#i'm starting to think it does not get better

[shannoneichorn]

Ooh! Pick me! This is the path I've started down and want to get better at.

Both my churches have been participating in our city's Pride parade the last several years. I go with my roommate from a mission trip to our denominatuon's churches in Cambodia--and her wife. And one of my LGBT family members. And some allies from work. And meet up with my LGBT friends from work, who join different parts of the parade.

The longer I live, the clearer it's become that the public school sex ed I had was wholly inadequate. The US is actively harming itself by not investing in better.

I adore my atheist husband and atheist/agnostic/pagan friends. I know my denomination doesn't ascribe to universal salvation, but it's the only thing that makes sense to me.

God fashions variety. No reason we should stamp it out of cultures. I have a problem with trying to convert people instead of gently inviting them to join the community. My ideal church would be a gathering place for all with a subset of activities dedicated to spiritual support/worshiping in community, and I think both my churches are partway there.

It blows my mind that any Christian who grew up hearing about being stewards of the Earth would support environmental harm and environmental injustice. But you know, the church is full of all kinds of people, some of whom are great at cognitive dissodence and terrible at logic. (They're allowed to be wrong.)

I'm part of the second largest Protestant denomination in the US (at least in 2013--a lot has changed since then). On the one hand, it's the denomination I grew up in, and there's a certain amount of lazy comfort in just sticking with it. On the other hand, I also stuck with it because it explicitly acknowledges science and rationalism. God gave us minds and access to tools with which to explore Creation--like science and math and social sciences and literature (since we are part of Creation, too, and lit is great for exploring ourselves).

There is a documented history around how the Bible and translations developed. Many human hands were involved, and humans are limited not only by their own biases but also by the knowledge that was available to them at the time and the culture in which they lived. The Bible can be divinely inspired, but I keep thinking that its components were, first and foremost, written for the audiences of their times. It's amazing how it can still be so meaningful today, but not all the issues of today are addressed within--and they shouldn't be. An active faith requires synthesis of learning and applications to new situations in ways that are consistent with the Spirit of love and compassion that the Bible describes.

I...haven't encountered antisemitism at church...? Like Muslims, those are people we share a distant religious heritage with. They're like second cousins. Maybe treat everyone with kindness and respect, the way Jesus would? This...should not be hard to grok. (I feel like I could do better here, but at least it's a start.)

I'm jumping on this opportunity to shout about this, because it's been bothering me. Yes, we need to be louder, but also... There are reasons why I'm not.

Christians are doing so much harm right now, and I don't want to be associated with it. Churches have done so much harm, and I don't want to remind the people around me who have finally gotten out of it. (Part of me thinks, my church would never! But churches are communities of imperfect people, and at the very least, wherever people gather, there will be drama and hurt feelings. And denial when abuses do happen. And also, many churches haven't been on the forefront of all we've learned about psychology in the last 50 years, and there are also harmful cultural habits where communities haven't rooted them out.)

And also, I want my friends, neighbors, and acquaintances to believe I'm safe to be around. Evangelizing does not accomplish that goal. Caring for people has to come first, or what's the point?

Thank you for this call to be louder. I shall now go back to hiding under my rock/bushel.

In general, I think it's currently really important for progressive Christians to be very loud about being both progressive and deeply religious Christians, and for everyone else fighting for progressive values to be supportive of them doing just that. I know that's like, idk, counter-intuitive or cringe or whatever, but seriously folks, the alternative is that progressive Christians have to be quiet about their faith to be accepted within broader secular and interfaith progressive advocacy, which means that the regressive asshole Christians (a) sound that much louder and (b) dominate the USian religious landscape all the more. That's a problem, for all of us.

We need people pushing back within the faith as well as outside of it, because that destroys any edifice that this is about Christianity and religious freedom.

You can be a devout Christian and also:

Openly, proudly, and without being forced to remain celibate or otherwise limit your full expression of self, identify as LGBTQ+ or be a supportive ally.

Advocate for full reproductive autonomy and comprehensive sex education.

Love and support people of other religious groups, non-religious people and/or atheists, by choosing to believe that a truly loving God would not pursue anything less than universal salvation.

Stand against evangelism and proselytizing as they have thus far been interpreted and used, because there are ways to interpret the Great Commission that don't promote colonialism and cultural genocide.

A steward of the earth, protecting God's beautiful creation and lovingly tending to it as the unique and incredible gift that it is.

A believer in science, rationalism, and human progress as part of God's divine plan for humanity.

A believer in history and someone who understands that the Bible can be both divinely given and open to interpretation (no really)(if you're confused, please talk to a knowledgeable traditional Jew)

An ally to Jews, who stands against supercessionism and antisemitism in the church.

And in before regressive Christians come shouting at me that (1) what do I know, I'm a Jew and (2) no lol you can't because of ___ reason:

My source is that I've personally met and talked to Christians of great faith and integrity - people who embody the closest forms of kindness I've seen to what Jesus himself advocated - who are each of these things.

It is 100% possible; you just choose to believe otherwise.

[moecanpie]

Xavier... is kind of mean?

You realize this a bit late, embarrassingly, but he does it in such a way you don't seem to notice until you replay the conversation back in your mind.

Sometimes it's just normal enough to pass off— something you wouldn't really think back to... But when you do, it's like a condescending pat on your cheek, and you can almost hear his voice in your head.

"I'm not trying to argue with you, I'm just explaining why I'm right." He'd say, gently cupping your cheek and wiping at the dirt with his thumb, "I just don't want you to get hurt rushing into things like a child..."

Undermining you, softly. With care.

"Are you sure you'll be able to go alone?"

"Yes," you scoff, "It's not like I need you to babysit me on every mission.. I can handle this just fine."

Xavier pretends to think for a bit, pursing his lips, and you prepare yourself once again to decline his offer as your mission partner — but to your surprise he just relents.

"Mm..okay."

The way he says it makes you suspicious, like he's planning something, but when he sees your narrowed vision glue onto him, he just sends you an innocent smile. He almost looks too giddy, but you end up shrugging off your paranoia to focus on your assigned mission.

So you get to the designated area, only for the wanderers to be a bit too strong, a bit too advanced. If there weren't so many of them, you'd be able to clear the area quickly, but it's taking awhile, and you're starting to get tired— so you bite your tongue and dial for backup. You can only hope it's anyone else but him, maybe Tara? Even Andrew—

When Xavier does eventually arrive, using his evol and dispersing of the few remaining wanderes on site, he doesn't say anything to you— not even an, 'I told you so'— because he doesn't need to. His expression already speaks volumes.

You can already tell by the upturn of his lips, the soft crinkle of his eyes as he looks at you... But he says nothing, and all that comes out of his mouth is a soft,

"Those were tough, huh?" yes. But clearly not for him.

You rustle, feeling the need to defend your pride, "I got rid of most of them!.. Jus' got tired is all."

Xavier looks at you, and he just let's out a soft hum at your words, clearly unimpressed, but overjoyed at the fact that it's only a matter of time before he becomes your official partner.

If it's not a subtle attack on your abilities at combat (you're better than he is, you think, where you strike he dodges), then it's a jab at your intelligence.

"You're so clever. I'm surprised you didn't figure that out sooner." Xavier says, a soft smile gracing his features, full of affection— the sight of it renders your entire brain useless, and the only thing you can really remember from what he said is, 'you're so clever'.

It's frustrating, because it's not like he's really trying to mince his words — it's your brain doing it for you. Remembering his 'praises' instead of what they really were.

You're sure he knows this too, because everytime you see him— he seems a bit more collected: smug in a way only certain people are able to tell. In a way only you're able to see.

It gets on your nerves, prickles at your skin like any annoying itch— especially when he wears a look of innocence on his face, his eyes scanning your form and looking at the slight frown on your face, the furrow of your brows. He tilts his head to the side and asks, full of amusement,

"Wake up on the wrong side of bed?"

I also think some tiny (big) part of Xavier just likes seeing you a bit irritated at him.

[brokenbough]

Thinking of mean!Ghost who just... does it wrong.

At first, you were into it. Yeah, maybe you liked being manhandled in bed, liked when he squeezed just a little too hard, liked when he put you where he wanted.

And yeah, maybe you liked being told what to do, liked challenging him only to lose in the most delicious way.

But you've had sort of a shitty day and being called dumb time and time again hasn't had the best effect on your already decaying sense of pride.

"Cmon doll." He sneers, the way you like, pulling your hair a little to get you to look at him.

You'd usually like it, but now it just hurts and you think it's giving you a headache.

He doesn't clock his mistake immediately, only realizing when your wrestling his hand away from you, mumbling about him being too mean.

He's confused, rightfully so, because usually you'd be pulling him closer, asking him what he'd do if you didn't listen.

"Can't hear ya, speak up." His says with his usual gruff tone. He tries putting his finger under your chin, making you look at him-- just the way you like it-- but you're pulling away and he just doesn't understand.

"You're being mean." You say again, unable to look at him.

He tilts his head, looking like you just told him the sky isn't blue.

"You-- huh? You said you liked that." He says, defensive. Like you're the problem. "That's what this whole thing was." He argues as if you're not just trying to have a conversation with him.

"Yeah, but you just..." you start, mulling over your next words. "I... just not right now." You explain.

His words aren't as reassuring as you would've hoped. The opposite in fact.

"So, you just pick and choose when you feel like being degraded and I'm supposed to read your mind?" He says more like a statement than a question. Blunt as ever. Something you usually like but now he's sounding like a dick.

"I didn't say that, I just--"

"That is exactly what you said." He scoffs, pulling away. "Come to me when you're in a better mood, yeah?" He states curtly before just leaving you there to sift and sort through your actions and his words.

------------

You spend the rest of the day holed up in your room. You start to question most of everything, wondering if you were in the wrong and overreacting or if he was being a dick to you. You question if you even want to be around him anymore.

He doesn't give you much choice in the matter because he's at your door at the end of the day, incessantly knocking.

You open the door, much to your annoyance. "I thought you didn't want me around until I was in a 'better mood'." You say, immediately coming in with the venom.

He realized around noon that he was in the wrong and would take whatever you threw at him. He should've listened to you instead of painting you as the bad guy because you didn't stick to a set of rules he made up in his head.

You hadn't followed the agreement in his head, and he had blamed you for it.

He knows now you weren't something he could put in a mold and control. You had feelings too. You weren't a mind reader either.

The silence between the two of you stretches on before he sighs, shaking his head.

"I was being an asshole. Sorry."

"I don't accept your apology. You.." you quiet down. "You hurt my feelings." You admit barely above a whisper.

He sucks in another breath. "I know. I..." He mulls over his own words, looking at you properly now.

Your face was tear streaked, puffy, red eyes and cheeks. All accompanied by dark circles under your eyes.

It wasn't in him to feel bad, but it made his stomach churn and chest tighten in a way he wasn't used to.

"I was being mean, and you didn't like it. I understand that now." He finally says, forefinger under your chin. But he wasn't squeezing, he wasn't grabbing, he was... holding. "I'm sorry." He says again.

You stare at him for a long moment, not wanting to give in just yet, but it was exactly what you needed to hear. Accountability and an apology.

You huff, rolling your eyes at him and pulling away from his hand. It pains him in a way he can't describe. He isn't sure what to do as you take a step back, looking at him again.

His hand falls back down to his side but you haven't shut your door on him yet and that sliver of hope is carving its way up and up and over each vein, climbing higher and higher before burying itself in his chest. His very heart.

"I'll be nicer." He coos, looking at your reaction. You almost seem to recoil at the very thought.

"I don't want you nicer, Simon." You say quickly, the thought almost laughable. Almost.

"Then what do you want?" He says, his voice sounding more pleading than he intended.

"I- I don't know. I just... I don't want you nicer, but I don't want you mean right now." You explain looking at your fuzzy socks, wording it the best way you could.

"Alright. I can... I can do that." He answers as if he knows exactly what you mean.

A breath of relief flooding between the two of you at the same time.

"Don't cry over me though. 'M not worth your tears." He says, smoothing the pad of his thumb over your face again. You hadn't even noticed you started crying again. He doesn't know if he can live with himself knowing he made you cry.

When you start full on sobbing, he pulls you to his chest, walking the two of you backwards into your room, into your bed. You curl up to his side, clinging to his shirt. And despite how uncomfortable he is-- your tears wetting his shirt and all-- he lets you. Cause these tears aren't for him, they're for the shitty day or week or month you've had. That he can live with.

He doesn't question or prod. He just stays.

Plus, he's sure you'll tell him all about it in the morning.

[archangeldyke-all]

Papa me want more movie (paramedic sevika) 😞

okay baby here comes the airplane vrooom

men and minors dni

sevika is very protective of her ambulance.

unless you're her patient and she's in the back to treat you, sevika's usually the one driving the rig to the hospital.

it's her baby. when she's not working, silco's the other paramedic driving it. the two of them are precious about the truck, like it's a living creature. they text each other updates during their shifts; if they filled it with gas, when the last stock up was, if the brakes have been sounding squeaky, stuff like that. like it's their baby they're co-parenting, or something.

before she met you, her phone lock screen was just a picture of the ambulance under a sunset. she's such a dork.

so you know sevika's lost her mind when she shows up to pick you up from work in the ambulance.

"sevika. what the fuck." you laugh as she leads you to the giant red truck. she giggles and shrugs.

"gotta take the old gal in to get her oil changed, figured i'd treat my girl to a spin around the block."

"and i'm i the old gal or the girl, in this situation?" you ask. sevika grins and pops open the passenger's side door for you.

it's surprisingly boring in the front seat. granted you've only ever ridden in the back under the influence of pain and drugs but you expected something a little more high tech than this.

"not even a gps?" you ask as sevika jumps in beside you, starting the rig up with a loud sputter from the engine. she snorts.

"what do i need a gps for? i've got the city streets memorized up here." she taps her forehead. "seatbelt." she demands.

god, she's sexy. that big brain of hers-- memorizing every street. you dart out of the passenger seat, ignoring sevika's squawks of protest to press a kiss to her cheek.

that shuts her up pretty quick. she's smiling all shy when you sit back down in your seat and pull on your seatbelt. you giggle, and she shoots you a glare.

"no funny buisness." she grunts. you giggle.

"then why's there a bed in the back?" you tease. sevika glares at you again.

"it's called a gurney, and silco will kill me if i'm late gettin' the rig to the shop."

"doesn't the department send you a replacement rig while yours is getting fixed?" you ask. she nods.

"yeah, but it's hard to find a truck as driveable and reliable as vivian."

"vivian!?" you cackle. "she's got a name?!"

"it was the sexiest name me and silco could come up with." sevika chuckles. "ran wanted it to be 'ruby' but that was way too obvious."

"you think the truck's sexy!?" you cackle. sevika glares at you again.

"baby. you better watch your tone. this is my rig you're talking about. she's been in my life much longer than you."

"oh my god, i can't believe i'm jealous of a truck right now."

"you don't need to be jealous, i'm not fucking the truck."

"you called it sexy!"

"when a vehicle this big can go from twenty to ninety miles an hour in ten seconds, stop on a dime, and carry as much life saving medicine as vivian does-- that's sexy!"

"you hit ninety?!" you screech. sevika cringes, knowing she's in the dog house now. you absolutely despise hearing about how she drives in this truck.

"no-- just-- hypothetically." she mutters, her eyes suspiciously glued to the road. you chuckle and reach over the center console-- where your favorite iced beverage is waiting for you beside sevika's pina colada slushie-- and grab her hand.

"vivian's... beautiful." you try, not sure what a proper compliment for a truck is. "she's a great ambulance. she drove you into my life. she's given me several rides to the hospital. she's protected you every day you work. i'm glad you have her in your life."

sevika smiles sweetly and drags your knuckles to her lips, kissing your hand sweetly. the action makes you feel all fuzzy and warm.

it's quiet for several moments as sevika eases to a stop at a red light, but when she's still she finally turns to study you. "what're you thinking about?"

"i don't think i've ever gone ninety before." you admit.

something about the lack of judgement in your voice has sevika cocking a curious eyebrow at you.

"do you... wanna feel it?" she asks with a mischevious smile.

you gulp. if there's one person in your life you trust to drive a truck going that fucking fast you suppose it's sevika.

sevika's smile is only growing as she watches your nervous excitement.

"we are running late to the rig shop. had to stop for our drinks before hand... we could flick the sirens on... get there on time?" sevika offers, goading you.

you groan and shake your head in shame. "uuugh. okay, fine, but--"

you're cut off by sevika blaring on the horn and flicking on the loud sirens. in front of you, cars merge to make a path for her, and before you can even find something to hold onto sevika's slamming on the gas and taking off.

you squeal. sevika giggles. she's got a bit of a show off smile, but mostly she's focused. on the dashboard, on the road, on the oncoming traffic-- making sure everyone's stopped for her, swerving around assholes who aren't. you realize that if sevika hadn't become a paramedic she could've found a lucrative career in formula 1 racing.

"this is only fifty, drama queen." sevika laughs. you flip her off from the passenger's seat. she hits a turn and you squeal-- and then she's on the freeway, and the city is speeding past you.

"we're so fast!" you giggle. sevika grins.

"soak it up babe, next exit is ours." she laughs.

for just one moment you let go of your fear and let yourself feel exhilarated. sevika's a loon, and she's the love of your life, and you're giggling like a dizzy kid as she speeds down the exit ramp.

"oh, shit!" you gasp as sevika comes to a hard, fast stop at the bottom of the hill, the tires squealing as you somehow manage to stop for the red light.

sevika flicks the sirens off, turns on her turn signal, then turns to grin at you. you cackle.

"you're insane. you do that all the fucking time, don't you?" you ask. she giggles and shrugs.

"i get paid like shit to get shat on all day, i gotta find my perks somewhere. vivian's pretty fuckin' cool, huh?"

you cackle and nod. "she's fucking awesome." you say, admiring sevika's proud little smile. but you're not talking about the truck at all.

taglist!

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taglist!!

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[zottts]

warnings - size kink, degradation, breeding kink (if you squint), not really a warning but worshipping, it's sentry expect it to be mean

you and sentry had been... 'together' for a while now, and you would think he would change somewhat, and he has - just a bit. but during sex? absolutely not, he was still the same man who wanted to be worshiped like a god, who will degrade and belittle you only because he finds it amusing when you moan and cry out his name as he pumps into you at his speed - why would he slow down for you he had l reasonings to, you liked it anyways. the way you could see his cock outline in your stomach, each little "oh you poor thing". it drove you mad, it was addictive. the only time he "went slow" was to put you in your place or fuck with you.

sentry just loved filling you up, every single time, watching your pathetic attempts to squirm under his hands - your almost doe eyes look as you looked up at him, hair all sprawled out on his pillows, mouth slightly ajar as he pumps into you mercifully, being able to see his cock completely fill you, and knowing you couldn't get enough of him. or from behind when he got his hands tangled within your soft locks of hair, pulling you up towards him with a semi-gentle pull, watching your back arch into him as be whispered how pathetic, useless, and stupid you looked being fucked by his cock.

how he is going to fuck you so stupid that you won't be able to walk nor speak for the next week. every little moan, whine, whimper, he would mock the sounds, how you reacted to things which each pump, as he moved in and out of you.

"so filthy. you want more, hm? you think you deserve more?" he spoke softly, despite the fact his tone was mocking,

he would make you beg for it til you were sobbing, trembling under him. it was so easy for him to ruin you, bring you down to nothing. because to him, like this - you were nothing, pathetic.

"sentry- mnn please?" between heavy breaths, it was a pathetic attempt, really. and you knew that.

"no, do better than that, now." he would slow down, painfully slow - and practically stopping until you were up to his standards. he wasn't asking, it was a command.

"sentry" he cocked an eyebrow, the words dying in your throat before you could even finish the sentence, like he was daring you to finish it. to see what would happen

"my god, sentry, ..my everything, p-please." you spoke through a broken sob, he started to move, in and out of you - slowly, on purpose. "aah-! fuck. please, oh my god please" a whine slipped out. you couldn't help that he was big, and it hurt. and he knew he was big too, of course he did. every time he fucked you like this he could always see the outline of himself inside you, the want to bury himself within you, to fill you completely with himself.

he couldn't help the low chuckle slip out of his mouth at your behavior, mmmn. i don't know if that's good enough." he held you in place so easily with his hands, it was like you were stuck in place. "so pathetic, can't even get a complete sentence out, poor thing." he paused for a moment, running his hands against your sides "you want me to fuck you stupid, fill you up?"

you quickly shake your head, it was hard enough to get a single word out - he knew that, but he wanted to hear you say it. "use your words or I'm pulling out." you took a deep breath "please, pretty please? god- please just move i need you so badly, you are the only one i need. just move" the words spilled out before you couldn't even get a thought in your head, the words sounded almost incoherent - it was like a flip that switched on in his brain, instead of belittling you, mocking you - he actually listens.

the after math of it you are out of breath, he went way past the point of your ecstasy. you laid on your stomach panting, hair in your face. he might be a god, an asshole, but not a monster. of course he was going to help you clean up. at least a bit.

[date-everything-has-taken-over]

Hi hi hiii I wasnwondering if u could do a fic thing where reader is basically dating most dateables n one day they (the reader) basically ends up feeling extremely sick from not taling care of theirself properly, running around to fix stuff, starting a new part-time job, going out with new friends. Could some of the characters included be dorian, eddie & volt, hector and whoever else? Pls and thank uu!!

Gonna add Barry and Betty because I think they'd fit in very well with this case (And they're my babygirls)

Dorian🚪

● One of the first to notice something was off

●After losing your job at Valdivian, you had gotten two part-time jobs to make up for it, and it was beginning to take its toll

●He was the kne to see you before you walked through the front Dorian. Before you would take a deep breath and put on your best, "everything's okay" face

●He'd try his best to convince you to give yourself a break and get some well needed rest, but you kept reassuring him you'd be fine

●Well, he was right. After one too many overtime shifts combined with coming home to help everyone with their problems resulting in many sleepless nights, you come home and practically collapsed in the front hallway

●"Right, that's it. You're taking a couple days off work and resting"

●Unfortunately, he's still the front door, so he can't take you to bed himself, but bedroom Dorian will take things from there

●If you thought he was like a bouncer before, you haven't seen anything yet.

●A dateable wants to see you. "Are you on the list?" "What do you need with them?" "You're not gonna cause a fuss are ya?"

●He even contemplates moving the hanks downstairs. Sure, they're usually in your room, but they're so loud. He gives them a stern warning (which scares them just a bit) and let's them stay

●He makes sure the house is safe and that your room is the pinical of peace

●"Autherized personal only" Dorian blocks anyone trying to get in, but especially the more rowdy members of the house

●"Darling, you never believe what I heard about Hoove!" Scandalabra tries yelling through Dorian, which was followed by a suspicious thud (I'm sure it's nothing to worry abt)

●Until he sees you're 100% better, Dorian doesn't let you out of his sight (not that he does that anyway). Going to the kitchen for chicken soup? He's got an eye on you just in case

●When you actually do recover, he's making sure you don't get yourself in the same issue and makes you promise not to push yourself

●"It's not just my job to keep you safe from the outside world, love." He holds you close to him, enveloping you in a warm hug. "I will always be there to keep you safe from all danger"

●Even after you're better and going back to work, he's checking on you every chance he gets, reminding you to eat and sleep at a reasonable time

●He may not woo with words as much as other dateables, but he shows how much he loves you every day by being a safe and reliable presence for you

Eddie & Volt⚡️

●Work was short-staffed, and with it being busy season, you were picking up extra shifts almost every day

● They know overworked when they see it, so when you show up to the club, noticeably tired, they clock you right away

●Volt takes a seat next to you, placing his lips on the side of you head

"You know we're always happy to see you, live wire-"

Eddie cuts him off

"-But you look dead tired, go to bed"

● Volt chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto his lap

"Our live wire doesn't need to leave to rest, do they?" He brings you closer. "You can relax right here, live wire"

●After that night, Eddie stopped letting you help out around the club

"Don't worry about it, alright? You look like you're about to fall over anyway"

●Eddie acts tough, but he's checking on you and bringing you water every time you visit the Breaker Box after work

●When everything catches up to you and you actually do end up getting sick enough to take a couple of days off work while stuck in bed, they're both worried (and a little pissed)

●They've seen you running around the house helping everyone, fixing things around the house, settling arguments between other members of the house so they have a pretty good idea of how you ended up like this

●They check on you every day to make sure you're doing alright

●If you're not awake when they come by, you'll wake up to find a glass of water, Nyquill, and a note

'Rest well, live wire -E&V

●After a couple of days of bedrest, you return to the club, and they're happy to see you doing well

●They've both accepted you're too nice to say no to helping everyone in the house, so how do they remedy this?

●By practically keeping you hostage in the club for the next couple of days (Can't get exhausted again if they just keep you at the Breaker Box)

●Eddie still refuses to let you help out even if you insist

"And you get on me for not taking a break," he sets a glass in front of you. "Little hypocritical, don't ya think?"

●He places a gentle kiss on the top of your head, keeping close for a moment before going to the back to do maintenance

●They may be busy running the club, but never too busy for you, and they make sure to remind you

Hector💨

●Also, very quick to notice

●He was very worried when he noticed how much slower you seemed lately

●Asks how you're doing multiple times a day. Never believes you when you say you're fine but he doesn't wanna push it and upset you

●Fully panics when he sees you collapse after walking through front Dorian

●The temperature spikes for a moment until he calms down

●He doesn't leave your side for a moment

●Takes extra care to keep the temperature at a comfortable level for you

●You don't even have to say anything. Ate you pulling the blanket closer to you? Heat up. Are you kicking away the sheets? Air on.

●He so badly wants to be there with you. To hold you and comfort you. But he's still terrified to leave the vents

●He's slightly soothed knowing Betty is taking very good care of you (but also kinda jealous)

●In the middle of the night, when he's sure everyone is asleep, he sits beside your bed, watching as your breath rises and falls

● He brushes your hair aside, admiring your beautiful face (even though it's sick and sweaty, he doesn't care)

●Before leaving, he gives your forehead a kiss. "Feel better soon, my love."

● If someone tried disturbing you or kept you awake, he'd turn the heat up in the room they're in to be petty

●When you're well enough to get out of bed, he's overcome with both joy and anxiety

●Joy because you're well enough to see him in the attic now. He can hold you again (and you can watch him turn bright red as you kiss his face)

● But anxious because, what if this happens again? What if the human keeps pushing themselves? What if it's WORSE next time?!

●He begs you to slow down and not push yourself too hard. To give yourself more free time and rest more often

●The look he gives you is like a kicked puppy, and you just can't help but hold him close and promise to take care of yourself better

●He clings to you for a bit before you leave the attic to go to bed "Rest well, my love."

● When you finally go back to work, he anxiously waits for your return, watching Timmy just a little too closely

●When you finally return, he observes your every move to see if you look tired or overwhelmed

●If not, good. But if you look any kind of distressed, he's whisking you away to the attic to cuddle, then practically dragging you to bed at the end of the day

●You're honestly a little surprised since he's normally not this bold face-to-face

●Even long after recovery, it becomes a new routine. If you come home tired, he's attaching himself to you koala style

Barry💄

● Well, technically, he noticed pretty quickly when he'd see you so exhausted every morning, buuuuut then he forgot and would notice all over again each morning

●Feels terrible when you come home sick and remain bedridden for days

●He's almost too nervous to visit you, scared you'd be mad at him

●"Are you feeling alright, darling?" He peeks into your room, "Anything I can do to help?"

●When you tell him you'd just like to hear his voice and that you love it when he goes on little rants about whatever he's obsessed with at the moment, his whole face turns red

●"Oh! W-well, that's, um, very n-nice, darling." He laughs nervously. He takes a moment to compose himself. "I 'm-I'm glad you enjoy hearing me talk. I'm happy to keep you company, darling."

●Since you're stuck in bed with nothing to do, Baeey is happy to keep you company while you recover

● He'll talk about just about anything that interests him at the time. Makeup, toucans, history, lions, movies. He's also happy to listen if you have anything to yap about

● If you're not able to shower, he'll brush your hair so it doesn't get too knotted while you're sick, taking care to be extra gentle.

●It's so soothing you send up falling asleep. He brings the covers over your body and turns the lights off, letting you sleep peacefully

●Before leaving, he leans down to kiss your cheek "Goodnight, darling."

● You may or may not have woken up with a lipstick smudge on your cheek, but you certainly didn't mind

●When you're feeling better, Barry helps you through your post-sick self-care routine. Warm bath, skin care, hair care

●Helps you with your bath so you don't fall asleep, definitely not because he wants to rub your soapy body noooo definitely not

Betty🛌

●She noticed right away. You've barely been sleeping and even when you do, you toss and turn all night.

●She tries to get you to come to bed early, but you're busy helping around the house. Then she tried getting you to sleep in, but you got called into work early.

●This repeated a couple of times until you stumbled into your room and fell onto her.

●She's happy to be able to spend so much time with you, but she wishes it weren't under such conditions.

●She holds you close, your head just under her chin and your face against her chest (awooga). She's somehow the perfect temperature for when you're cold or overheating.

●She'll gently stroke your head and hum softly until you fall asleep.

● When you wake up, she looks down at you and brings a hand to your cheek. "Good morning, lover." She presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I'm afraid I can't let you go anywhere until I'm sure you're better." Her gentle voice makes it seem like a joke, but you know she's serious.

● You wouldn't have thought to leave anyway, you could barely move, and your whole body felt achy but more importly Betty was just so damn sweet and comfortable.

●Ngl it's mostly sleeping and cuddleng with you and occasanaly getting food

●When you finally felt better, she convinced you to take an extra rest day with her "just in case"

Sorry, Betty's is so short! I couldn't think of much for her

[bigification]

High Stakes DnD

Synopsis: Three men start a DND campaign and learn the hard way that whatever happens to their characters, happens to them in real life. As each of them transform, they have to work together to beat the campaign or be stuck the way they are forever.

"All three of you enter the dark and dingy lair, what would you like to do next?" Said the DM.

"Can I check for magical traps?" Jeremy asks, playing the wizard.

"Roll an arcana check." The DM responds.

Jeremy rolls a 14.

"There are no magical traps you can sense nearby, but you notice magic emanating from further into the lair."

"I want to shoot a flaming arrow down the dark corridor to try and see further." Dan asks, playing the elf ranger.

"Roll a perception check."

Dan rolls a 9.

"The flaming arrow doesn't light up as much of the corridor as you hoped. Though you do see a turn about 50 metres ahead of you."

"I'm gonna charge ahead! I can take whatever this lair throws at me." John says brazenly, playing the barbarian.

"Roll and athletics check."

John rolls a 1.

"Ooh that's unfortunate. You instantly trip and fall flat on your face. As you try to get up, your hand pushes down a pressure plate. As soon as the pressure plate clicks into place, a thick green liquid begins to shoot out of the floor. Make a dexterity saving throw."

John rolls a 7.

"You try to dodge out of the way, but you don't react in time. The stream of green liquid shoots directly into your mouth. You're shocked by how good it tastes, almost like a sweet tea. The liquid fills your stomach, leaving you extremely bloated."

"I want to pull him away from the trap."

Dan rolls a 16 on his strength check.

"You manage to pull him out of the trap, but not before litres of the mysterious liquid entered his body."

"Guys, I don't feel great." The barbarian expresses as he lays heavy against the wall.

"You suddenly feel a tightness grow under your armour. You look down to see your stomach has continued bloating, pushing out your chest plate. It keeps bloating and bloating until it becomes obvious that it's no longer a bloat. Within moments, your six pack becomes a round and hairy gut, protruding under your chest plate."

"Guys what's happening!?" John freaks out as the changes start to affect him in real life as well. His slim figure quickly swells as a large ball gut rides up his shirt, revealing a hairy gut underneath his shirt.

"You let out a loud burp that sends ripples through your soft belly. Next you hear your chest plate stretch as your solid pecs soften under a thick layer of fat. Your chest plate breaks in half, falling to the ground as your man tits sag onto your belly."

"Buuuurrrraaaappp" John let's out a massive belch as he grows a pair of soft man tits that press tight against his shirt. "Why does it feel so... Good?" He moans as his nipples triple in size and a forest of hair grows on his chest.

"Those strong limbs of yours don't fare any better. The chiseled definition in your arms is buried under soft fat, and your hands become swollen with thick fat filled fingers. Your thighs become thick as a tree trunk, making it hard for you to walk and your feet burst out of your tiny shoes. And that perky ass of yours becomes so big that it sags under its own weight."

The changes quickly apply to John, making the rest of his body match his hulking gut. His arms and legs swell, his hands and feet double in size, and his ass becomes so wide it doesn't fit in his chair anymore.

"And don't think that pretty face is safe either. Your once sharp barbarian features soften under layers of pudge. Your sharp jawline and strong chin melt into three double chins. Your cheek bones are buried under your chubby cheeks. You're finally left twice your previous weight, bursting out of your armour, and barely capable of moving."

John's transformation in real life also completes, making his face much wider and rounder. Unlike his fantasy counterpart, John does not have massive muscles to give him more definition under his fat. So he is left fat yet scrawny limbs and a massive ball gut that hangs over his waist.

"What the fuck just happened!?" Jeremy asks, surprised at watching friends balloon into a 300 pound blob of a man.

"I must have forgotten to mention it..." The DM says in a sinister tone. "Any changes that happen to your character in the campaign apply to you in real life."

"God I'm so hungry." John interrupts.

"Good thing there's a whole buffet prepared behind you buddy." The DM points to a table of food behind John.

"Wait, is any of this permanent?"

"Only if you fail to complete the campaign."

"Oh god, I can't end up like John."

"Let's just beat the campaign and get this over with."

"Fine, let's go."

"Let's walk to the turn I saw earlier."

"You make it to the turn with no problems, but the fat barbarian now has halved movement speed, so it takes you longer than you'd expect. Also, the barbarian's constitution has gone up by 4 and his dexterity has gone down by 6."

"I'm sorry, you guys just don't get how hard it is being my size." John complained.

"Whatever, let's keep walking."

"The hallway opens up into what seems to be a room, but it's too dark to tell. Roll a perception check."

Dan rolls an 18.

"You hear footsteps getting louder and louder from the darkness. You look in the direction of the footsteps and see a large figure emerge from the darkness. It lunges at you, but you manage to step out of the way just as a spear nearly misses you. Roll initiation."

Dan rolls a 22

John rolls a 14

Jeremy rolls a 6

"The top of the round is Dan. What would you like to do?"

"I want to shoot double arrows."

He rolls a 16 on hit for the first arrow, and 18 for the second.

"That's a hit, roll for damage."

"9 on the first arrow, 6 on the second arrow."

"Your first arrow lodges into the creature's chest, and the second into its arm. It lets out a guttural growl that echoes around the room as it rips out both arrows. It then lunges at you again with its spear. Does a 12 hit?"

"No."

"He lunges at you, but you quickly pull up your wooden shield. The spear slices through the shield but not far enough to hit you, and you notice a green liquid that is leaking from the tip of the spear."

"Can I pull on the spear to get a better look at the creature?"

Dan rolls a 15 on his strength check.

"You yank on its spear with all your strength, causing it to stumble forward. This brings it just close enough for you to tell that it is an orc, about 7 feet tall with big muscles, tusks, and dark green skin."

"Now it's your turn, John."

John looks up from his plate of food. "Oh, right."

"I will rage and swing my mace at him."

John rolls a nat 20 to hit.

"It's a critical! Now roll for damage."

"16 damage, doubles because of the Crit."

"Those big barbarian muscles are still hidden under your fat, and you use them to swing your mace directly into the orcs ribs. You hear a crack and his ribs snap, and you leave multiple stab wounds in his side from the spikes on your mace. The orc doesn't look good, but he's still fighting. In retaliation, he will try to right hook you. Does a 17 hit?"

"Yes."

"Despite his broken ribs, the orc charges at you and swings his fist right into the side of your jaw, knocking you on your ass. He deals 11 bludgeoning damage and you're knocked prone."

"Now it's the orcs turn. He will use his movement to sprint straight towards Jeremy."

"What! Why me?"

"He sees you as the weak link and he figures he can get one kill before going down."

"What the hell!"

"He lunges with his spear. Does a 14 hit?"

"Yes."

"He stabs his spear directly into your stomach, now you need to do a constitution saving throw."

Jeremy rolls a 9.

"Just barely fails. He deals 16 piercing damage and the liquid on his spear has made its way into your body, infecting you."

"It's my turn now, right?"

"It is, however, you are having trouble moving due to the infection taking over your body. You spend your turn writhing in pain. It is back to the top of the round, Dan's turn."

"I want to again shoot 2 arrows."

Dan rolls a 6 and a 17 to hit.

"The second arrow hits, roll for damage."

Dan rolls a 12.

"The first arrow flies by the orc, lodging itself into the wall. The second arrow flies directly into the back of the orcs head, piercing straight through and sticking out of his forehead."

"Fuck yeah!"

"I would take this as such a victory, as you hear painful grunts coming from the wizard."

"What?"

"As you approach, the wizard pushes aside his robe to reveal the spear wound. A growing green liquid is oozing inside of it, and it looks like the skin around it is turning green. The green ooze pumps through his veins, glowing through his skin as it's pumped all around his body. Finally, the ooze makes its way to the wizard's brain. Within an instant, his facial expression changes from pain to shock as two tusks grow from his lower jaw. They grow to about three inches long, pointing up towards his cheeks as his lower jaw widens to fit them. His nose also widens and his brow one becomes a lot more prominent as his eyes go from green to dark brown. His straight blonde hair becomes dark and coarse as it spreads down his side burns into a thick beard that covers his massive jaw."

"Guys, I don't feel so good."

Jeremy holds his head as if he had a sudden migraine. He looks up at his friends as his human features start to morph, just like his wizard counterpart. His jaw thickens as tusks grow from his mouth. His brow bone becomes more prominent, making him look like a dumb himbo. His skin starts to take on a green hue as his eyes turn brown and his hair becomes dark and coarse.

"You fall back as the infection takes over. That smart wizard brain of yours is starting to fail you as it becomes increasingly difficult to think. But it's not like you'll need that brain, you're an orc after all, you're quite strong. Your muscles swell, giving massive biceps, thick pecs, and a defined six pack as your wound begins to heal."

"Please help... Think... Hard."

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

Jeremy lets out a deep growl as his body starts to grow. His T-shirt and shorts tighten against his green skin as his muscles swell. His clothes rip in half in dramatic fashion, leaving him naked and showing off his growing dick. He brings his massive orc hands to cover his cock, but it's so big that it's near impossible to hide. Meanwhile, his perspective shifts higher and higher as his body grows to a hulking 7 feet tall.

"After your wound has fully healed, you stand back up, now towering over your party. Looking at your tiny elf friend fills you with a sudden confidence. You stand there for a moment to flex while your party watches in shock. Your biceps are massive and you can now bounce your juicy pecs, not to mention your perky ass cheeks. But after you're done with your one man show, John tosses you a cloth that doesn't fit him anymore, just so you can cover up your manhood. You look down at your wizard garb on the floor in pieces before grabbing the cloth and putting it on."

"Feel... Good."

Jeremy's voice is deep and gruff, no longer holding the wisdom he once had. He uses his thick hands to explore his new body, finding new bulging muscles all over his body. John and Dan just have to watch as his 12 inch dick starts to stick straight up in the air while he rubs his swollen muscles. He's only brought back to reality when his chair starts to creak under his weight.

"Can we just move on and get this over with."

"The three of you keep moving deeper into the lair, stopping every once in a while to let John catch his breath. The hallway becomes warmer and more humid the longer you venture."

"This has got to be a trap, I want to scout for traps."

"Roll a perception check."

Dan rolls a nat 20.

"Fuck yeah!"

"You carefully survey your surroundings, using sight, smell, and sound to scout for traps, but you don't find any. All you notice is a faint golden glow coming from the end of the hallway."

"I'll run ahead, I can end this. Just meet me up there."

"You run to the end of the hallway and see a large golden door, slightly ajar. You sneak in to see a large glittering cave, the floor covered in golden treasures and reflect the light all over the caves walls. What will you do?"

"I will try to climb up the treasure to get a better view of the cave."

"Roll an acrobatics check."

Dan rolls a nat 1.

"You try to climb a small pile of treasure, but lose your footing and fall, taking some treasure down with you. You slam on the floor, taking 5 bludgeoning damage before the treasure hits the ground, making a loud clanging noise that echoes throughout the cave. After a moment of silence, the ground starts to shake violently as you see a large figure emerge from the pile of gold."

"I want to hide."

"Roll a stealth check."

Dan rolls a 14.

"You manage to hide behind the pile of gold that you failed to climb. You hear heavy footsteps approaching you, each one shaking the ground. You hear sniffing coming from the other side of the gold pile, then it suddenly stops. The brief silence allows you to hear your heartbeat, but it doesn't last long as the creature swipes away the gold you were hiding behind. You stand still for a moment, struck by the creature that stands before you. It's a red dragon, at least 10 stories tall with a big scaly belly that hangs in front of him. It's also got quite big breasts, along with a long neck with a white mane and a white goatee."

"I want to run back to the hallway."

"Roll an athletics check."

Dan rolls an 18.

"You start sprinting as fast as you can back to the hallway. The dragon just laughs in response. "It's been a while since I've had visitors, it would be rude for you to leave so soon." The dragon says. He takes one step forward, covering more ground than you have since you began running. With one swift motion, he grabs you tight in one hand and lifts you up to his face. His breath is hot against your skin. "I could use a companion, one that'll never leave." The dragon says with a grin on his face. He starts casting a spell with his off hand, red particles swirl around his hand before he presses one of his claws into your chest, right in front of your heart. Roll a constitution saving throw."

Dan rolls an 8.

"You try to fight off the dragons magic, but it's too strong. A symbol etches into your chest where his claw was, signing your fate. You can feel it infecting your mind as your body starts to swell. Your shirt rips open as your stomach surges forward, growing into a thick beer belly that resembles that of the dragon. Your flat chest also grows into two soft breasts that lay on your gut. Your pants don't last long either as your thighs thicken to the point of ripping through them."

Similar to John, Dan starts to swell out of his clothes. He grows a ball belly that lays on his lap and two fat man tits that sag into his gut. His love handles squeeze against the arms of his chair, threatening to break through them.

"I... I want to... resist."

"It is too late to resist, the spell has reached your mind and has started erasing your core values and memories, leaving you as a blank slate. Meanwhile, your body starts to take on draconic features, just like your master. Your elven features melt away as a thick snout grows on your face with tusks and rows of sharp teeth. Horns grow on your head as red scales cover your face, making you look nearly identical to your master, save for the long neck. The red scales grow all over your plump body as a thick tail emerges right above your fat ass."

Dan's human features quickly morph into those of a dragon, just like his elven counterpart. The snout, sharp teeth, and horns, along with the red scales covering his body. Though he's forced out of his seat when his tail grows in, making it impossible for him to sit in any ordinary chair. As he gets back up, he flashes the table with his thick dragon dick, now that he's got nothing to cover himself up.

"I... Must serve... My master."

"As the spell finalizes, you are left as a loyal young dragon, eager to serve his master and one day grow strong like him. The spell makes it so that every time you do what his master says, you will grow, eventually becoming an elder dragon just like your master. Your master puts you down just as your party arrives."

"Dan? What happened?"

"My master made me a good dragon."

"Why is that dragon pretending to be Dan?"

"That is Dan, you dumbass! The dragon must have cast a dragons seal on him."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we have to kill the dragon."

"I would never let my master get hurt."

"As the words leave your mouth, you grow. Becoming ever closer to an elder dragon."

The floor creaks as Dan grows in real life as well. Soon enough the house won't be able to contain him.

"Roll for initiative."

Eager to please his master, Dan gets a 24, going first.

"I use fire breath."

"Your snout starts to glow red before you release a continuous blast of fire towards your party. Since they both grew out of their armour, there is nothing to protect them from the intense flame. Both of you take 30 fire damage."

"I rage and charge at Dan full speed."

"You yell in anger as you start to run towards Dan, but you still haven't gotten used to your new body so it looks more like a waddle than a charge. You tuck in your shoulder and throw your immense weight into the dragon, but you simply bounce off his belly, sending ripples through his fat."

"I use my reaction to talk to John."

"You approach John as he lays on the ground and whisper into his ear, "You could have all the food you could ever imagine if you join us." John's ears perk up at the idea. perform an wisdom saving throw."

John rolls a 4.

"He convinces you right away with the promise of infinite food, Dan grows again, surpassing 9 feet. Jeremy, you're up."

"I unarmed strike Dan"

"You run at him and launch the strongest punch you can muster, but his thick fat absorbs most of the force. You deal 5 bludgeoning damage. In response, Dan grabs your head and says, "look around, all this gold could be ours if you just join us." Roll an intelligence saving throw"

Jeremy rolls a 6.

"The glowing treasure leaves you awestruck, and you take his deal. Once again causing him to grow."

Dan hits 10 feet, his head hitting the ceiling and his gut pushing against the table. There is not enough room in there to hold him.

"The three of you happily join the dragon for eternity under the promise of food and riches. Dan continues to grow closer and closer to an elder dragon, John eats until he's unable to leave the cave even if he wanted to, and Jeremy is simply too stupid to resist the dragons persuasion. You lose."

"We lost?"

Jeremy twiddles his thumbs, waiting for someone to tell him what to do.

"It's not a loss if you ask me."

John chuckles as he stuffs his face with food.

"As long as my master is happy, I'm happy."

Dan's head breaks through the roof.

"Don't beat yourself up, big guy. At least you had fun."

The DM approached Jeremy, massaging his massive muscles. His hands slowly drifted down to Jeremy's dick, revealing his ulterior motive. He's got all three of his friends under his control, exactly where he wants them.

[mentalbreakdownsarenormal]

"The carefree shamelessness of a kid." That... entirely recontextualizes her relationship with Lancer in chapter 1, doesn't it.

(Long rant about the two under the cut)

I mean, consider what chapter 1 must have been like for her. The human freak she hates has just caught her eating school property, and if they report it it'd be the last straw that gets her expelled. Considering what she said to them in The_Newist_Girl post, they will probably do so immediately and remorselessly. It is only because of their mother and her kindness towards her that she doesn't cause a major incident on the spot. She begrudgingly agrees to just get some more chalk and head back to class.

(She also drops the line "If you haven't gotten it by now... Your choices don't matter" which uh. Speaking of internalization.)

Of course, it isn't that simple. The closet is both impossibly dark and impossibly big. And when the two of them go to leave, the door is slammed in her face and locked. The floor collapses under her and she falls through. The drop is impossibly far.

She wakes up in a new world that does not make sense. The first person (barring the freak) she sees starts shooting at the two of them. She finds an entire abandoned town, complete with a castle. And, perhaps the strangest thing of all, she meets a hooded figure who tells her about a prophecy. One she is a part of.

One that calls her a hero.

She doesn't believe it. When asked to accept her destiny as one of the Delta Warriors, she refuses. The hooded guy is knocked away by a kid on a bike. And he's the first person to finally give her a clear answer when she asks a question.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm... The Bad Guy!"

This is the first and only thing she has understood in the last few hours. He's a bad guy. He's getting in her way. Someone's getting beat up. After the fight, two facts make themselves clear. One, she needs to go east. Two, people are gonna try and stop her.

So she goes, alone, and makes herself a menace of the enemies. Beats them up, steals their stuff, and other sorts of things you would do in a normal RPG. That's what the enemies are for, after all. Why would she be nice to someone trying to kill her. Eventually, she's blocked by a door she can't open alone until the other nerds show up. She needs to follow them, but like hell she's actually gonna help them or change her behavior at all. There's no point. Kris and Ralsei are good and she's bad. They fell right into their roles, being all nice and stuff, but she's not like them. She can't think of anything good to say about someone trying to kill them like they can. She isn't delicate. She isn't skilled at anything. But she can smash things. And so smash things she shall. Just like she always has, and just like she always will. Don't know why anyone's expecting anything else.

She won't, she can't grow as a person like they can, not now not ever.

Susie's arc where she grows as a person begins after two rooms. It's the scene where Lancer mistakes Susie trying to intimidate him as advice on how to be scary and thanks her for it. His praise surprises her and having someone who appreciates her motivates her to become better. That's the basic reading anyway. But in hindsight...

Lancer is a child. A young child. Why? Lancer's age, for the most part, is irrelevant to his character. If you wanted him to parallel Susie, why not write him to be the same age as everyone else? How does the relationship between the two of them benefit from Susie needing to babysit the kid half the time they hang out?

She's his mentor. The one she never had herself. Lancer is bad at being scary. His evil laugh sounds like a baby Santa Claus. He has no idea what he's doing, he's just trying to be "scary and badass" like his dad. And it just so happens being scary is one of the few things Susie knows how to be "good" at. And with that in mind, Susie's words suddenly take on a whole new meaning.

Susie interrupts with a single word. "Stop." What Susie says next, about wannabe tough guys and bitten faces isn't her trying to scare him. It's her trying to crush him. The same way she was when she tried to play. You need to stop because you're bad, now here's someone who can do it better. But unlike back then, the person who told the kid to stop was the better person. The kid got the chance to see it be done properly and was told what exactly needed improvement.

And the next time they meet, Lancer acts far more intimidating. He's still not good, to be sure, but he did improve. He then immediately asks for feedback to try to improve more. He doesn't even have guys, he just wanted to practice.

And this shatters Susie's world view. This kid, this young, carefree kid who's just playing around improves. The kid who's the only person around she could understand or relate to, the kid who introduced himself as "the bad guy" *improved*. Whatever was wrong with this kid that made him a bad guy, that made him an outcast, didn't end up mattering. The support around him did.

In the very same scene Lancer shows improvement, he realizes your team doesn't have a name. To fix this, he asks everyone to drop a name in his bucket to be randomly selected. Kris doesn't and they "look like they don't care." But Susie does add a name. She might not put a lot of effort into it, but she plays along. Susie, who walked through puzzles, who disobeyed commands, who left the party behind, who repeatedly complains about you being slow, who refused help stop the very world from ending, put a name in the bucket.

And in every following scene the two are together, she encourages everything he does.

She expected to be able to play it because she was. She wasn't trying to be good: she liked the piano and she wanted to play it, so she did. Playing for the sake of playing with the carefree shamelessness of a kid.

But because someone thought she was "bad", they told her to stop. It's a role she's been assigned all her life. Without explanation, without justification, without fault, something as inherent to her as her voice, her claws, her skin.

So she internalized it. "Good" must be a role too, right? No one's ever cared enough to teach her about practice or training or perseverance. "Good" is something Susie would simply never get to be.

[the-dormant-ocean]

MC wants to send nudes to Sylus while he's at work to make him come home faster. But for some reason, she doesn't like the results of the photo she took. She ends up asking Zayne for help.

"How do you want me to help?"

"Can you be my photographer? I don't like the pictures I took."

"Sure, but what's wrong with yours?"

"I don't know! That's the issue. Can you give me your opinion on them, please?"

They go through the photos and discuss how they could maybe improve them, like scientists studying an experiment. It's odd, she is completely naked during this conversation, but the situation is so comical that it's fun.

"Wait, I have an idea. Pardon me."

Before MC can say anything, he lifts her up by the back of her thighs and plops her down on the bathroom counter. Heat radiates through her at how easy it was and how gentle he was. The marble counter is cold underneath her.

"Do you want me to-"

She starts spreading her legs but Zayne stops her.

"It's a good idea but it's not what I'm going for. Put one of your feet on the edge of the counter. Here."

"But like that you can't see my-"

"I know that's not what this is about. Lean back a little on your hands and there. Perfect."

"Really? It looks good?"

She can't really see the appeal compared to the other more revealing and seductive poses she did.

"Yes. You sat like this before. It was after the first night we all shared together. You were stunning. You look stunning."

Zayne isn't the type to wax poetry, but his compliments never fail to move her as they are said with utmost sincerity and love. He calls her beautiful like it's a fact that no one can disprove. She smiles, touched by the compliment, and Zayne uses the opportunity to take the picture.

"Verdict? Is it better than mine?"

"Yours were good. I think this one is just more you."

Zayne looks down at this picture of her adoringly and wantonly. He shows it to her and it does feel more natural and like her. She's looking at Zayne, behind the camera, in the picture. She is smiling at him, and is that what she looks like in love? She looks at Zayne's reflection in the mirror behind her and he's wearing the exact same expression. He is right. This photo is perfect.

"I love it. It feels really sweet and domestic but still sexy. It does suit me better."

"I love it too."

She watches proudly as Zayne sends the picture to himself with her phone before sending it to Sylus.

"Ah, sorry. Maybe you wanted to add text to the picture."

"It's fine, I'll send another text. Here, give me."

She goes for a casual and innocent tone, as if she were sending him a normal photo.

"Got bored and decided to send you a gift with Zayne's help! Isn't he an amazing photographer? I think I'm going to officially hire him as my photographer from now on! We miss you! Can't wait to see you!"

She knows Zayne isn't the type to take nudes of himself. So his presence in one of hers is really going to get Sylus all hot and bothered. And he looks hot in that photo as well. Sylus is 100% going to leave work early. She's a genius!

[dozybeez]

Practice Makes Imperfect (Pt. Two)

A perfectionist ballerina struggles to find her rhythm-not just in her mandatory hip hop class, but in life itself. When she turns to Hoshi, a laid back hip hop major, he helps her see there is more to life than just structure and control.

→ part one ... → part three coming soon

pairing: college au! kwon soonyoung x ballerina f!reader

word count: 5.7k

content warnings: slowish burn with eventual smut, internalized perfectionism, performance anxiety, academic and artistic burnout, emotional repression, subtle corruption kink, drugs and alcohol. MDNI

authors note: in no way do I think I'm a good writer. I wrote this a while ago just for self indulgence and decided to post it for fun, so please understand.

songs for this chapter:

- Star Shopping by Lil Peep

The morning after your shame spiral feels unreal, like maybe you dreamed it.

But you didn’t. Your body remembers.

There’s a soreness in your calves from pushing too hard in your late night rehearsal. A bruise forming low on your shin where you clipped the barre in frustration. Your mind might try to rewrite it as fiction, but your muscles know better. They ache with the truth.

You move on autopilot—again. Coffee, schedule, notes, quiz. You go through the motions like a well-oiled machine, but something’s… off.

Because now there’s a new thought crouched in the corner of your brain. Something raw and humming like feedback in a speaker.

Him.

The boy from the studio. Blonde dyed hair, sweat-drenched tank top, chain catching light. The way he moved—messy, fluid, arrogant as hell. The way his eyes locked onto yours when he caught you watching. That split-second before you bolted.

You haven’t stopped thinking about it. Which is… annoying. Inconvenient. Unacceptable, actually.

You don’t even know his name.

And yet, when you enter the dressing room before class that morning, you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every sound around you. Like your ears are tuned for static. Like some part of you is listening for him even when you’re trying not to.

“Did you see Hoshi’s routine in class yesterday?”

The name catches you mid-sip of your protein shake.

You freeze.

You recognize a few of the girls clustered near the vending machines—one with red hair always seen leaving jazz class, another who shares your math lecture but never bothers with notes. They’re mid-conversation, low and fast.

“I swear to god, he doesn’t even try. It’s disgusting.”

“I know,” one of them groans. “He’s like… terrifyingly good. It’s like watching gravity bend.”

You crouch to adjust your shoelaces, pretending it’s intentional. Your hands are trembling.

Someone laughs. “I heard he doesn’t even choreograph half the time. Just freestyles. Like… pure muscle memory and vibes.”

“God, I’d die for that kind of flow. He just gets music.”

“And don’t even get me started on the face.”

More laughter. A dreamy sigh. “He’s like the final boss of the department. You don’t even challenge him—you just try not to look like an idiot next to him.”

Your throat tightens. The laces slip from your fingers. You already feel like an idiot next to him — especially after being caught creeping on him the night before.

You feel your throat tighten, air catching awkwardly between swallows. Their words sink into you like ink bleeding through paper. Not just the compliments—those sting, yes—but the tone. The awe. The weight behind his name.

Hoshi.

You hadn’t known what to call him. Now you do.

And apparently, everyone else does too.

You knew he was good. One look at him dancing last night and that was obvious. But this? This was something else. He’s not just talented—he’s legend-tier. The kind of person people whisper about. The kind of person you definitely don’t want catching you slack-jawed outside a studio door like some repressed Victorian ghost girl.

You tie your laces too tight and wince.

The bell chimes. Class in ten minutes. You yank your jacket on, zip it up to your chin like armor, and march out without saying a word.

Your heart’s beating a little too fast. You tell yourself it’s just caffeine.

But deep down, you know better.

⸻

The studio is hot.

Sweat-slicked air, pulsing bass, the bite of harsh fluorescent lights overhead—everything feels too loud. Too close. You’re in uniform: charcoal gray leggings, a slate-blue wrap top cinched perfectly at the waist, and your warm-up jacket hugging your arms like it was made to hold you together. Soft-looking, but structured. Nothing about it is accidental.

You haven’t taken the jacket off all day.

You need the weight.

It feels like the only thing keeping you from coming undone.

Your bones feel too sharp without it.

The others around you are rolling their shoulders, cracking jokes, warming up with that easy looseness you haven’t felt in your body once this week. You stretch silently against the wall, jaw locked, heart already sprinting even before the music starts.

You’ve practiced this routine. Mapped every count. Studied the instructor’s foot placement, her weight shifts, the shape of her hands as they cut through air.

You know what it’s supposed to look like.

But every time you try, it’s like your body can’t remember how to speak the language.

“From the top!” your professor calls, already clapping the beat into existence.

The music drops heavy. Everyone moves as one—but you can feel yourself lagging before you even start.

You hit the counts, technically. Your arms are sharp, your chest pops when it’s supposed to. You pivot cleanly on beat, land with control. But it’s wrong.

It’s all wrong.

Where the others melt into the rhythm, you punch through it.

Where they ripple, you snap.

Where they glide, you grind your joints into the floor like you’re trying to force the groove into submission.

You’re not off-time. You’re just… tight. Artificial. Like a machine doing an impression of something human.

And it shows.

You see it in the mirror—the way your movements pull focus for the wrong reasons. You don’t look cool. You don’t look confident. You look terrified.

The music stops.

Silence stretches, and you feel the moment gather around you like a storm.

Your professor steps forward, hands on her hips. Her mouth is tight. Not cruel, exactly. Just tired. Like she’s done trying to find a gentler way to say this.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s cut the music.”

You freeze. Everyone else does too.

She looks at the group, but her eyes settle on you.

“You’re not getting it.”

Your throat tightens.

“You’ve had a week. And I know you’re trying. But at a certain point, effort doesn’t matter if it doesn’t translate.”

You blink hard. Swallow it.

She keeps going.

“You’re holding tension in every limb. You’re not listening to the rhythm—you’re fighting it. There’s no soul in your movement. It’s just… choreography.”

Something behind your ribs twists.

“You’re technically clean, sure. But this isn’t ballet. This style needs release. Personality. Groove. And right now? You look like you're bracing for impact the entire time.”

Someone shifts their weight behind you. The sound makes you flinch.

The professor sighs. “Honestly? I don’t think hip-hop is for you.”

The words split the floor beneath you.

“I don’t say that lightly,” she adds. “Some people just don’t have the body language for it. That doesn’t mean you’re not talented—it just means you need to play to your strengths.”

Your spine straightens like it might hold back the heat crawling up your throat. You nod once, sharp and tiny.

She claps her hands again. “Alright, everyone else, back to position.”

You step out of the line.

No one says anything, but you can feel their eyes grazing over you like stray knives.

You walk to the back wall, crouch down, pretend to retie your shoe.

You don’t trust your face.

You don’t trust what’s rising inside you.

Because the thing is—you’ve been corrected before. Critiqued. Ballet is criticism. It’s pain. It’s sharpening your body into something useful.

But this feels different.

This feels like rejection.

You’ve never been told you didn’t belong in a style. Never been told outright to give up. And not in front of a full room.

You stare at the scuffed rubber on your sneaker. Try to blink away the sting building behind your eyes.

You should walk out. Shake it off. Prove her wrong next week.

But you can’t stop replaying it.

You’re not getting it. You look like you’re bracing for impact. I don’t think hip-hop is for you.

A part of you wants to be angry. To dig in your heels and overtrain until your knees give out.

But another part—smaller, quieter—is tired.

Tired of forcing it. Tired of failing in private and pretending it’s growth. Tired of dancing like you’re scared of being seen.

And that’s when it happens.

A flicker behind your eyelids. A memory you didn’t invite.

A boy alone in a studio.

Sweat on his jaw. Shirt clinging to his back. Limbs loose, music pouring through him like he trusted it. Like his body wasn’t a cage—it was a current.

You hadn’t realized, last night, what exactly you were watching.

But now?

Now you think maybe it was freedom.

The kind you’ve never felt. Not in your choreography. Not in your skin.

You don’t want to ask for help. You never do.

But the words from your professor are still ringing in your ears like bruises.

And suddenly, swallowing your pride feels easier than drowning in it.

⸻

You don’t know what you’re doing here.

The hallway hums with the kind of midnight stillness that makes every fluorescent light buzz louder than it should. Your shadow follows you in pieces—fractured by the low glow bleeding from under Studio C’s door.

You’re wearing what you always wear when you need to feel in control.

High-waisted black leggings, freshly laundered. A fitted ribbed tank top. Your sleek zip-up jacket, zipped halfway and snug across your ribs, sleeves pushed to your elbows with deliberate symmetry. There’s a tiny monogram stitched near the collar—just your initials, delicate and silver, like even your clothes are expected to perform.

Your ballet teacher once said sweatpants were for people who had already given up. That if you looked relaxed, you were relaxed. That discipline wasn’t just about how you danced—it was how you entered a room. How you carried your body. How you never looked uncertain. Never looked soft.

You believed her. You still do. Which is why being here—like this—feels like a betrayal.

You’re standing outside the one place you swore you wouldn’t come back to. Studio C.

You stare at the door. Music pulses faintly behind it—muffled bass, a steady rhythm. It’s looser than last time. Less aggressive. Still, it makes something tighten behind your ribs.

You open the door.

The hinges creak.

He’s already dancing.

Back turned. Shirt darkened with sweat. Blonde hair a mess. His shoulders are moving in slow, syrupy pops that melt into a glide, like his body is chewing on the beat before swallowing it whole. You almost lose your nerve.

Then he turns.

He doesn’t stop.

Just meets your gaze like he expected you.

A smirk tugs at his mouth as he hits one last move, lets the music carry his body into a final spin, and hits pause with a smooth flick of his fingers.

Silence falls.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he says, breathless but amused.

You ignore the comment. “Can I talk to you?”

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to figure out what changed.

You don’t wait. “I need help.”

He blinks. A pause.

“With…?”

You exhale. “Hip-hop.”

The smirk sharpens. “You?”

You cross your arms. ��Yes.”

He wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt, revealing a flash of toned stomach, then lets it fall back into place.

“Didn’t peg you for the type to ask.”

“I’m not,” you admit, jaw tight. “But I need to get better. And I don’t have time to figure it out on my own.”

His eyes narrow slightly, considering.

You press on. “I’ll pay you.”

That gets a reaction.

He scoffs, laughing once—short and disbelieving. “You’re offering me money?”

“Yes.”

“You serious?”

You shift your weight. “I don’t expect you to do it for free.”

He walks toward you slowly, water bottle in hand, expression unreadable.

“Let me get this straight,” he says. “You snuck in here last night, watched me like I was an exhibit, ran off like your hair was on fire—then show up again tonight, ask for help, and throw cash at me like it’s a tutoring session?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m not trying to insult you.”

“Too late.”

You square your shoulders. “I just—don’t usually ask people for things. And I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.”

He watches you for a long moment. Something in his face softens—not enough to be obvious. Just enough to feel it.

“You’re used to earning things,” he says quietly. “Not being given them.”

You don’t answer.

He sets the water bottle down. “Keep your money.”

“But—”

“I don’t want it.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “Because it’s way more fun messing with you for free.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Wildly.”

Another beat passes between you—tense, sharp.

Then his tone shifts.

“You really want help?”

“Yes.”

“Then lose the attitude.”

Your arms tighten across your chest. “This is my normal tone.”

“Yikes,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes.

He grins, and somehow it makes the space feel smaller.

“Alright,” he says, stepping back. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You blink in surprise. “Wait—what? Right now? No. We have to schedule this.”

He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “Schedules are boring.”

“I need a plan,” you insist firmly.

He smirks. “Fine. When?”

You glance at your watch, already calculating. “Seven tomorrow night.”

He nods without hesitation. “Seven it is.”

You take a deep breath and turn toward the door.

You try not to flinch when it clicks shut behind you.

⸻

You arrive at the studio twenty minutes early, nerves tightening every muscle. The polished floor gleams under the harsh fluorescent lights, reflecting your precise posture. You’re here early because that’s what you do—you prepare, you control, you own every second before anything even starts.

You pace softly near the door, hands clasped tightly in front of you. Your ballet jacket, monogrammed with your initials, feels heavier than usual, like armor against the unknown.

Minutes tick by. You check your watch again, breath shallow, heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and something like dread.

Then, the door creaks open.

He strolls in—ten minutes late—with a lazy grin and an easy confidence. His hair is messier than before, strands falling over his forehead like he just rolled out of bed. He’s wearing a loose black graphic tee and baggy jeans, sneakers slapping softly against the floor. No sense of urgency, no hint of apology.

“Sorry, I’m fashionably late,” he says, flashing you a crooked smile that’s equal parts cocky and disarming.

You narrow your eyes but say nothing.

He drops his bag carelessly by the wall and stretches, cracking his neck as if the day’s been too easy so far.

You clear your throat. “We agreed on seven.”

He shrugs, that trademark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You get here early, I show up late. It’s the perfect balance.”

You bite back a retort and instead set your jaw, stepping forward. “Let’s get started.”

He laughs, pulls out his phone, and taps play. The bass rolls through the room, deep and steady, vibrating in your chest.

He moves first, fluid and unforced, every motion dripping with effortless cool. You try to mirror him, but your body is stiff, bound by years of discipline and control. Your arms don’t flow; your feet hit the floor like you’re following a script you can’t rewrite.

He glances your way, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You look like you’re trying to dance your way out of a straightjacket.”

You flush, cheeks heating, but refuse to break. “I’m just warming up.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, Tightwire,” he says, the nickname catching you off guard, “let’s see if you can loosen up.”

“Tightwire?” You blink at him, incredulous. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grins, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It means you’re wound tight—like you’re balancing on a wire—but I’m kinda curious to see if you’ll fall or fly.”

You glare, but a reluctant smile tugs at your lips despite yourself.

He shrugs. “Hey, gotta call it like I see it…”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Just trying to keep things interesting.”

The music shifts, a little faster now, and you try again, letting the beat pulse through your limbs. Your movements aren’t perfect, but they’re softer, less mechanical. He watches with that half-grin, like he’s betting on you to surprise him.

“You’re getting there,” he says after a moment. “But don’t think too much. Dance isn’t about thinking. It’s about feeling.”

You nod, biting your lip, trying to absorb the advice even if it goes against everything you’ve been taught.

He steps closer, voice dropping just enough to make you lean in without realizing it. “Come on, tightwire. Show me you can let go.”

And maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to believe you can.

The bass rolls steady through the studio as he steps back, watching you with that laid-back, half-amused expression like this whole thing is just a game to him. You feel the weight of his gaze—not heavy, but definitely there, sizing you up like he’s betting you’ll crack under pressure.

You press your lips together, squaring your shoulders. Precision is your armor, but in this moment, it feels more like a cage.

“Alright, so what now?” you ask, voice sharper than you intend.

He shrugs, leaning against the wall with that easy confidence that drives you nuts. “Now, you stop thinking so much. Feel the music. Let it move you instead of fighting it.”

You glance at him, disbelief flickering across your face. 

A slow grin curls at the corner of his mouth, eyes flickering with that mix of teasing and challenge he wears like a second skin. He leans back against the wall, arms crossed, studying you like you’re a puzzle he’s just starting to solve.

“You’re a ballerina, right?” His voice is low, almost casual, but there’s an edge to it—as if he’s daring you to prove him wrong. “I’m guessing, based on the way you move—tight, deliberate. Ballet’s all about control. Precision in every muscle, every breath, everything locked down like a well-rehearsed script.”

He pushes off the wall, stepping closer, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “Hip hop? It’s a whole different game. It’s about letting go. Feeling the music pulse through you, even if it’s just a crack open—enough to catch the rhythm before it slips away.”

You bite your lip, trying to wrap your mind around what letting go even looks like. The idea feels like a foreign language to your body, which has been trained to hold tight, stay perfect, never falter.

“Look, I don’t expect you to suddenly turn into a free spirit. But maybe just loosen the grip a little? Stop trying to tame the music and ride it instead.”

His casual tone contrasts with the intensity of his gaze, and for a moment, you catch a flicker of something real beneath the playfulness. It’s a challenge, but not a cruel one. More like a dare.

You cross your arms, meeting his eyes steadily. “And if I fall?”

He shrugs again, grinning. “Then I’ll be there to catch you.”

That small, unexpected softness undercuts the smirk, and your chest tightens. You want to push it aside, remind yourself this is just practice, just dance, nothing more.

You nod slowly, taking a breath. “Fine.”

He grins wider. “That’s what I like to hear. Now move.”

He steps back, giving you space, but his eyes never leave you. The music shifts—low bass curling around the edges of the room like smoke, thick and slow. He doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t offer instruction. Just waits, arms loose at his sides, like he’s already read the ending and isn’t in a rush to spoil it.

You plant your feet, pulse ticking in your throat like a second metronome. You know how to move. You’ve moved your whole life. But this? This feels like standing on a ledge with no choreographer telling you when to jump.

Still, you try.

You raise your arms—already wrong. Too rigid, too formal. You catch yourself and lower them again, forcing a breath through your nose. The beat rolls on. You take a step, then another, mirroring what you’ve seen in class. What you’ve seen him do.

It doesn’t work.

You’re too upright. Too precise. Each movement feels like it’s passed through six filters of correction before it even reaches your limbs. You know you’re getting it wrong—can feel it in the resistance of your own body.

You glance up. He’s watching, expression unreadable, one brow arched just slightly, but not mocking. Just… waiting.

“I look stupid,” you mutter.

“No,” he says, arms crossed again, voice lighter now. “You look scared.”

You bristle, heat flaring in your cheeks. “I’m not scared.”

He tilts his head. “Then what are you holding onto so hard you can’t move?”

The question lands harder than you expect. Because you don’t have an answer. Or maybe you have too many.

You look down at your feet. “I don’t know how to be bad at something,” you say quietly.

There’s a beat of silence, and when you lift your gaze, something in his face has shifted—like he sees it now. The pressure. The fear. The weight of always being the best, or at least looking like it.

He steps closer, close enough that the air between you feels warmer, like static before a storm. “That’s the thing, ballerina,” he murmurs. “You’re not supposed to be good yet. You’re supposed to fuck up.”

You blink. “Is that how you learned?”

He laughs under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you kidding? I looked like a wind-up toy on a sugar high my first time dancing. Arms everywhere. Legs doing God knows what. It was tragic.”

A startled laugh escapes you before you can stop it. He grins, triumphant.

“There it is,” he says. “You laugh like someone who doesn’t let themselves do it often.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s less bite in it now.

“Okay, again. But this time? Don’t think. Just feel.”

You square up, shifting your weight. Let the bass ripple up from the floor into your spine. Your body still resists—but less than before. You move again. It’s not perfect. Not even close. But for a few seconds, it’s not about perfection.

He watches you closely, not correcting, not stopping you. Just… watching.

And somehow, that’s what makes your hands loosen. Just a little.

⸻

You don’t want to stop.

Even when your muscles ache. Even when the sweat is dripping down your spine and your chest rises in sharp, controlled breaths like you’re trying not to let on that you’re gasping. You’ve gone through the combo five times now, and not once has it felt right. Not once have you felt like you deserved to be here.

“I’m good,” you say quickly as he pauses the music. Too quickly. “We can keep going.”

But Hoshi tosses you a look over his shoulder like he’s heard this before. Like he’s not buying it.

“Nah,” he says, already flopping down onto the studio floor like gravity pulled him there. “You’re gonna burn yourself out if you keep chasing the ghost of whatever ‘perfect’ means in your head.”

You hesitate, hovering awkwardly near the center of the floor.

“I’m fine,” you insist, but your voice lacks conviction now.

He props himself up on his elbows, sweat-dampened hair curling at his temples. “You’ve got this edge like you think the world’s gonna end if you take five minutes.”

You bristle. “Some of us don’t have time to waste.”

His eyes narrow slightly—not offended, more curious. “That why you’re always wound so tight? Afraid of losing a second?”

You don’t answer, but you do lower yourself down, slow and stiff, like surrendering is a foreign language. Your limbs ache in protest, and the cold bite of the studio floor against your back makes you shiver.

For a moment, there’s just breathing. The hum of fluorescent lights. The ghost of the bass still buzzing under your skin.

Then, casually, he says, “You know, I just realized—I don’t even know your name. Been calling you Tightwire in my head this whole time.”

You turn your head to look at him. He’s watching you, one arm folded behind his head, that same smirk playing on his lips before you answer with your name.

He nods once, like he’s storing it away somewhere private. “Nice. I’m Hoshi, by the way.”

“I know,” you say, a little too fast.

His brow arches. “Oh?”

You glance away, trying not to let your ears burn. “Some people in the dressing room were talking about you. Said you’re insanely good. A little cocky.”

He laughs—full-bodied and unbothered. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You don’t say anything, but your lips twitch like you’re fighting a smile.

He stretches his arms above his head with a groan. “You always this intense?”

You lie back again, letting your gaze fall to the ceiling. “Only when I’m awake.”

He whistles low under his breath. “Damn. What’s it like in that brain of yours?”

You don’t answer. You don’t really know how to. But something about the quiet between you shifts—thickens, softens. Not quite tension. Not quite comfort. Just... awareness.

He breaks it with a chuckle. “Better tighten that bun, Tightwire. We’ve got a long way to go before you stop looking like a ballerina trapped in the wrong movie.”

You sit up slowly, chest still rising fast. “I want to get it right.”

His voice is softer this time. “You will.”

And for the first time tonight, you almost believe him.

Almost.

But belief is a luxury you don’t let yourself touch yet.

You stay quiet, letting the echo of the music and the pounding of your pulse fill the space instead. He doesn’t press. Just leans back on his hands, eyes skating lazily over the ceiling like he’s already half-tuned out.

You rise slowly, every muscle sore, every line of your body aching with the unfamiliarity of it all. The floor feels harder than usual beneath your feet. Or maybe you’re just feeling how far you have to go.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, casual, like it doesn’t matter either way.

You pause. “I need an exact time.”

That makes him glance up. He smirks. “7 sharp, then.”

You nod, already halfway to the door, spine straight, jaw locked.

His voice follows just before it closes behind you. “Better stretch tonight, Tightwire. Tomorrow’s worse.”

You don’t answer.

But your fists curl tighter around your jacket sleeve, and your steps are clipped all the way back to your dorm.

This isn’t working yet.

But you’ll make it.

Because you don’t know how not to.

⸻

The studio is cooler than last time, lights dimmed low to soften the harshness of the mirrors. Outside, twilight is bleeding into the campus sky—pale pinks and grays washing over the windows like a lullaby the room refuses to listen to. Here, the bass thumps quietly through the speaker in the corner. Not loud. Just enough to vibrate under your skin.

You showed up early again. Of course you did.

This time, Hoshi wasn’t ten minutes late.

Just five.

He strolled in with a Gatorade in hand and his hoodie half-zipped, sleeves pushed up to his elbows like he might start dancing or start a fight—either seemed equally possible. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, worn from use but somehow still stylish, and the tank he wore underneath clung to him in a way that was definitely unfair. His hair was tousled again—purposefully careless, like the rest of him.

He took one look at you pacing, gave a low whistle, and said, “Tightwire’s back.”

You didn’t rise to it. Just uncapped your water bottle and muttered, “We said seven.”

He held up his Gatorade in a mock toast. “And here I am. Growth.”

Now, fifteen minutes in, he hasn’t said much else.

And it’s driving you insane.

He’s been circling the room, hood down now, hands in his pockets, as if this were a museum and you were the exhibit. Every so often he hums or nods with the music, eyes following your movements—noting something. Calculating. You hate how much you want to know what he’s thinking.

You’ve been moving since you got there. Sticking to the choreography he gave you yesterday, step by step, beat by beat. You’ve practiced it in your dorm room, in your head, in your dreams. You thought today would feel better.

It doesn’t.

You’re already sweating.

Not from exertion—but from frustration. Every move sticks. Every beat slips through your fingers like water.

You push through another pass of the routine, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the mirror. You’re on beat. Technically. Your footwork is clean. You hit your marks.

So why does it still feel wrong?

You stop mid-step, breath ragged, palms curling into fists at your sides.

Behind you, Hoshi whistles low under his breath. “That looked painful.”

Your glare shoots straight through the mirror at his reflection. “It wasn’t painful.”

He strolls closer, tapping the volume down on the speaker. “It was like watching someone file their taxes in dance form.”

Your jaw tightens. “I’m doing the steps.”

“Exactly.” He drops into a lazy crouch, arms resting on his knees. “You’re doing them. Not feeling them.”

You exhale sharply and turn to face him. “Not everyone can roll out of bed and move like their bones are made of rubber bands.”

He smirks. “Flattering. But rubber bands don’t have this much charm.”

You don’t laugh. You’re too keyed up. “I just want to get this right.”

“Why?” he asks simply. “Why does it have to be right instead of real?”

You falter.

“I mean, when did you decide hip hop had one right answer? You’re not solving an equation.”

“No, I’m trying not to embarrass myself,” you snap.

He stands again, stretching his arms overhead. “You’re trying to ace it. That’s the problem.”

You fold your arms. “So you’re saying don’t try?”

“I’m saying…” He studies you a beat too long. “You’re dancing like you don’t trust yourself. I wanna see what you do trust.”

You blink. “What?”

He nods toward the center of the room. “Ballet. Show me.”

Your brows knit. “Why would you want to see that?”

“Because,” he says, voice low but sure, “I’ve only seen you in defense mode. I wanna see what you look like when you’re home.”

Your spine straightens instinctively. “I can’t just… do it.”

He raises a brow. “Why not?”

“I need my shoes.” Your voice comes out sharper than you mean. “And I need to warm up. And I haven’t done my back stretches yet. I have rituals y’know… I don’t—”

You stop yourself, but it’s too late. The panic already cracked through.

His head tilts, eyes catching yours. “Hey,” he says, tone gentler now. “Then do that. Do all of it. I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallow hard.

“I didn’t mean—” you start, but he cuts in, not unkind.

“Don’t act like time’s your enemy,” he says. “You’ve got it. Use it. However you need.”

That silences you more than anything else.

Because he’s not wrong.

Time is something you’ve always tried to outrun. To out-schedule. To dominate before it could dominate you. You don’t know how to exist in a moment unless it’s mapped, controlled, checked off.

But right now? There’s no clock dictating your start. Just Hoshi, leaning against the mirror, giving you space.

So you nod slowly. “Okay. I just… give me a second.”

“Take ten,” he says with a shrug. “I’ll be here.”

You move to your bag, fingers finding the soft, worn fabric of your ballet shoes. The satin slips through your hands like breath. You sit down and begin your quiet ritual—each wrap of the ribbons like a thread sewing you back together. He watches, but doesn’t speak, doesn’t rush.

You roll your ankles out, then rise, poised and still.

And finally—when it’s just you and the studio and the silence that lets you breathe—

You dance.

No music. Just the memory of it in your bones. The stretch and pull, the rise and fall. Every movement cut with precision, but this time, there’s something else in it too. A flicker of emotion. A note of defiance. Grace sharpened by something personal.

And Hoshi watches.

He’s quiet now, back pressed to the mirror, arms crossed loosely over his chest. But his usual smirk is gone. Replaced by something still, almost reverent. He watches the way your muscles glide beneath your skin, the way your lines slice through the air with deadly accuracy—like you’re carving out space in the world just by existing in it.

But there’s tension there, too. A tightness at the edge of every perfect landing. Like you’re trying to escape something that’s stitched into your very ribs. He can feel it in his chest as he watches you turn—controlled, contained, clenched.

Like you’re dancing against an invisible wall, not with the room around you.

You finish with a single, poised breath, shoulders lifted, jaw set like a blade.

And still—he doesn’t say anything.

Not right away.

He unfolds his arms slowly, and it takes him a second to find the right words. His gaze stays on you, steady. No teasing, no flash of teeth. Just something deeper now. Almost sad.

“You’re really good,” he says, voice low and a little rough. “But you look like you’re suffocating.”

⸻

Tag List: @minafrost @codeinebelle @sojuxxi @bestboileeknow @angelsbitx @socialsymphonies

(Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist <3)

[lowkey-loki245]

(First off, this isn't my original idea, idk who i read this from) So it actually makes a lot of sense why Jax doesn't curse. A lot of what Jax does is to give himself the illusion of control. He's a menace because he can be. He breaks rules and is awful because he can be. He's this way because he's not supposed to act this way, meaning that he has control. But cursing is one of the things that has a hard set limit. You curse, you get censored no matter what. It breaks the illusion of control. So he doesn't curse at all.

I like to think that he always had this habit of trying to feel in control, but it wasn't that bad until he lost Ribbit (his abstracted friend). Death (that's basically what abstraction is for the digital circus) can really make you feel out of control, so Jax leaned extra hard into trying to feel in control. Which included taking pranks too far, being crueler, prioritizing his need for control over others need for a friend. I don't think when the series started and when Ribbit abstracted has that much time in between (I've been headcanoning that it's only been 3 months), so Jax was still un the depths of this behavior when Pomni joined. It explains why it seems like the other aren't entirely used to Jax behavior quite yet. They kinda expect it, but they don't know the motions of it yet. And now, with Pomni, he's kinda chilling out. I know things are gonna get worse before they get better, but I'm excited to see how Jax gets better.

Edit: I found the post that gave me the idea for the first paragraph.

Figured I'd tally up the amount of swears that have happened in The Amazing Digital Circus so far... Pomni's panicked test-swears at the beginning definitely skew it but here we go :)

Also I'm shocked there was no swearing in the McDonalds lmao, how do you go working in customer service a whole day without doing that at least once

[woozisprincess]

Seventeen's reaction to you wanting to run through the entire group

You want to run through the Seventeen members like you're on the track team.

Seventeen x Fem Reader

Super suggestive, entirely talk about sex, Soonyoung wants a threesome, they are all dtf, it's the same scenario but if each member were the first to find out, reader gets called a slut (lovingly), unedited bs

Seungcheol

"Really?" He looks at you with a raised brow. Not what he was expecting when he asked if you had a crush on any of them. Was hoping you'd say him, but he supposes this can work in his favor. He leaned close to you, grabbing by the waist. "Well, you could always start with me." And if he got his way, you won't even think about the others once he's done. You thought a night with the leader was a great way to kick off your excursions.

Jeonghan

All of them? Not that he was judging. Just sounded like a lot of effort. Also Cheol's really possessive, the maknae doesn't like to share either, and Soonyoung is such a brag. So many things to consider, and work around. Sounds like more effort than it's worth. But then again... Sense you're offering. "I don't know about those other guys, but I can promise you won't regret a night with me."

Shua

Well that's... Not information that he asked for, but go off. "Whatever makes you happy, sweetheart." Dumb response. What does that even mean? Truthfully, out of everyone you did not mean to tell Joshua. Sweet, gentle Joshua. You apologize for your poor manners. Joshua thought for a moment. "Well I'm not exactly a perfect gentleman all the time." He smiled at you. Sum bout' how he said it. Did that mean what you thought it meant?

Junhui

"Damn, girl!" The reaction was automatic. "Like the whole team!?" You confirmed. After the initial shock Jun actually could not care less, just another thing about you that he probably shouldn't know, but you told him regardless. "Well... Shit," he muttered, "let me know when it's my turn." He might not care all that much, but he's not fucking stupid. If a bad bitch wants him, a bad bitch wants him.

Soonyoung

"Oh bet!? Can I go first!?" That's it. He jumps at the opportunity laid out before him, does not give a fuck that his band mates also take up space in your mind. Was actually weirdly into the fact that you wanted them all. Would you have two of them at once? That'd be so hot. Is giddy when you agreed to let him go first as long as he bought you dinner first. Told the whole group he hit. However, was a real one and did not tell them that they were potentially next.

Wonu

Oh? Okay then? You didn't even say it directly, but from how you were literally growling when talking about each member during the performance? Yeah you wanted that cookie, you wanted the whole fucking box of cookies. The bakers dozen, if you will. "Someone's libido is fucked." He mentioned, casually. You went flush after realizing how fucking feral you were acting. "Hey, you want what you want. I want you too, if that makes you feel any better." It did. It made you feel a lot better.

Jihoon

Could you even do that? Like that's a lot of dudes. Your body would need breaks, surely. He had no clue why he was focusing on the logistics so much, but he knew proper protection was a must. "Make sure they all wear condoms, don't get distracted." Solid piece of advice, but not the response you were expecting. Jihoon then showed you that he was ready for you anywhere and anytime by opening a random drawer in his studio, revealing a box of condoms. Extra large. Oh my god. You 100% put those condoms to use.

Dokyeom

"Sorry? What? Sorry?" He short circuited. You patted his shoulder and apologized. "Nononononono." You shouldn't apologize, it's your body! Oh, for freaking him out? No he's not freaking out... He's a grown man, perfectly capable of listening to a beautiful woman's sexual desires, especially if he's a part of them. "I just-" he sputters. "Me too?" Yes? Oh. So nice of you. Very generous. "Thank you." Adorable. You couldn't wait to ravage him.

Mingyu

Big softie, immediately asked to take you out for dinner. You grin at the prospect of princess treatment. And boy was he generous. Most selfless lover you've ever had. And the date itself was magical, he pulled out all the romantic stops. Truly, that night you didn't just fuck, Kim Mingyu, you made love to him. Definitely happening again... After you make your rounds though. Mingyu completely forgot you wanted to fuck the team. Was chill about it though. Very happy you had plans to return to him.

Minghao

"What do you mean by that?" You looked at him like he was stupid, confirming his suspicions. Another one you didn't actually tell, it just slipped out. While watching them practice, you pointed out Jihoon and Hoshi, started singing that two bad bitches song. Then muttered 'actually, all these bad bitches.' Minghao's interest was piqued. Really, the last person you wanted to tell was Hao, he could be awful... Judgey. But he was surprisingly very open minded. You supposed it wasn't that out of character. "So is this like a mission, or a fantasy?" Mission? Cool. "I'm very in support of women taking control of their sexuality's." Aka, 'I'm down to fuck.'

Seungkwan

"Slut." Automatic. Not a single regret. To be fair, he was calling you that already. You couldn't argue with him either. This would be the sluttiest thing you've ever attempted. Seungkwan was so proud. "You know you're gonna have to amp it up if you wanna pull the whole team, right?" Told you what to wear for who, how to act around who. Made you a slide show full of info, though, he gave you no info on himself. But then he finished his lecture and said. "And about the sex part, can't be a good slut unless you've had some proper experience." His voice was low when he spoke. And you had complete faith that Boo Seungkwan could make the best slut.

Vernon

"baller." He meant that shit too. High-key a power move. He's sure you'd have them all whipped in no time. And some of them liked to fucking spend! Not only could you have dick whenever you wanted, and also multiple lovers for different moods, but dinner dates, lunch dates, cuddle seshes, shoes, purses, nails, hair, Lego sets! Whatever you wanted! The world was your oyster! Vernon's always liked a woman who knows what she wants. "Question. Can you choke me?" The answer was yes.

Dino

"Reaaallllyyyy?" Chan wasn't judging. Okay he was judging a little bit, but just because it was his hyungs. "They're all so... Bleh." Like sure they were attractive and talented, but they were also his hyungs. He just didn't get it. What did they have that he didn't? Well a few of them are really buff... Some of them have quite the way with words... And Hoshi and Jeonghan were charismatic... So maybe they had a lot. But still, they're his hyungs!!! "Don't even bother with those guys, I'm sure once we're done you won't even want them." Only one way to find out.

(⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

A/N: I want to run through svt like I'm on the track team. I really like Kwan's, like yes, training ark. Jihoon said wrap it losers!!!

Anyways, if you liked this pls talk to me about it, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Comments or reblogs appreciated.

[thelustrouswritermirage]

AHHHHHHHHOMG

I'm going to do some headcanons and scenarios for the hanks cause I've had so much Date Everything content on my fyp and I'm literally in love with them. I ♡ HIMBOS

Warning - This is going to have plenty of NSFW work in it so read at your own risk

As a Group

They definitely have one big brain cell that they kinda just pass around

They all will learn how to do a skill or trick together and they will literally spend a week focusing on nothing but that and then never do it again

Let's be real the poor baby boys don't know how to do much for themselves. That closet is like a living frat house and they take that to an extreme. I think Hank number 2 could cook a little but only enough to make like burnt pasta or a nice salad. Other then that they survive off of kids TV dinners a hope and a prayer.

They literally worship the ground you walk on. They will attempt crazy stunts or preform a whole choreographed dance routine just to get a bit of smile or a thumbs up from you and God if you praise them...... BRO they are rolling around on the floor, jumping up and down, Hank number 3 has a raging hard on and now they won't leave your side for the rest of the night.

After you and them become a package congratulations you will never have a moment to yourself again. Someone will always have something new to show you or a story they wanna tell and these guys don't break off oh no if you get one you get them all.

They never really calm down but if you do express to them that you would enjoy some quiet they will happily attempt to do so.

Keyword there "ATTEMPT" these poor baby's are so energetic that even something like charades will make you think the house is about to come down on you. The thumping and thudding and whispered ows after a fist bump got to "radical" will some how manage to be even louder then before.

Also just gotta throw this in here hank number 4 has major golden retriever vibes. Like imagine patting him on the head and telling him your proud of him or that he's a good boy. GOD HE WILL NEVER GET ENOUGH OF YOU

NSFW

Okay in my mind the hanks are just a huge poly group that swallowed you whole so have fun with that.

It all starts once you've gotten to know the hanks a bit better. Soon Hank number 3's thoughts start to kinda seep into their shared dreams at night. Images of you sprawled out beneath them covered in sweat and cum both yours and theirs while you suck them off. When morning comes and they see you the visuals just won't leave and soon they are all red faced messes fawning over you.

You would have found out either way I mean these guys are open books but the way you would find out is less then ideal. You would be wandering around the house talking to furniture and silverware as one does when you hear a loud thud from up stairs. Obviously being curious you go to find out what's happening only to walk in on the hanks in a jerk circle heads thrown back, eyes screwed shut, moaning and muttering out your name in helpless whines as they cum all over their own hands and each other. Then they would giggle and mumble out some nonsense about how rad that was before they finally see you.

I don't think any of them including Hank 3 have ever been so embarrassed.

They would try to cover themselves while also apologizing and a sly comment about you "enjoying the show" from Hank 3 would ignite the flame that eventually leads to your newest predicament.

So there you are, Hank 3 behind you hitting a spot in your ass you never imagined could feel so good while whispering in your ear about how beautiful you look from that angle. Then Hank 5 is in front thrusting up into your weeping walls and holding your head up so he can stick his tongue down your throat. While they ravage your insides Hank 1 and 2 sit off to either side of you watching with their dicks in hand. Hank 1 loves to watch how your ass just molds like play doh to Hank number 3 waist everytime he thrusts into. Hank number 2 is definitely more of a boob guy. He likes how soft they are and how your hardend nipples are a deep shade of rossey pink. He would probably imagine them in his face or mouth while he gets himself off and wouldn't mind being suffocated to death by them. Finally sweet golden boy hank number 4 would be on his side on the bed watching hank 3 and 5 thrust into you. Something about the way your cunt trys to suck number 5 cock back in while he pulls out makes hank 4 ache in all the right places.

Once they all have finally had enough they would crawl into bed with you in a big sloppy cuddle puddle and tell each and every person in the bed individually things that they love about them.

After about 45 minutes of that they have whined down enough to get to sleep and you actually sleep very comfortably. Considering that good luck getting out of bed in the morning cause they are not going to wanna let you go.

[theotherrookie]

"They never do. I don't get why adults are like that with kids." Erica grumbled, "Well, that served him right. He should be thankful he can still see other people holding mops or anything else. I used to scratch those who picked on isolated survivors."

She tried liking everybody, but she simply couldn't stomach bullies. They should be better people if they didn't want their butts kicked.

"Oh, I just dress comfy for myself and for Smokey. He used to sleep in the hole on my back, but I don't have it anymore. So we need pockets now." Erica explained, "Oh, I see! Russell always gets in trouble, uh? But I'm glad he's going to be okay."

She scratched at the tip of her ear as she tried to recall anything about the accident Travis had mentioned. "Hey, Willow, how long have we known Russell?"

Willow, of course, provided an answer without hesitation. "Rook met Russell about six years ago. However, the accident in question was never mentioned to me, which might imply she isn't aware of that particular misadventure. It isn't the sort of topic one would so casually discuss with a person they only recently met."

Rook would have definitely brought it up at some point. The topic of Russell's ability to get in dangerous situations and narrowly escaping it had been discussed often over the years and neither had been able to provide an explanation on how he managed to do that.

"And I met him later because I was still figuring stuff out after Willow found a way to reverse my zombieness."

"We were all very busy at the time." Willow said, leaning back, "To think I was only two years old then. Time really does fly outside the matrix."

"You know, we could watch that show together." Erica offered, "It'd be the first time for me!"

Rook stopped to look around while the pocket kept shifting to create a suitable way out of there.

"That would become unbearable quickly. The first thing I did when I learned there was a way to interact with this place was removing the echo." Rook said, "I really didn't have a great time the first time I got stuck in here. It took mum half a day to notice I was missing."

"I only had control over a limited portion of this place. Chick had to keep busy rearranging all my supplies." Veronica added.

But of course, everything had changed when Rook had retrieved one of their lost books from the clutches of the Brotherhood. They finally had access to a powerful tool that made their activities far easier and were a bit closer to unlocking other hunting techniques previously lost to time.

The last few blocks fell into place just as Bill was sent off to enjoy the panoramic view. Veronica figured she would make herself useful while they waited for Rook to tend to her business and shifted her focus to keeping their surroundings stable while they lingered there.

"Alchemy has always been one of our strongest suit. I dare say Erika has a natural talent for it." Veronica said, pride evident in her tone.

Rook wasn't feeling particularly proud of herself, but still managed a small nod. "I'm alright. I see you guys found my pile of gold without the rainbow. Do you want some?"

The coin shined and felt like the real deal. It was made of gold of the highest quality and with both sides decorated with a crude rendition of a bird's foot.

Rook went ahead and dug up a candy scoop she then used to fill a small bag with coins under Lucien's very intrigued gaze. She closed the bag by pulling the strings at the sides, then offered it to Antonio.

"I've got plenty to spare. I really don't mind."

"The one he picked might be worth more than the entire pile, dear."

"Let me splurge, mum. I'm trying to ignore my feelings right now."

Unable to resist to the shiny himself, Lucien quietly took the scoop from her and started filling another bag for himself.

"Oh, please, don't make compliments." Rook said, nudging him with her boot.

"Get off my back. I can make a lovely pendant for Russell with these." The half fae hastily pushed back with his arm, before scooping up a few more coins.

"Then they wonder why kids hate schools." Erica grumbled, "I bet they still tell the story of what you did! That guy must be scared of mops too now."

It still wasn't as satisfying as the guy getting skewered or having the mop broken over his head, but it was enough to get the point across.

"You hardly have the need to go unnoticed, Travis. One look at you is enough to discourage many from trying their luck." Willow pointed, "Erica was raised to hunt. It's only natural for her to be conspicuous despite her wardrobe."

"Yeah, sometimes I scare people by accident." Erica confirmed. Perhaps that choice of words was by accident as well. "If those were the second and third, what was the best news you got?"

"The afterlife is extensive. However, she most likely wouldn't mind making an attempt." Willow reassured, "Mother likes you as well as your brothers. That means her usual attentions will be extended to you all as well."

The need for closure would move the ghost lady most of all. Veronica would have agreed in a heartbeat, if only she still had a heart.

Willow considered her options, before tapping into the radio again. The car lacked the charm and bite of the real deal, but she hoped Travis was familiar with KITT. She hated wasting a good reference.

"Come on, Travis! You can't leave me hanging like this. I'm a marvelous car, but I can't do all the heavy lifting myself. That's your specialty."

Erica's ears perked up. "I know that voice! It's that talking car who hung out with that guy from SpongeBob!"

Willow smiled as she tossed her hair back, "I felt like going for a classic this time."

It seemed like these were typical shenanigans between the two of them.

The pocket dimension was very barren, but was far from still. The fog quietly parted as they walked, flowing all around them like an intricate network of streams. It was something Rook found calming in small doses, though her attention was focused elsewhere.

"There's no ugly moquette or buzzing lights either." Rook added, "It can be too quiet at times. Not that hearing distant noises would be any better. I guess it's good for reading, Antonio can probably attest to that. Or not– I'm still waiting for your review of your stay in my liminal closet."

It seemed like a nice way to divert the attention away from some rather unpleasant memories. That wasn't the time or place to start that argument and most of all, she didn't think Lucien should have been present to provide his opinion on the matter. The fae could be awfully unhelpful at times.

Though Bill was being just as helpful, in his own way. Veronica hadn't meant to follow up on her threat, but now she simply had to.

"Too many underestimate the importance of sound values when parenting." Veronica paused, her gaze trailing over at the inevitable duck comment, "You're simply hopeless."

And about to take a ride in the hard to discern void slide. Rook wasn't the only one able to mess with gravity there. Bill could take a ride and think about the consequences of his own actions.

Lucien was simply glad he wasn't the one falling into oblivion. He would simply turn the other way and let Rook have her moment of privacy so she could replenish her magic battery.

"Oh, I see you started synthesizing gold." he told Veronica.

"It's an old family recipe." Veronica replied, "It's a shame we can only use it sparingly these days."

Rook could do nothing but stand for a moment to watch the way everybody was ready to give her some space. It meant more than she was willing to admit. Then again, she never got too sentimental when her marks whenever she started feeling drained.

Rook silently turned and took a few steps away from the group, before there was a shift in the pocket to reveal one of the few monsters she had the time to catch lately. It looked like a hybrid between some kind of reptile and a rodent with a mantis-like head. It didn't really matter what it was or where it came from. She had found it trying to eat some poor schmuck and it had almost slashed her wing off with its claws. Now it was going to do something useful for a change.

"Imagine if Five found you instead." She would probably be starving. There was another shift as a bright light engulfed the monster, before it vanished into a swirly cloud of energy that was absorbed by her marks.

Rook took a moment to simply breathe, before turning back. "I… I'm done."

She didn't want to drag this on to avoid making it more awkward than it was.

[emthephantom]

She Needs Him- G.S

You and Geto are two peas in a pod, acting like the cutest of couples to any outsider. Gojo can't stomach the feeling of his best friend and the girl he loves being so close, so what does he do?

Warnings: None Words: 1.4K A/N: Honestly ooc but we need yearner Gojo and I'm here to deliver- hopefully. And yes, THAT mission doesn't happen and Geto never leaves.- Part 2 already in the works :p

Satoru Gojo was the strongest, everyone knew that. Nothing could faze him, so why does his heart feel so broken at the sight before him. He’s seen it many times, but it never gets any easier. It should be his shoulder you're lying on, not Geto’s. 

Deep down, Gojo was jealous of his best friend and his effortless connection with you. Sure, you and he were friends, but it was different, you didn’t drift to him in a room, you didn’t whisper and giggle with him and you certainly weren’t as touchy. Gojo wanted to ask, if there was something between you and Geto, but even he knew he couldn’t handle the truth.  

It didn’t bother him at first. Didn’t bother him that you always held onto Geto’s arm when you walked, or that you smiled so sweetly when he handed you your favourite ice cream. It totally didn't drive him crazy that it was Geto making you grin like that. Okay, he lied, it irked him from the moment he realised his feelings. After all, he saw you first, he spoke to you that first night on the stairs, the starts bringing you together. Gojo wonders if that memory is as important to you as it is to him; do you consider it special? 

Gojo couldn’t count how many nights it had been where he laid in his bed, tossing and turning, his thoughts full of you. The side he left vacant was cold, it was a habit he had developed, keeping to the left side of the bed, imagining you beside him. In his half-asleep state he’d reach out, hoping to feel the warmth of your body, but alas, you weren’t there. He’d continue the fantasy in his head, wishing to feel your hands around him as you whispered sweet nothings. On some nights he’d let himself cry, the tears staining his grey pillow. Gojo’s doubts rolled in then, voices telling him ‘She doesn’t deserve you, you’re nothing like him; why would she choose you, she needs him more.’ 

The mornings after were torture. Exhaustion filled his body, his black glasses covering the growing bags under his eyes.  

‘Satoru, are you okay? Did you sleep at all?’ a sweet voice calls to him; in his sleep deprived brain, he thinks it's an angel, but he sees you and knows you’re better than that.  

‘The strongest never sleeps Y/N, don’t you know that?’ Gojo replies, putting on his charismatic facade; being vulnerable in front of you was never an option. 

‘Toru... You can te-’ 

‘Y/N!’ Geto shouts, ‘There you are, come on we have training.’ Gojo sees your face falter but thinks nothing of it, ready to turn away. But then he feels your hand on his wrist, the warmth seeping through his sleeve, 

‘Take care of yourself.’ you smile softly. He watches you skip to his best friend, immediately hooking your arm with his, jealousy pooling in his stomach again. 

°•. ✿ .•°

It had been months, if not a year by now, and it was only getting worse. Gojo couldn’t handle the small interactions with you, he wanted needed more. He rarely slept, instead laying on top of his covers, the ceiling more interesting than the dreams that await him. The bin in the corner and his desk full of crumpled papers, words alone could never be enough to profess the adoration he held for you. He days began to blur, and repeat; wake up, look at you, watch you with Geto, stay awake wondering what was wrong with him. Just last week Gojo watched as you brushed away Geto’s bangs, smiling up at him with that toothy grin. He was losing you, and he despised it. The next day wasn’t easier.  

Geto slid into the seat next to him as he watched you spar with Haibara.  

‘She’s great, isn’t she?’ Geto spoke, the softness in his voice is another punch to the gut, but Gojo bites back the envy, 

‘Yeah, she is...’ 

A singular mission changed everything. A special grade appeared, one that shouldn’t have been there. Gojo doesn't remember much except for fighting tirelessly, only seeing the curse head towards you. You were beaten and bloody when it was done, your cursed energy drained. He ran. He ran as fast as he could towards you, but he couldn’t be the hero. 

Shoko could fix his injuries but not his broken heart, Geto got to you first, cradling your weak body. 

‘She’s still breathing, I’ll take her back, can you handle this Satoru?’ Geto calls out. 

Gojo regains his composure, placing the cocky persona back on, ‘I’m the strongest, aren’t I?’  

He ignores the soft coos that fall from Geto’s mouth as he's scooping you up and taking you away. It should be him next to you instead. He casts aside the thoughts and focuses on ending this fight; for you. 

°•. ✿ .•°

A few days pass and Gojo makes his way to your dorm, wanting to check up on you, but stops short of the door when he hears muffled voices. 

‘I’m glad you’re okay Y/N/N.’ Shoko’s in your dorm, a normal occurrence, so he steps closer, about to knock. 

‘So, are you and Geto a thing?’ she asks. He wants to leave, not wanting to worsen the ache he feels, but he’s intrigued.  

‘Shoko, you know what the answer is.’ Geto. He’s in there too? Gojo turns and leaves, sweat pooling on his back. It’s over, no longer could he think of you, you weren’t his, you weren’t even anything close to that. He enters his dorm, the silence deafening, why does he have everything except the thing he really wanted? 

°•. ✿ .•°

‘Hey Satoru, wanna come get ramen with Geto and I?’ Gojo can hear your voice through his door, he wants so desperately to reach out and say yes, be close with you, but he can’t. He made himself a promise and he must stick to it. 

‘Nah, I’m good.’ 

‘Oh... well see you later.’ He hates hearing you so sad, but he can’t falter. The avoidance tactic had been working, his room becoming a sanctuary for him. The letters to you continued but remained crumpled, ready to discard. A different letter lay in front of him as he listens to your retreating footsteps, ‘Kyoto Jujutsu High Transfer Form’ 

°•. ✿ .•°

It had been two weeks since he signed the letter and two weeks since he last saw you. When Yaga asked why the sudden move, Gojo could only say one thing, love. 

As he packed away the last remaining items, his thoughts drifted, maybe in another life it was you and him, but why not this one? He clears his throat and looks around the now empty room. He glances at the clock and pushes his glasses further up his nose, deciding he can spare a few minutes. It was for the best he kept repeating, he needed to do this. Regrets started to piece together and Gojo buried his head in his hands, wishing he had just made a move. 

He leaves in the dead of the night, avoiding the goodbyes that would have kept him here. His suitcase rolls behind him and the bag on his shoulder weighs him down. Gojo stops just short of the entrance, taking everything in. The stars tonight were bright, lighting up the sky like a stage. He smiles softly, remembering that night again. He remembers wanting to give you his jacket when you said you were going back inside, wanting to stay with you longer. But he didn’t, he let you turn and head back into the school, ‘Maybe that would have changed things.’ he mutters. 

Gojo, too absorbed in his mind, failed to realise you on the steps behind him. You hug your arms around yourself and stand.  

‘Toru where are you going?’ He’s missed your voice so much, he wants to reach out and confess, but he doesn't, only tilting his head.  

He notices your shivering and decides to redeem his lost chance, ‘You’re cold, here.’ he says shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you.  

Accepting the jacket, you press further, ‘Are you leaving the school.’ 

‘You deserve him Y/N/N, you need him more than you need me, take care.’ 

[thecowboyfiles]

Could you write Bob Reynolds x transmasc reader pls? Like rough, but they both have control at some point. Also a little dysphoria comfort is always sweet. Tysm!!! Also i got recommended you by undying decay and your writing is so good obbsessiivley reading it now

Ahhhh I love mae so much and I'm so grateful to her for recommending me 🥰 I also loved this request and I hope you do too! Please come back and request more ❤️ Also, I have memberships now if you wanna check them out 💕 Cw for the use of the word "pussy" and "Cunt" to describe transmale genitalia.

₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

📂 Current File: ▼ ▶ Relinquish.mp3

ⓘ Robert Reynolds x Transmasc Reader

It’s not unusual for things to get rough with you and Robby. Both of you needed to feel in control, You— because it helped ease the dysphoria and made you feel more ‘manly’ even if that was a bit cliche and he seemed to need it because his life had been out of control for so long that being in control in the bedroom gave him some sort of peace.

It always starts off slow; the tower is empty. You and Robert had been laying on your bed, making out for who knows how long, tongues slowly pushing in and out of each others mouths, biting and licking at each other’s lips, a lighter fight for dominance. Then, someone always takes control. Today, it was Robert.

He pulls away from you abruptly, like he’s got some sort of wild idea that just pinged his brain and for a second you think it might have nothing to do with you and he’s going to jump up out of the bed and abandon you for a sudden burst of inspiration and motivation to do something to help the team. It wouldn’t be the first time, but this time, his eyes tracked you up and down and an evil, greedy smirk spread out over his lips before he straddled your hips and pinned your wrists to the bed. “You’re mine tonight, sweetheart,” He smirks, tightening his hands when you make a show of squirming underneath him and whining softly.

“If I’m yours, then you better take me,” You smirk up at him, biting at your bottom lip.

You didn’t know how long the two of you had been making out for, but you could feel Robert hard against your hip and your own boxers had been soaked for quite a while. You push up lightly, lifting your hips up off the bed and into his body, but he only tightens his grip, you’re sure you’re going to have five perfect, finger shaped bruises around your wrists tomorrow.

“You keep demanding things like that, and I’ll have to tie you up,” He threatens. You both know he would never, at least not unless you had talked about it before, it would take away too much of your control, but the threat of it still makes your cunt throb.

Robert takes a minute to lean down and grind his hard cock into you and give a needy whine but then it’s right back to control when he lets go of your wrists to shed you of your pants and boxers, then him of his own. With him preoccupied, you could move and take the control now, but you don’t, not yet, not when it was so obvious.

“Fuck me like you mean it, Robby,” You say in a hushed tone, watching him roll the condom onto his hard, leaking, cock.

“Don’t I always?” His smirk gives away that it’s not a real question, he knows that he does. “I’ll take care of you, sunshine, don’t you worry about that.” With the condom on, he leans back over your body and presses his lips to yours, a too soft gesture for what was about to happen.

Robert runs his hands down every inch of your chest and torso before he squeezes one of your thighs and hikes your right leg up on your shoulder. He gives you no warning before he pushes into you, punctuated with a loud moan. “Do you know how good you feel, baby? How tight and warm? Can’t fucking take it, and your perfect cunt is all mine,”

“Fuck, move, Robby.” You groan, stretched around his cock and desperate for the pleasure you knew was coming.

“Awfully bossy for a little boy who's on the bottom aren't you?" Robert smirks from above you, blonde hair falling into his face, but he's too preoccupied to push it back.

This was your moment. You wrap your legs around Robert's waist and push up with all your strength and flip the both of you over so you were straddling him with his cock still buried deep inside of you. "Now, who's on the bottom, little boy," you can't help but spit his words back at him while you grind down against him, hard and fast.

"Ah shit, oh fuck" Rob groans out, gasping in surprise, and whining as you speed up even more, this time, you lean down and press you lips into his, sinking your teeth into his lower lip and pulling.

"You wanna take control? You want this tight, wet, pussy to be all yours, Robby?" You smirk wickedly. "You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that." You knew what he could do, the kind of strength he had, and you both knew what you were really asking. The first time Robert had used his super strength in bed, he didn't have it quite so under control and you ended up needing a new bed.

Robert is still beneath you, whining and whimpering pathetically, half heartedly trying to push up further into you, but those works have his eyes popping open and shining up at you. The next time you're both flipped, it takes your breath away. The sheer speed and force at which you go from being above Robert to below him is dizzying and there's no chance to catch your breath as he pounds into you. All you can do is grasp desperately to his back, leaving raised red marks from your nails and just hope you aren't loud enough for the neighbours to hear.

Robert had made sure you came three times before he even came once and despite how tired and worn out you were, you never passed out before you two had a chance to hold each other close and talk. "Does it bother you when we use words like that?" Robert asks softly after a long stretch of silence and just soaking each other in.

"Words like what? You ask tilting your head slightly to look up at him.

"Y'know... like cunt and pussy and stuff."

You take a moment to think about it but then shake your head gently. "No, not really. Maybe if someone else used them, but I know how you see me." You smile softly.

"Oh yeah? And how do I see you, pretty boy?"

"Exactly like that," You grin, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.