after this, you are aware, my love?"

Ah, the sound of that endearment rolling out of his tongue was music to your ears. Winding your arms around his neck, you leaned forward and ground your hips against his, relishing the soft groan that escaped his lips at the pressure. "Where do I sign?"

He pointed at his lips. "It's a lifetime agreement, mind you."

You wasted no time sealing your new pact, crashing your lips against his, a kiss that was sloppy at best, excitement and a mix of love and lust heavy on your tongue as you sought his, reveling in the taste of him which felt like the first time. Gojo was almost always dominant, but he didn't seem to mind that you were taking the lead this time, asserting your claim over him, unable to resist now that you've both gotten what you wanted from each other.

"Lucky for you, I don't want out."

~*~

I had fun with these. Wonder if I should do Geto, Sukuna and Choso as well... A little treat to quell the time I'm taking off of writing my ongoing Gojo smau cause I lost all my fucking files. Yay, me!

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20231019]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[kabr0ztrousers]

The gnolls left me completely eager to read a second part, please I beg you for a second part, perfect writer 🥺

Kabr0z Writes episode 116: More Gnolls

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

AO3

CWs: Group sex; impregnation; power exchange; uncertain paternity; mild impact (reader slapping partner- it makes sense in context)

A/N: It's super duper late, so this one os skipping the queue and may not actually be published until tomorrow morning... Either way, I'm intent on scratching at least one missed day off the list!

I'll do the one about the alien impregnating a starship crew tomorrow, so look forward to that.

##########################################

It's been almost a year since you became Matriarch. A circlet of bone sits on your brow, furs hide your full breasts, and intricate patterns are painted on your recently-flatter belly. The litter you bore for the tribe were still in their first year, but your daughters were already bigger and stronger than your sons. That's not what makes today special.

The men have been smelling it for days. You wondered why they were acting so strangely, and this morning you figured it out. You were ovulating.

The mood in the cave was mixed, sexual tension mixed with an ingrained servility towards you as the ranking woman in the troop. You saw the glances they gave you when they thought you weren't looking. Desire and fear mixed in them, you knew that if one went for you without your permission, the others would punish him before he even touched you, but keeping the menfolk pent up like this was bad for morale.

Luckily for them, you had absolutely no intention of making them wait around.

You took your podium, a rocky ledge at about Gnoll-height, and rattled your scepter. The bone rings clattering against the wooden pole.

"Listen-listen! Queen speaking!" You'd learned to give your addresses in their particular, staccato dialect "Queen fertile! Bear many pups! Recall when queen arrive! More of that!"

The troop howled and yipped in excitement. You had to admit, you'd been waiting for this for a while. You'd found that if you took a bedfellow, they'd always get uppity because they were the one screwing the only cunt in the camp. That only made the rest antsy, so you had to resign yourself to lonely nights with your fingers. Now you were ready to conceive again, you could let all of them have a go. You pulled on the bone pins holding your furs in place, watching them drop and displaying your naked, painted body to the slavering group below.

You stepped off the plinth, into the sea of grasping paws. Borne aloft for a moment on a bed of fuck-crazed hyena-men, before the crowd parted like water, and you sank.

The first one to get you threw your legs over his shoulders, holding your hips as he dove into your already slick cunt. You felt his tongue running over you, no care for technique or delicacy, just raw animalistic lust driving him on. In a moment, your whole crotch was dripping with drool, your clit buzzing and your juices flowing.

Another took advantage of your upside-down state, his cock slipping from his sheath directly into your mouth. He bucked his hips rapidly, whining and barking when your hand squeezed at his base, freeing the knot and wrapping your fingers around it. You squeezed his knot rhythmically, tasting the salty precum spraying from him get thicker, more bitter as his clenching balls started to pump hot cum into your eager mouth. You held him there as long as you could, feeling yourself clenching against the tongue buried in your cunt until you couldn't take it any more.

"Need fuck! Not lick! Fuck! Fuck!"

Pelor forgive you but that was hard to say. You could've stayed there forever with that tongue, letting the others fuck your face. But you had a duty, not to mention a desire, and that wouldn't be satisfied until you knew you had another litter in you.

The menfolk obeyed. They turned you over. A flush of pride went through you as they even queued up. The one who was licking you held your waist as the blunt end of his cock pressed against your opening. He was looking at you. You slapped him across the face.

"Not wait! Fuck! Fuck! Breed! Breed!"

He didn't need telling twice. The cock filled you up, and you came immediately. Your wails spurred him on, fucking you harder and faster as you urged him on, cunt clenching, hands gripping his short fur, looking straight into his eyes

"Don't you dare pull out" you warned him "don't you fucking dare"

You needn't have threatened. His knot was already slapping your cunt with every stroke, getting a little closer to entering you every time, until finally, painfully, it did. You half-gasped, half-screamed. You screwed your eyes shut as you took deep breaths.

"Good boy. Good boy. Give it to me. Give it to me"

You'd abandoned the Gnoll-speech, but from how you could hear his tail wagging, you knew he understood you. You could feel him filling you, hot spunk spilling into your hungry womb. He held you to him, the smell of hyena musk and sweat filled your nose as you heard his heart beating hard, his stomach muscles tensing with every wave, every pump of cum he shot into you until at last, he worked himself free.

You kissed the first Gnoll's nose as he stalked off to rejoin the back of the line. The next already had his hands on you, licking your face as his hips pistoned into yours. You stroked his neck, cooing at him to slow down a little as you positioned your cunt at his cock, slipping the tip inside "All right, boy, now try"

That worked. This Gnoll fucked a little slower, but with no less enthusiasm. Pounding his leaking cock into your wet hole, using the cum still coating your insides as lube while he fucked you. Your clit was throbbing, aching to be touched. You slipped a hand between you, rubbing circles around your nub. This must've been something he was into, as soon as you touched yourself his knot was buried in you, throbbing and shaking as he filled you with his load. You didn't care, rubbing yourself to a whining second orgasm, squeezing him tight inside you and cuddling the warm, broad hyena man to you.

So you moved down the line. Each Gnoll would have his way with you, requiring more of less encouragement to actually take you rather than stand there expecting you to instruct them. One by one they dropped a virile load in you, then line up for seconds, thirds, one or two even wanted a fourth helping of you. By that time you were tired and dripping, your puffy, overused cunt twitching and clenching at a breath, your cum-drunk brain unable to say no. The last one you begged, pleaded for him to keep his knot in you. To not pull it out before collapsing to the floor. He became your bed for the night, warm and comfortable. His knot filled you deliciously, holding his cock to your cervix. Every so often in the night you'd half-awaken, his whines and pulsing genitals lulling you back to sleep.

Come to think of it, the litter you gave birth to nine months later did all have his eyes...

##############################################

Love me some gnolls. Plus this one didn't need too much runup, which is a plus.

Have a request? Want a sequel? Just want to see how something may have played out differently? Drop an ask, add to the list of requests!

And remember, I do love hearing about it if you enjoy these, if you don't want to put a name to it, you can always drop an anon saying so 😁

[respectthepetty]

In the context of Happy of the End's seventh and eighth episode, it makes sense that Chihiro is being lit up by the car's headlights as he awaits whatever punishment Maya has in store for him, but narratively, it's a beautiful reminder that even in the darkest moment, Chihiro is still light.

When he gets out of the situation thanks to some stray, but persistent, observers, he is still bright in the hospital bed although he is bruised, beaten, and rattled.

Because the one who is truly bothered by all of this is Black Brooder Haoran.

He blames himself for what has happened, and no matter how light Chihiro is, Haoran believes that his dark past will hurt Chihiro, and this incident has not only escalated his fears, but proven that the darkness has already gotten to Chihiro.

Chihiro's cracked arm is a constant reminder of this. It's nestled safely in its black sling, but that black is a visual indicator that Haoran's dark life is no longer in the past, but is alive in the present and harming Chihiro.

So while Chihiro stands in the light unaware of what's taking shape in Haoran,

Haoran isolates and moves back into the darkness.

Because to him, Chihiro will always be light.

And he and his dark past are the problem.

Chihiro continues to prove that he has never seen Haoran this way, and even when confronted with Haoran's troubles, time and time again, Chihiro has embraced them with love and light.

So they run away together. They venture around the beach on a sunny day. They align their colors in the best way they know how with Chihiro still light, and Haoran still dark.

But, that's the point. Haoran is still dark. He still thinks he is the problem. He is the one tainting Chihiro. He is the one who brings darkness wherever he goes and Chihiro would be light and bright without him. So he walks into the dark water, yet Chihiro drags him back.

And that's when Haoran makes one final attempt to rid Chihiro of his darkness. It's not that he tells Chihiro to leave him. It's that Haoran tells him that he is turning himself in. Since Chihiro won't stay away from Haoran, Haoran will do what he does best. Isolate, lock himself away, and cage himself up just like he was taught to do with a piece of luggage all those years ago.

Because Chihiro will be much lighter without him. He will be bright and happy. And we see that three years, Haoran was right.

But it's not because Haoran is no longer in Chihiro's life. Haoran is still very much part of Chihiro's life in the friends Chihiro still has and the people who help him. Chihiro never had this before. His family disowned him. He had no friends. But, now, because of Haoran, he has people he can depend on.

When Haoran is released from prison, he is lighter, but immediately walks into the darkness. Unlike the other times, we clearly see the light at the end. He won't stay in this darkness for long.

The black and darkness will always be there, but he will sit in the sun, and he will be lighter.

He will go for walks. He will be the light he needs.

So when he sees Chihiro and breaks down, he will believe the decision he made was right because Chihiro is fulfilling all his dreams without the darkness that was Haoran's life.

Which is why I loved that the shirt Chihiro wears is grey.

Which, once again, shows that Chihiro carries Haoran with him in everything he does.

Chihiro has accomplished his goals, but it's not because he doesn't have Haoran with him. It's because he always has Haoran with him. In the places they have gone together.

And the places they lived together. There are little glimpses of their life together in Chihiro's photography because without Haoran, Chihiro wouldn't be alive. Chihiro wouldn't have a reason to live. Chihiro wouldn't have a life filled with people who care about him and a job he once believed he was never meant for.

So it's important that Haoran comes face-to-(covered) face with himself before he sees Chihiro because it's important that he sees himself in Chihiro's life, and that he sees himself in Chihiro. Because there in the white frame is the light of Chihiro's life.

So even though Chihiro is in a white jacket with a blue shirt,

And Haoran is in black, he proudly wears the blue scarf Chihiro gave him to match him just like their last day together.

And he allows his picture to be taken.

Because Haoran finally understands that he never darkened Chihiro's world, and Chihiro's huge smile when he sees him proves it.

Haoran, even with all his darkness, was the happiest part of Chihiro's miserable existence. Haoran was the bright spot in Chihiro's life when he needed it most. Haoran is light, and when he picked Chihiro out of the trash, he changed Chihiro's entire life.

These color-coded boys in love get a happy ending because they showed that no matter how much darkness exists, there is always light.

And they were each other's light.

[nicxl333]

could you do a part 2 of bllk boys accidentally hurting their partner bu with a good ending please.

My stomach wouldn't be able to handle mor angst(⁠T⁠T⁠)

BABY YOU SOLD ME A DREAM PT.2

thanks for the req anon, i think you’re doing everyone a favour here by asking for this because whew! i was ready to dropkick a mf from writing pt.1 lmao

also if you’re here by chance it’s probably best if you read pt.1 for context before you read pt.2 | :3

characters: isagi yoichi, reo mikage, nagi seishiro, barou shoei, itoshi rin

content: overwhelming fluff, slight angst, major angst (in rin and barou’s part), reader is female coded (the term ‘girlfriend ‘ is used)

tags: @kaiserkisser @silly-ez @scaramouchemyloveee @mariyumemi @wishiknewwhatiwasdoingwithmylife @hsxhype @aquamarine001 @nxgiswife @hanagoromo-roses

☆彡 ISAGI YOICHI

two weeks. two long, monotonous weeks spent without isagi. yes bachira did his very best to make sure you were comfortable with him, but you missed isagi so damn much.

it wasn’t only difficult for you though, bachira was trapped in a bad position. due to him being a friend of both you and isagi, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. while it was evident that isagi had fucked you over badly, being in a team with isagi and having him as a bestfriend didn’t make things better. he couldn’t just pick a side and be done with it.

unbeknownst to you though, isagi asked bachira multiple times each day about how you were doing. after some self reflection, he realised just how wrong he was for treating you that way. especially since people like you nowadays are hard to come by. someone so nurturing, caring and full of love and devotion for their s/o was quite the rarity to find. and to think he nearly lost all of that with just a few words. really opened up his perspective of things. he wanted to do better. for you and himself.

and so, he cut down his training times, making more time for himself to wind down from daily intensive workouts. he thought of words to say to you, to make it known to you that he was aware where he went wrong and was taking responsibility for his actions.

he also went shopping, to buy you a multitude of gifts. clothes, jewellery, trainers and heels, perfumes, trinkets. you name it, he bought it. it all cost him a hand and a foot, but he didn’t mind, he would do it 100 times over for you. (we should remember this man is a professional footballer, he’s got dough.) once home, he placed all the gifts on the coffee table in the living room, having to put some on the floor due to the sheer amount he bought, ready to take them to bachira’s tomorrow.

little did he know he wouldn’t have to make the commute.

you had said your goodbyes to bachira that same day, thanking him for taking you in for so long with a big bear hug, to which he returned with just as much (platonic) love as you had shown him. you placed your bag in the backseat of your car, turning on the ignition and beginning the drive back home.

as the roads whizzed by you on the highway, so did the thoughts in your head. you were very nervous to have to talk to isagi again, to have to recall exactly what happened that night. glancing at the time on the dashboard, you drew the conclusion that isagi should be training right now, which would at least give you time to prepare before he got back.

as you pulled up to the apartment complex, the first thing you noticed was that isagi’s car was there, in his usual spot next to yours.

‘he’s home?’

surely not, maybe he just hitched a ride or something. although that didn’t make any sense whatsoever. there would be no reason why isagi would skip his evening trainings, not that you could think of anyways. even after joint practice with his team he would then further push himself to do his own training, polishing up on his skills. so to think he’s potentially broken that pattern confused you.

after parking your car and collecting your things you made your way to your front door, unlocking it and venturing in. once you placed your keys on the side table and took off your shoes, you walked into the empty living room, ultimately puzzled when you noticed the coffee table filled to the brim with bags from your favourite places.

“yoichi? you there?”

nothing.

you therefore assumed he was out, deciding to take a closer look at the bags. inside, everything you had ever bought for yourself or displayed interest in while out with isagi lay in each bag. even things that you didn’t have, but wanted, were present.

he remembered.

your eyes immediately welled with tears of appreciation, head snapping to your bedroom door when you heard it open, isagi’s figure stepping out. you immediately jolted, not expecting him to actually be here, even though you didn’t actually take the time to look and see properly.

“shit! y/n, you’re back? wait, why’re you crying?”

in an instant he crossed the distance to you, wiping the tears away once he assessed and evaluated that you were not hurt.

“uh— sorry. i should’ve asked you first. is this okay?” he quizzed, holding the sides of your face tenderly. you nodded, leaning into his touch.

“are these for me yoichi?” you looked into his cobalt blue eyes. one hand left your cheek, rubbing at the skin behind his neck, suddenly feeling shy.

“erm…yes. yes they are. i wasn’t expecting you back though, i was gonna surprise you tomorrow. ” he pulled you towards the sofa, sitting you down and looking deep into your (e/c) eyes.

“look y/n, i know materialism doesn’t take away what i did to you, but i want you to know just how sorry i am. you didn’t deserve how i treated you. not two weeks ago or months before. i made you feel lonely, i put football before you. when you needed me, i shut you out. and i take full accountability for that. words couldn’t describe just how badly i’m in love with you and how crazy you make me feel. i couldn’t bear to lose that forever. hell, these two weeks without you have tormented me enough. a lifetime without you would finish me off for good.”

you listened to him speak every word, touched that he would say such soothing words to you. yes, you did expect him to apologise, but not to go above and beyond to show his willingness to change.

your nose started flaring, the sting of your eyes warning that you were about to cry again.

feeling uncomfortable with your silence, isagi pressed you slightly.

“y/n? are you— are you oka-”

you cut him off by pouncing on him, engulfing him in a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him like it was your last.

“i’m yours yoichi. always and forever.”

☆彡 MIKAGE REO

you woke up in the same hotel room you cried yourself to sleep in. throat dry, head pulsating and heart wounded. you needed some form of rejuvenation, but, considering you didn’t have any clothes on you, seemed hard to achieve.

you reached for your phone, shocked when you saw 20 missed calls and 46 messages from the very same person who caused you anguish in the first place. opening the message app you see the most recent messages being sent at around 5am.

“y/n, where are you?”

“y/n please answer the phone!”

“are you safe at least, i’m worried about you.”

“i just wanna know if you’re okay, we need to talk.”

“y/n?”

“y/n please, im starting to worry, just send me a text, or something. let me know you’re okay.”

although you were beyond pissed at the guy, he was concerned for your safety, and to make him worry for you like that shouldn’t have to be something anyone should experience.

you sent him a quick, straightforward response.

“i’m fine, you don’t need to worry.”

the read receipt came as quickly as you sent it, a bubble popping up, signaling that reo was typing. however, after a few moments, it disappeared altogether, leaving your message standing alone.

you sighed, deciding that the least you could do was shower, feeling clammy and, simply put, dirty.

luckily, your job was well paying so you were able to book a lavish en-suite hotel room, although you didn’t pay attention to that much last night, willing to go just about anywhere as long as it weren’t near reo. inside the bathroom lay exquisite amenities, top branded shower gel, shampoo and conditioner, along with oils and different expensive face care products. an unopened toothbrush pack also was present on the bathroom counter, with toothpaste alongside it. and by the full glass shower itself stood a towel and robe on the hanging rack.

it weren’t exactly clothes, but it was a start. better than staying in your dress the whole day. while you waited for the shower water to warm you looked at yourself in the mirror, cringing at how dishevelled your figure was. your cheeks were tear stained, causing your mascara to run, your lips had smeared lipstick still present, and your hair? let’s not even go there. you looked a hot mess, physical evidence of your current mood.

once heated to a substantial temperature you stepped into the shower, revelling at how that warm water melted into your skin. you made good work of scrubbing down your skin, leaving no traces of any events that may have transpired the day before.

soon enough you finished up your shower, stepping out and wrapping the towel round your figure, feeling refreshed, but still incomplete. you brushed your teeth next, trying to avoid letting your thoughts go off topic from the current task at hand.

just as you were walking into the room itself to look for moisturiser, you heard a knock at the door. it confused you to the core. no one actually knew your whereabouts so you couldn’t rack your brain to guess who it could be. you ventured close to the door, looking through the peephole and visibly relaxing once you saw a hotel worker standing, waiting.

“hello?”

“ah, good morning miss y/n, i have a bag here requested to be brought to you.”

if you weren’t confused before, you were bewildered now. this meant that someone hand to have known where’d you were, but how? only one way to find out.

“requested by who, might i ask?”

“mr…mikage reo?”

what the actual hell. you were well and truly silenced by the revelation. more importantly, it’s quite amazing how he managed to find your location with such haste. although it shouldn’t really surprise you so much, considering he probably had connections due to his status. it made you wonder just what exactly he brought to you.

“erm ma’am?”

you cracked the door open, seeing one of reo’s duffel bags stuffed to the brim. the hotel worker held it out for you to take, bowing then turning to leave immediately after. you carried the heavy bag through the room, placing it on the ottoman at the end of the bed.

you stood for a second, debating whether you should open it or not. curiosity got the better of you though, and you unzipped the bag, stalling when you realised it was a bag of clothes for you, as well as the moisturiser you use, some makeup products and your favourite trainers. it’s like he somehow knew you would need clothes, probably since you didn’t return home last night.

taking the clothes from the bag you realised he packed you one of your favourite hoodies, his own hoodie.

after moisturising yourself you started to put the clothes on, feeling slightly better about yourself. you looked into your makeup bag, seeing some of your basic everyday skin and hair products, as well as your everyday perfume, feeling grateful that reo at least paid attention enough to know what you liked and used.

just as you had finished your skincare routine you heard another lock at the door, wondering who it could be at this time. you got up and crossed your way to the door, looking through the peephole and freezing.

your boyfriend, reo stood at the door, looking around nervously.

you gauged your options for a moment, reaching an ultimatum with yourself that you couldn’t avoid him forever. you opened the door fully, stepping to the side for him to walk in, which he did, stepping meticulously and with precaution, while you closed the door behind him.

all was silent for a moment, neither party knowing what to say to the other, a million thoughts rushing through the room. the tension was taut, the air thick, and awkwardness seeping in.

you collected yourself, deciding to start it off.

“thanks for the clothes, i appreciate it.”

“it’s…the least i could do, considering how i treated you.” he said, simultaneously biting down on his lip.

“yeah.”

he moved closer towards you, looking at your expression to see if he was crossing boundaries at any point.

“y/n.” you looked at him with apprehension, worried about what may fly out of his mouth next. “i want you to know that what happened last night, was entirely my fault. i need you to understand that.”

you frowned with sadness displayed on your face. yes he may be owning up to his actions, but that didn’t explain why he said what he said. especially if he could say something of that degree to you with such ease. it sounded like he meant every word.

becoming slightly anxious from your silence, he continued on.

“i made you it sound like you were inadequate or you were lower than me because i have money. i know it sounds bad, but y/n, it’s really the opposite. you don’t look at me for my background, you look at me for who i am as a person. you make me feel normal. make me feel like i can be myself around you. i don’t have to keep myself guarded around you and i appreciate you so much for it. i guess that’s why i spoke out of turn to you like that last night. because you’re probably the only person who can actually knock me down a peg. and having nagi hear that made me scared. scared because i was vulnerable in front of him. of course, i’m not excusing my actions, and i’m not asking for forgiveness, i just want you to know i’m sorry.”

you nodded slowly in understanding, looking at the way he subconsciously tugged on a piece of his violet tresses. he left his hair down today. you loved it when his hair was down. he knew that.

“i hear you reo, but that’s not the only issue. this whole problem stemmed from the fact that you spend too much time with nagi. i don’t wanna be the girlfriend that prohibits you from spending time with your friends, that’s not who i am, but when you’re with nagi so much that it makes you forget important dates, that’s when it becomes a problem. especially when you then make it out to be like i’m the problem. no one is saying you can’t be around him, but have a backbone please. he’s always there reo. sometimes i just want you to myself, is that too much to ask for?”

he realised where he went wrong, casting you aside for the sake of nagi, which wasn’t cool. and he didn’t want to lose you. you were too good to him and he felt so strongly about you. anything you asked for could never be too much, not to him.

and so, he stepped closer to you still, scooping you up in his arms and spinning you around, relishing in the way you wrapped your arms around his neck, both for stabilisation and comfort.

“no baby, it’s never too much. not when it comes to you.”

you squeezed him tighter, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck and smiling.

“i don’t like it when we fight reo, i love you too much for that.”

“i love you too y/n,” he placed you down gently on the bed, laying you back and caging you in with both arms, his hair hanging directly over your face. “so…we’re gonna go back home and i want you to pack your bags. we’re going to mykonos for the week to celebrate our anniversary together.”

you straightened up, wondering where this was all coming from.

“huh? reo, you’re forgetting something? you may be off season right now but i still have work.”

“not for the next two weeks, i pulled some strings so now you have paid time off, which, gives you more time with your favourite man.”

you chuckled at his revelation, knowing he definitely used his power to threaten your manager. reo could be so demanding at times.

“speaking of which, do you know where he is?” his face immediately darkened at that.

“wanna repeat that?”

“nope!”

☆彡 NAGI SEISHIRO

nagi was in a state. it had only been 4 days since you broke up with him, but that was 4 days too long for him. it wasn’t actually until you broke it off with him and it sunk in that you were gone, that it really registered for him.

he missed you.

it made him realise, as much as he hated being bothered…he didn’t mind if it were you. he really did enjoy spending time with you. especially when cuddling. your figure was so soft, a perfect cushion for him to lay on as he slept. you would play with his hair so gently, lulling him to sleep. and you were really pretty.

the apartment just seemed all the more empty without you. yes, he did live alone pre blue lock a few years back, but having you live with him made him get used to having someone around. he grew comfortable and accustomed to it. so much so that it felt lonely when you left.

you had temporarily went back to your parents house while you looked for a new place to live. you had a few items of miscellaneous clothing left behind in your room, but you had ran out, thus needing the majority of your stuff, which you had left back at nagi’s.

you left off, with the promise to your parents that you’d be back soon.

the engine hummed as you drove back, playing your playlist on a high volume, hoping to drown out the thoughts spiralling in your head, although it did little to silence them.

you didn’t plan a time to leave out, but realised that you had coincidentally headed out at the same time nagi would be home, a meeting inevitable. oh well. had to happen at some point. you planned on a quick and brisk pit stop, hoping to minimise interaction with him as much as possible.

you pulled up to the apartment complex, walking through the lobby, swiping your keycard and pressing the lift to go to the penthouse.

in no time you reached the top, the lift doors opening. you stepped out and pushed your key into the lock, opening the door as silently as you could, walking in and shutting it with a click.

yes, you may have been moving around like a teenager after a forbidden night out, but you would much rather that than have to be further insulted by nagi, should he catch you.

alas, things cannot always go smoothly in life, for nagi had heard you, stepping out of the bedroom, shirtless with loosely hanging shorts, evidently having just woken up from a nap.

he instantly stopped, rubbing his eyes to see if he was tweaking or not. yet, you stood there, trying to disappear in that moment.

“y/n…you’re here.”

“only to get my things nagi, i’ll be out of your hair in around half an hour.”

nagi. his own name turned his mood sour. he’d much rather you call him by his actual name, or sei, not his last. and you knew that fact very well, making sure he knew damn well you were serious.

you begun to hurriedly walk towards the bedroom, where he was standing by the door, attempting to walk past him as quickly as possible. he intervened however, stepping about halfway into the door so that you were now directly in front of him and couldn’t get past, unless you spoke to him.

“are you really leaving y/n?”

“it’s l/n to you nagi, and yes. you don’t get to say something like that to me and think we’ll be cool after. it’s fucked up.”

you turned so he couldn’t see you, tears beginning to form at the painful recollection of what occurred a few days ago. you didn’t trust yourself to say anything else, for the fear of bursting into tears held you back.

“please don’t leave me y/n, i can do better, i promise. i regret what i said. really badly. i’m— i’m sorry.”

you knew that nagi didn’t like talking as it is (he referred to it as a hassle), so to have him trying to at least communicate with you did mean something. not enough to satiate you though.

“y/n?”

when you didn’t say anything back he lightly tugged your hand and turned you around, eyes widening once he saw tears streaming down your face.

he attempted to console you, wanting to pull you into a hug, but drawing back when you lightly pushed him off you.

“y/n- what’s wrong?”

“i can’t sei, i’m scared. scared you’ll grow bored of me. i don’t know if i’m bothering you or not and it kills me to think that you’d spend more time on games than with me. you basically told me i’m a hassle. how the hell else am i supposed to take that?”

your tears wouldn’t stop pouring down no matter how much you tried to calm yourself down, sniffles loud and clear as day.

something unusual happened to nagi as he watched you cry your eyes out. he felt his heart breaking into tiny shards at your state. more so because he knew it was because of him. he didn’t want to be the cause of your pain. he didn’t want to see you like this, experiencing such distress.

he wrapped his arms around you, one hand shielding your head and pulling your face into his bare chest, where you sobbed some more, letting up all the feelings built up from days prior.

“you’re not a hassle y/n. i said that out of turn. you could never be a hassle to me. while you were gone, i couldn’t even play my games properly. i just slept and trained because i missed you so much and didn’t know what to do without you. i know i’m lazy, and i know i don’t make you feel loved enough, but i do. i love you. i’ll do better for you and i don’t wanna be the reason why you’re upset. so please stop crying, wanna see your pretty face smile for me.”

you smiled into his chest, your sniffles beginning to subside and still.

“thank you sei, i really needed to hear that.”

“i would say it over 100 times for you. it might take a while but i won’t get bored of it. not when it comes to you.”

you wrapped your arms around his broad figure, squeezing tightly.

“will you be my girlfriend again y/n? no one else can reach your level. not now, not ever.”

you let go of his body, instead placing your palms on the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss.

“of course i will seishiro.”

“good, because i wanna cuddle with my girlfriend.”

☆彡 BAROU SHOUEI

it had been 2 months since you broke up with barou and he was miserable. who would’ve thought you leaving would cause such a rift in his life? his performance in matches were shit, he became pissed off at people more easily, and he was benched more often.

due to him not having someone to talk to, he essentially had no form of a wind down from football, something you were able to give him while you were together. something he had come to miss, and wished he appreciated more.

the lack of your items in the house made your departure all the more apparent. your decorations and items around the apartment were what made the house a home.

and you as a person? what wasn’t to like about you? you were a very levelheaded but gentle person, a great contrast to his fiery, angry personality. you catered to his every need, be it mentally, physically or sexually. your voice was what carried him through his day, soothing him to the bone, calming him down when he needed it. the more he thought about it, the more he realised he made a grave mistake pushing you out. the more he realised just how much he was attached to you, he was just unwilling to acknowledge it.

barou was no pussy, and he had enough of living like this, living without you, so he decided to get you back (and not fuck up this time).

he knew you were most likely staying at your childhood friend, chigiri’s house. he knew him very well, having done the blue lock training program with him years back, and played against him in several matches. he knew where he lived, having gone to parties held at his house through mutual connections.

and so, after practice, he grabbed his car keys and set off. he weren’t good with words, so his mind stayed scrambled as he thought of all the things he could say to you. while he couldn’t think of specific sentences to say to you, his goal remained the same.

after some time passed, he pulled up to chigiri’s house, your car the only one on the drive, which meant that only you were home. he switched off the ignition, stepped out of the car and walked up to the door.

with slight hesitancy, he lifted his fist to the door and knocked three times. he listened for any shuffling inside, but heard none. after a moment he turned away to leave, thinking you might’ve not been there after all. it’s possible you might’ve been out with chigiri in his car. yeah, that was probably it.

however.

“what do you want barou? i thought i was ‘making your life too hard’?”

shit, you were home. your voice was muffled, due to you speaking through the door, having seen his figure through the peephole.

“i- i didn’t mean that. not that way.”

you opened the door, allowing him to see a crack of your figure, donned in shorts and a tank top.

“then how did you mean it barou? don’t take me for an idiot, because i’m not one. no one says anything of that depth if you didn’t feel that exact way before. so before you let anymore bullshit spout from your mouth tell me exactly how you meant it, in what context. because i’m tired barou, tired of being in a relationship where i feel like i’m treading on glass around you because you don’t wanna do certain things. it’s not a nice feeling. you may not feel that way, but i do. i’ve felt that way during our whole relationship, but i feel like i can’t tell you shit so i’ve kept. it. in.”

wow. he really didn’t see things from your perspective. once he heard it from you, he realised just how much of a dickhead he sounded like. he couldn’t say anything, how could he explain himself after that?

he didn’t.

and after hearing no refutation or explanation from barou, you simply let go of any hopes of talking this out with him.

“shouei,” his ears perked at you using his first name. “i think…you should go. i don’t wanna have any hard feelings between us but i don’t think we’re right for each other. please understand and respect tha-”

you stopped short of ending your sentence upon seeing barou turn and leave before he could hear you out, getting back into his car and preparing to drive off.

you sighed, shaking your head and closing the door, effectually ending your relationship for good.

he got what he wanted, right?

☆彡 ITOSHI RIN

you woke up in the morning, immediately panning your vision to your left to see if rin had returned to bed. the bed imprints remained the exact same as you had left it when you fell asleep, which lead you to wonder if rin had even returned home.

you slid out of bed, your feet touching the cold wood floor, you trudged your way through the apartment, looking for signs of life, your shoulders falling in disappointment when you realised rin was nowhere to be seen. it was debatable if he even came home or not, the answer you would probably never find out.

you warred with yourself in your head about what to do. considering rin didn’t even try to talk to you to rectify the situation showed he didn’t really give a shit. if he didn’t come home, then he probably didn’t even know if you came home or not, which meant he isn’t worrying about you or where you were.

you weren’t a dickhead, and waiting for someone who evidently didn’t want you seemed like such a desperate action, which you weren’t trying to act like.

and so, calling a few willing friends, shedding some tears here and there, and half a day of hard work, you had effectively moved out of your shared apartment with rin, leaving a half completed home. he didn’t return home the whole day, not that you gave a shit anymore.

imagine rin’s surprise when he returned home from his team practice, expecting to see you moping around somewhere, but instead, nowhere to be found. as a matter of fact, where the fuck was your stuff? the apartment looked very much empty right now. he took at least 15 minutes to look around, analysing his surroundings, the same he would do during a game. any potted plants you bought for the house, specifically for the living room disappeared. your stupid candle ornaments that somehow made the house look better? not a ghost of a trace left behind. your clothes? gone. even from the laundry basket, only his clothes remained.

your products, your favourite sleeping pillow, even your toothbrush was gone. you left no stone unturned, questionable if you ever lived there in the first place.

still slightly puzzled but somewhat aware of the answer behind all of this, he pulled out his phone, clicking immediately on the message app. he sent you a message, heart dropping and suspicions confirmed when his message was not only green, but displayed a ‘not delivered’ message underneath. you had blocked him, and moved out without his knowledge.

he knew you were pissed off from what had transpired, but he didn’t know you would take action this soon. you didn’t even wait to talk to him for the love of god. this wasn’t supposed to happen this way, he was only angry at you because he felt threatened in the moment. but, recalling just exactly what he said to you, maybe it was warranted.

maybe it was for the best. you barely had enough time together as it is, due to unmatchable schedules and rin always being abroad. he was never able to give you enough love. funny, considering he didn’t even make sure to tell you. looking back on it, he realised he was kind of a dickhead to you.

so, he let go of the relationship for good.

—

four months had passed. he’d gotten bigger as a football player after his team winning a multitude of matches had lead to him becoming their star player, constantly getting man of the match achievements. this lead to his popularity increasing, getting more fans and fame as a result. he had been abroad this whole time, focusing on his career.

oh. but don’t think he had escaped you.

he couldn’t get his mind off you.

you tormented his thoughts daily and nightly, his yearning for you and hate for himself flourishing simultaneously as he repeatedly recalled how he fucked up. he wished he could go back to that night, heeding your warnings.

either way, that couldn’t be achieved now, for he didn’t know your whereabouts. he hadn’t known since that night on the pitch.

he tried to move on the best he could, returning back to japan to visit his parents whilst he had time off from football.

it just so happened one day while he popped out to a grocery store to get ingredients for his mother, the he saw the back of a familiar head, whisking away to the next aisle over. piquing his curiosity, he immediately paced to see if it way really who he thought it was.

and yes, the face he thought he’d never see again, the very same person who had been frequenting his mind,

you.

“y/n!” you froze, not expecting to find him here of all places. last time you had seen on tv, he was abroad. he wasn’t supposed to be here. deciding you had to face the music at some point, you turned around, watching as his demeanour melted, at really seeing you again after so long.

“rin…hi.”

all was silent for a moment, not knowing what to say to each other. what does one say in situations such as these? not to worry, rin answered for you.

“how…how’ve you been?”

“good thanks, how about you?”

“i’ve been— alright.”

silence settled again. rin wanted to voice so many things to you, starting with how he wanted you to know how he’s changed. how he’s calmed down in terms of training. how he’d make more time. he wanted you to know he’d do things differently, if you ever took him back. he wanted you to come home… but he didn’t know where to start.

he would have to at some point however, for you wanted to get away from him as soon as possible.

“well…um, it was good seeing yo-”

“wait!” he interjected, panic settling in that you would disappear and he would never get the chance again. “i— i just wanted to tell you tha—”

“y/n baby, i’ve got the washing powder.”

baby? what the fuck?

he looked just past you to see a guy walking up to you, taking the basket from your hands with a peck to your cheek. you smiled at the action, lacing your hand in his hair as he took place behind you. he then noticed rin, standing there with visible shock on his face, confused on what he missed while he was gone.

“who’s this?”

“oh, just an old friend.” a bold faced lie. anyone with two functioning brain cells could feel the history between you two. “i’ve got my stuff so let’s go to the queue. nice seeing you rin…have a good day.” you walked off with your supposed new boyfriend. a boyfriend that wasn’t him.

have a good day? after you just shattered his heart like that?

his throat turned dry, awareness sinking in.

he wanted you to come home…but he was too late.

baby you sold me a dream pt.3

[myfriendpokey]

Talking About Some Horror Comics

(Image: Richard Sala, "The Bloody Cardinal")

On Cohost a while back i wrote a little bit about comicbook inspirations for Anthology Of The Killer - I might repost it when that site goes down at the end of the year, but until then you can read it here: https://cohost.org/thecatamites/post/7154072-i-wanted-to-write-so

For part two I wanted to talk more about horror comics in particular.

I probably wouldn't have gotten into horror at all if it weren't for comics. Horror comics can feel like a "cold" take on a very "warm" genre - indebted to and playing off of a familiar ground of horror films, but without film's tendency towards emotionalism or immediate effects... Working on a far more compressed scale than even the cheapest 80-minute b-movie, amplifying abruptness or abstraction into something dreamlike and strange. And with the great advantage of taking place inside a totally constructed world. It's not strictly a horror comic but something like Jess Johnson's "Nurture The Devil" is unsettling in part because it's hard to place in relation to either a real world or the world of dreams - whether it's a stylised version of some more familiar content or whether the stylisation is a literal depiction of what's happening.

A comic as physical object can also be a relic - not something we experience in one go, rather something to pick up, put down, sift through, read and reread, with new meanings emerging from a mass of material of which the supposed narrative may not be the most important part. The dreadful, knife-wielding maniacs from Al Columbia's Pim & Francie are familiar figures, but seeing their obsessive repetition across the different collected scraps of abandoned or submerged narratives changes them into dream symbols rather than direct threats.

I like a lot of comics that draw on horror imagery - Mark Beyer and Rory Hayes, A. Degen's "Junior Detective Files" and Daria Tessler's "Cult Of The Ibis", Nicole Claveloux and Imiri Sakabashira. But I wanted to try writing here about some comics that made me interested as horror in a genre itself.

Junji Ito: you may not have heard about this guy.... I actually hadn't read any of his work before the Viz edition of Uzumaki a while back, and the sense of being late to the party didn't make it feel less of a revelation. I think part of it was the sense of comics that were totally distinct while at the same time feeling like they were working entirely IN a genre tradition rather than against it; there was a sense of almost impersonal originality in their laconic and assured pacing, the clarity of line and their lack of need to give too much away, which suggested they must be drawing from and distilling a whole surrounding tradition. And this impression persists even when you follow up on other horror manga and the stated influences and find these comics still feel mysterious even in that context. One of his best effects is a willingness to seem more anonymous than he is, or to give the impression even in his most original effects that he's just flatly transcribing a readymade idea or image. And I think this is his biggest influence on internet-era horror, which has tended to disguise itself (even more than is typical for horror) in anonymous and generic forms, a surface impersonality: as if everyone aleady knew about this, except you.

But what I do feel gets underplayed about his work in particular is also how funny it is, and how indebted to comedy timing. Compare the monstrous reveal in an Ito story with one by Umezu (RIP) - in the latter the frame is pushed right in on someone's face, eyes bulging, screaming, the image repeats, gets even closer, we're in that portion of a nightmare where we feel immobilized by horror, stuck in a pit that we can never escape. The same moment in an ito story tends to be one of ironic equipoise - when the horrible thing finally appears it's depicted clearly, powerfully, it's almost this beautiful and static image. The onlookers stand frozen at the edges of the frame, mid movement, eyes wide but expression not yet changed, a single drop of cartoon sweat on the edge of their heads. There's a contrast between the assurance of the thing and the hapless rabbitlike fascination of the character regarding it, who becomes, like us, an aesthetic spectator - for a moment. When the spell breaks, when we see them screaming, running, it's comic because something of that mood of still contemplation that remains intact. Their eyes bulge, their mouths scream, but they're rushing backwards, away from the panel, and we regard their fear with the same attitude of detached interest with which we saw the full outline of the monstrous shape a panel earlier. To me this sense of humour is apiece with the disconcerting flatness of his approach to setting, in which the usual horror sets - gothic, extraordinary places outside the everyday - feel replaced by something anonymous and shabby, a kind of just-expired contemporary. The monsters rarely need to be explained; it's as though our own world has gradually become too worn down to have any purchase or power on these creatures of dreams that walk the landscapes and alleys with impunity.

Richard Sala - sometimes the artists I end up most fascinated by are ones I spend a while bouncing off of first. I read a few Richard Sala stories over the years and for a while I didn't know what to make of them. Great art, stylised and weird, but as narratives they were hard to place - too stylised and exaggerated to feel like straight horror but too obviously serious about and committed to those genre elements to feel like mere parody or pastice. I think I needed to read Uzumaki before I could get what he was doing, because it relies so much on a sense that genre horror was worth taking seriously; seriously enough to treat neither as a punchline or a heritage piece, something you could bring your own offbeat sensibilities and aesthetic to without condescending to the form, because there was something there. In some great interviews he did with the Comics Journal he was explicit about what he valued in the form: the dreamlike and symbolic qualities of b-movies, the ritual and fetishistic nature of repetition, the way pulp artists in an overlooked form could evolve a private vocabulary of forms, structures and images which worked like surrealist procedures to be mined and combined for new discoveries over time.

He was also interesting to me for the way his work changed over time. The shorter early pieces collected in comics like "Thirteen O'Clock" are recognizably art comics using a vocabulary of found horror images: the secret society, the leering face behind a window, are representative symbols of states of mind rather than presences in themselves. But his first longform serial "The Chuckling Whatsit" inverts this. Here the horror elements are given full play - it's a crazed pile up of characters, murder plots, conspiracies, odd locations, dreams, gimmicks, knives and masks, and while none of these feel like straightforward symbols of authorial expression there's obviously still something being worked out underneath that surface narrative, something warping all the pieces into new directions. The scene and the plot seem to abruptly change direction with every page; new characters are introduced and killed off again, constantly; the longest explanation of the plot we get is delivered by a lady with a cartoony moose-end-sqvirrel phonetic accent, but somehow it never loses either a sense of mysterious inner coherence or a sense of dread.

For me his middle period is from "Reflections Of A Glass Scorpion" (reprinted as "Mad Night") to "The Hidden". His art improves and he plays more with colour; the narratives slow down and there's more of a willingness to let them breathe. Characters become more important - my favourite is Judy Drood, the crazed Nancy Drew analogue crashing through a world of horror. Some of the books in this period feel less essential, as though having established what a "Richard Sala" comic would look like he was happy to spend a while doing the Richard Sala version of a vampire story, or an evil clown story, or a YA book. But he kept developing his style and "Delphine", towards the end of this period, is maybe his best single book: spare and serious and strange, as if he had reached a point in his craft where he no longer even needed to resemble himself.

But strangest of all is his late work, which maybe comes closest than most comics careers to the famous "late style" identified by Adorno in his essay. After increasingly subtle and quiet, almost slick, works, there's suddenly a return to the garish - rather than horror the model seems to be sleazy eurospy b-movies, the kind where masked girls in leotards run around machinegunning each other in underground bases. I don't think the biggest Richard Sala fan would think of him as primarily an action cartoonist but that's what we get here - panel after panel of firing handguns wildly into a crowd ("the simplest surrealist act" - andre breton) of milling henchmen, unkillable figures of vengeance running wild. And at the same time, just as startling, there's an abrupt and explicit emphasis on politics - the figures being shot are crowds of ghoulish Bush-era congressmen, executives, cops, sneering militia creeps, guffawing yuppies, movers and shakers. There's a sense of deliriously vindictive wish fulfilment that he's obviously having fun with, and what's not to love about a comic where a masked supervillain named Super-Enigmatix (shortened by the text as "S.Ex") breaks into the chambers of the Supreme Court to shoot the judges with a raygun known only as "the dissolver" in a single panel. But there's also a kind of sadness in the fury with which these characters are obsessively killed and re-killed; the flat, declarative way the political content declares itself has a kind of contempt, as if it weren't worth dressing up any other way. Rather than the politics of horror we have politics as horror, horror as the only form with which politics can adequately be represented.

Sala's last published work was "Poison Flowers & Pandemonium" - a collection of four(!) volumes unpublished at the time of his death, one of which is a collection of cavegirl-themed cheesecake art a character in the book itself winningly describes as "the dumbest thing i've ever read". The first book, a sequel to the late period work "The Bloody Cardinal", is one of his best - tensely paced and cohesive despite swerving crazily across genres, characters and settings (and also involving an evil mummy who exists in two dimensions). But the very last book, Fantomella, haunts me the most. It takes place in a world where the murderers have won - a vaguely futuristic tower in which dumb, bullying assholes, in costumes that are unsettling combinations of paramilitary gear, medieval torturer outfits and old-timey superhero costumes, spend their days in inscrutable violence or tangled, careerist infighting. The heroine, the title character, climbs up the tower level by level and kills absolutely everyone who gets in her way. The guys in the tower bicker and betray each other and bark orders over walkie talkies and then die and die and die; it's as though, having spent the last decade establishing a whole imaginative taxonomy of These Types Of Guy, there were no need for them anymore; they could be erased, one by one, in the perfunctory way of a henchman being offed in the final five minutes of a cheap film. Eventually Fantomella gets to the top of the tower; there's an ending reminiscent of stated lifetime influence Franz Kafka. Did I mention that this book is placed right after the sexy cavegirl story? Art can be powerful, when we let it be.

Mike Mignola, Guy Davis, John Arcudi - yeah, from B.P.R.D. These are spinoffs from Mignola's own Hellboy comics, and as will be the case with spinoffs I think they never quite got the respect of those other books. They're less quiet, less offbeat - they lack the quality in Hellboy of a mysterious folktale logic that we're barely able to glimpse. But that's the thing for me - in Hellboy many characters have some kind of knowledge that they act on, often piecemeal or imperfectly. What makes B.P.R.D. distinct is the sense that nobody knows what's happening at all; not the heroes, not the villains. Stuff just happens and happens and happens and maybe later on some of it is concluded in ways nobody notices because they're dealing with some other shit - the bits of narrative closure we get are as abrupt and unwilled as a long-forgotten gun that suddenly goes off. Maybe someone will accidentally glimpse the resolution of some other thing they had no idea was happening, in the shape of e.g. a nazi millionaire in a homemade skeleton outfit being pulled screaming beneath the earth by a plague of human frogs. Who was that? There's no time to worry about it, because the world is ending.

There's a lot of these comics and I can never keep track of what order they're in, but I want to suggest that one of the deep pleasures of longform serial narrative is reading it out of order and trying to figure out what's going on. You'll see someone pop up for a panel or die or do something of unexplained importance to the rest of the book and then keep going and maybe read an earlier one where you glimpse the setup that you saw finally paying off - if you can still remember. It's maybe an odd one for me to recommend, as someone who aggressively does not care about apocalypse shit, or military shit, or lovecraft shit. But in addition to the fun characters and offbeat storytelling and Guy Davis's typically great art I think what made this stick with me so much was an odd formal parallel, between the slow, shambolic, weirdly believable end of the world it depicts and the nature of serial storytelling itself. Details pile up, beyond our ability to keep track or notice them. The doomed task of remembering, of cultivating the little pile of our perceptions as they spill out and roll away, feels horribly similar to the efforts of the characters to hold a catastrophe in place; a catastrophe that no-one really seems to know the start or meaning of but that we're all stuck living out regardless.

It's a longrunning comic so there are lots of issues. You can try following it from the start and still find after a certain point that you no longer have any idea of what's happening, that "the start" is itself not really the start, just the latest in a series of dubiously reliable origin stories that seem to have no lower bound. You can spend a lot of time on wikis trying to combine the pieces and figure it out, just like the characters in the comic, the ones who inevitably end up going "AIIIEEE!" as they're blown up by a big machine or by some cosmic thingamabob they only realise too late they maybe never really got. Or maybe if you're lucky you can be a bit-part character; here in some pages, missing in others, with fate uncertain, deferred by an error in issue numbering, or a failure of memory.

[aurumacadicus]

I just saw fan art of the Pevensie children. It was good. It made sense. And then I got to the end and there was a comment about how the art and the artist's reasoning about childhood resentments made Edmund selling his family out for Turkish delight more understandable (not okay, but that they understood it).

I'M FUCKING TIRED OF YOU PEOPLE. IT'S IN THE FUCKING TEXT.

I'm not fucking joking it's not something you were supposed to sus out via context clues Lewis shows us he is an angry little boy who misses his dad and is struggling without him more than his other siblings. Everyone is always on his case, Peter and Susan want him to act more grown up and Lucy treats him like he already does and somehow it still isn't enough for any of them. HE IS A 10-YEAR-OLD-BOY DURING THE BLITZ WHO MISSES HIS DAD AND FEELS LIKE ANYTIME HE EXPRESSES THAT HE IS PUNISHED. Of course he's angry and would find comfort in the first person who would treat him with a kind word. And she gives him a present, a sweet treat that this sugar-rationed child shoves in his mouth and becomes obsessed with. Yes, the White Witch magicked the candy. But with everything that's happened to him, she probably wouldn't have needed to.

The point is that war brings out the best AND worst of people. Guess what you chuckle-fucks the worst of Susan and Peter was that they treated Edmund like shit. Lucy only gets a pass because she's the youngest, the baby, who looks for the good in everyone, and it was BY CHANCE that she didn't have the same fate as Edmund because she met Mr. Tumnus instead of the White Queen. Let me spell this out: Lucy and Edmund did the exact same thing, but Lucy met someone kind and Edmund met someone evil, but because the other Pevensie children were treating Edmund like he should be more mature, it was somehow his fault that he was taken advantage of.

THEY ARE CHILDREN. It's easy to forget but THEY ARE CHILDREN IN A COUNTRY AT WAR and THEY ARE TRAUMATIZED. If my siblings treated me the same way they treated Edmund when I was ten with bombs bursting over our heads, I would sell them out for a fucking corn chip, no magic candy required.

[fell-e]

June 19th

Happy Birthday to me

I KNOW my birthday was already a few days ago, but the reasons for this delay and the lack of posts in general will be explained in the tags. Feel free to skip it tho!

This entire post is for the (at most: seven) Fayrouz fans whom I've promised to release "canon" lore of😭

Press read more for Fayrouz lore!

Before I infodump on my Turquoise lore, just want to let yall know that Fayrouz has two canons,

Turquoise AU (her actual canon storyline, i'd say)

and NRC AU (game adjacent au which i only made bc i wanted her to interact with the other characters).

Turquoise AU was based on a small animatic concept I made when I i finished Book 4 (around 3 years ago) where I wanted to give Jamil a cute shy girlfriend. Thatse it.... (p.s. i made a small ErosEpel AU and i might revive that too)

This animatic was heavily based on themes and symbolisms, like Turquoise Sky, Scalding Hot Sun, Golden Cage, etc, instead of actual Disney related stuff. And without that context Fayrouz being twisted from the sky wouldn't really make sense😭

In Turquoise AU, Fayrouz is a magicless, lowly servant. I haven't decided if Fayrouz will have parents yet, but even if she does, they're very emotionally abusive. Her perception of herself as disposable and more worthless than a grain of sand is what's relevant here, so either she adopts that mentality from the other servants or from her own parents.

One day, during a party, Fayrouz sees someone pour some suspicious liquid into someone's drink. Before the owner could drink it, she slapped it out of his hand. The person being Kalim. He asks her why she did that, and she tells him. A person put something inside his drink. The crowd erupts into chaos and they're both dragged away before they could say another word (Fayrouz for interrogation, and Kalim for protection)

Kalim (in my barely put together AU) is lowkey kinda lonely?? He has Jamil, sure. His siblings too. But after the first assassination attempt, he was forbidden from interacting with the other servants. even some of his own siblings. He's determined to befriend Fayrouz, because, in his mind, she's *safe*. She saved his life. That's enough proof for him, and apparently for his father, who allowed him to befriend Fayrouz (or try to)

Shenanigans ensue, where Kalim tries to interact with Fayrouz while she tries her best to avoid him. (She's intimidated by the Asim's. Doesn't help that an older servant told her lies that Kalim's dad beheads people to scare her). Kalim defeatedly asks Jamil for help, and talks to Fayrouz in his favour. This marks the prolouge? beginning? I guess? They all become friends.

I haven't really fleshed out the story after this, but I'll note some important info:

• Fayrouz's self esteem is absolutely dogshit. I'm talking down the shitters abysmal. Self-loathing to the absolute MAX. I say this because this is a crucial flaw of Fayrouz which leads to some crucial plot points.

• Fayrouz is immediately enamoured by Jamil. Fayrouz sees herself as clumsy, talentless and pathetic, so seeing someone her age be so talented was enough to envelop her in pure admiration (and jealousy, but it doesn't last long). She asks him to teach her everything he knows. And so, growing up, they did everything together. (I'll make comics exploring their relationship in the future if im able to🫠🫠🫠)

• An important plot point in this AU is Fayrouz going missing. Two years before Jamil and Kalim enter NRC, Fayrouz suddenly disappears.

• Im not sure how exactly they'd meet, but Kalim's relative Jasmir (canon relative. i checked. Not the name though, i made that up) forms a sibling-like bond with Fayrouz. Growing up as an only child, he craved for companionship, and was jealous of Kalim always being surrounded by younger siblings. He found the companionship he wanted in Fayrouz.

• Jasmir has a servant twisted from Rajah called Khan(placeholder name). He isn't important to the plot i just love him.

(Placeholder designs for now, but i love them💕)

[fangsandfeels]

Can anyone explain me what the ever-loving fuck is going on with the Qunari in Veilguard?

When I learned about Treviso occupation, I thought that was the result of Qunari officially being on the warpath. The Trespasser made it clear that the Qunari have been planning their invasion for quite a while - but chose to act covertly at first. Which makes perfect sense for Qunari, this is what they do. That would have also added some delicious moments for Taash and the Vashoth!Rook.

However, in the game we have not Qunari, but the Antaam (military). Which sounds stupid. The "it's not the nation, its it's soldiers doing it" excuse already sounds stupid if you ask me, but in the context of the Qunari lore it sounds even more stupid.

So, according to the accompanying media, Antaam...rebelled and acted without sanction. They have split into groups led by warlords who squabble between themselves and try to dig deep into the land they occupied. Which is bullshit.

The Antaam, meaning "body" in Qunlat, is the military of the Qunari led by the Arishok. Metaphorically, the Antaam are the eyes, ears, legs, arms and hands of the creature, everything that one needs to interact with the world, and so most Qunari encountered by Thedosians belong to the military

Antaam listen to the Arishok and Arishok alone. Qun is built on a system where everyone knows their place - and when they're out of place, they freak the fuck out, the massacre-the-family-because-my-tool-is-lost way. So, the probability of a large group of Qunari, an entire fucking army doing something without a command, and then digging a deeper hole for themselves by warlording is extremely low. Also, by all accounts, they're stop being seen by their kin as Qunari - they are Tal-Vashoth. Because they acted on their own volition, disobeyed the order, disobeyed the Arishok. This is not how the Qun works. No matter what they say, how they call themselves - they are Tal-Vashoth.

Like, there is a reason why Qunari are terrified of not fitting their mold - not only they have no idea of what to do when things don't go as planned, but also they are scared of losing their way and becoming permanently lost. The Iron Bull had that belief that he might lose his mind because he didn't know if he should trust himself without the guidance of Qun - him being a little more flexible due to his work as a spy as well as getting people he grew emotionally attached to helped with overcoming this barrier. But far from all Qunari are that lucky. Sten was so dejected after losing his sword that he let himself be caged - he didn't care about dying or anything anymore. He couldn't go home.

...Alright, where were we?

According to the wikipedia, Rasaan (the emissary of the Triumvirate)...took the control over Antaam? HOW? Qun is extremely rigid and allows no loopholes. For a change this massive there have to be some really, really good reasons - and I don't think the Antaam would have just accepted it. Without high enough approval, Sten only acknowledges Warden as the leader after they beat his ass in a duel.

Alright, let's say Rasaan gaslit the Antaam into believing she channels the way of the Qun and they ate it up. But why do we have warlords now?

Warlords with names, like Butcher? There are no names in the Qun. This is, once again, Tal-Vashoth behavior. But at the same time, they have access to qamek? What? How? Why? How does Par Vollen feel about their entire "body" fucking off? If they didn't sanction it, why aren't they stopping them???

It wouldn't be the first time for Bioware to twist their own lore and canon, but this one is legitimately migraine-inducing. Why not make a full-scale and sanctioned Qunari invasion, Qunari are like this! It's okay to make them the baddies, their ways are fucked up already and some positives don't make up for all the negatives! Don't just slap in a bunch of guys literally called "the army" and say "Nah, not all Qunari guys, these are just military acting on their own despite their lifestyle being all about following the system and doing your strictly established duties"