#interpretation is left as an exercise to the reader
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would you still tag me if i was a worm?
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dsmr

#was so enthralled by her that my hands moved in the keyboard#interpreting this is left as a exercise to the reader
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In A Rich Woman's World
Alexia Putellas x Reader
Summary: You're good at throwing money at problems
"It was a charitable donation."
You know the minute those words leave your mouth that it's the wrong thing to say.
You can see the way Alexia bristles at the implication. You didn't even really mean it like that. Not in the way Alexia had interpreted it to mean.
"We're not a charity!" She hisses.
You wince. "I don't mean it like that," You say quickly," I just meant-"
"You can't just throw money at my club and expect everything to go smoothly!"
"Ale, darling-"
"No! You just can't!"
You stand fluidly, taking three short steps until you're eye to eye with your girlfriend. "This whole debt thing worries you," You say bluntly," Even though you won't say anything. You think that it's what's causing players to not come to Barcelona. I've changed that. Now there's no debt."
"You can't just-"
"Throw money, yes, yes, I know which is why there's also a contract and I've agreed to be a shirt sponsor. More money to spend for the club."
Alexia falls silent for a moment like she's trying to find something else to complain about before a finger jabs into your chest. "I'm not happy," She says," But that was sweet of you. Thank you."
You shrug. "Would it make you feel better if I bought you a present too?"
The slamming of the bedroom door is all the answer you need and you glance behind you at the puppy in a carry case.
"Sorry, Buddy," You say," I guess she just doesn't want to meet you yet."
Alexia manages to stay angry at you for all of ten minutes before she stomps out of your bedroom, grabs your hand and drags you back in.
But then Buddy barks and Alexia's back to being angry, kicking you out of the room and taking the new dog with her instead.
This time, you're left alone for half an hour before she comes out again.
"Are you still mad?"
"You can't throw anymore money at the club anymore," Alexia says bluntly, arms crossed over her chest in defiance," And everything you do with the club, goes through an official contract. Strictly business only."
You nod. "I can accept that."
"And the dog?" She grumbles," He's cute. Thank you."
You grin. "Of course, my love. You can take him to training. The breeder says he's going to need a lot of exercise."
"Excellent. You bought him. You can walk him."
You frown. "Wait...Hey-"
"You bought him," Alexia reminds you," So his needs are your responsibilities and I'll take his love."
"Babe-"
"That's my price."
You groan. "Fine, yeah. I'll walk the dog."
"Good."
So you do.
You pay off Barcelona's debts. You end up as a shirt sponsor for the team. You walk the dog - once in the morning before your meetings and once in the evening before dinner.
"Look at you." Marta jokingly whistles as you come walking down to tunnel towards the team. "Going for a business meeting?"
You're dressed in your usual black suit, tailored to fit your body perfectly right down to your shiny dress shoes. You wear little jewellery apart from a stupidly expensive watch on your wrist and a silver chain loosely around your neck.
Your hair is slicked back tightly with your usual 'don't you dare fuck me over' expression on your face that you usually wield in the meeting room.
"If only," You say wistfully, allowing the smallest of smiles to appear before wiping it from your face," Where's my fiancée? Still showering?"
"She'll be out soon," Marta assures you, patting you on the back before she turns," This is y/n. She's Alexia's fiancée. Y/n, these are some of the girls that have joined us from the B team."
"Nice to meet you," You say, head dipping in greeting politely before you straighten up again quickly.
"You're waiting for me here?" Alexia asks as she comes out of the locker room, pressing a soft kiss to your lips," I thought you were going to get the car?"
"The driver's waiting for us outside," You say, checking the time on your fancy watch," I was thinking we could go out for dinner. I got us a reservation at that seafood place you like after you scored."
Alexia rolls her eyes. "And how much is that costing us for such short notice?"
You grin. "Costing me, my love," You correct her," And nothing I can't afford. You only deserve the best, after all."
#woso x reader#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas#woso community#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso
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good day! have you ever thought of/drawn the cast as humans? i'm curious as to what they'd be like!
for an exercise for myself, i absolutely have! i avoid posting anything like that though for two reasons -
i do really like laika's comet being a 'furry story', in the sense that i want the existence of their characters being animals to actually be part of the story itself, not an inconsequential set dressing.
and second, while some characters do have canon human races (like yue being vietnamese/chinese), other characters i would not want to set in stone so that it is left to reader interpretation.
while i have my idea of how my characters would look, if someone saw them differently i wouldnt want to go 'no, thats wrong!' or inversely have a fan say that to that person.
ultimately i think the beauty of furry characters is to a degree they can be relatable to anyone, but i didnt want to use that as an excuse not to also include deliberate coding too.
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MISTAKES
Chishiya x reader
TW: Angst, mentions of death.
Based on a request: Chishiya pushes the reader away and regrets it
--
Another night, another game, another massacre. Chishiya emerged from the building where the game had taken place with an impassive face and a strange feeling of heaviness inside. He had been the only survivor, doing whatever was necessary to leave that place alive, as always. But for some reason, something felt different this time.
Chishiya took a brief breath, feeling the cold night air filling his lungs painfully, temporarily soothing the ache that had settled in his heart.
Everything had seemed straightforward at first: Seven of diamonds with clear rules and a single objective: to reach the final level alone. The game was based on a vertical, structured system—a tower of choice. Seven players, seven floors, and seven levels, all starting from the first. Each level required solving an intellectual challenge to progress, but the difficulty increased as fewer people could continue with each level: only six could pass the first, only five the second, and so on until only one reached the top of the tower and survived the game. Although it was possible to intervene to help others, this only put oneself at a disadvantage. Sharing answers reduced resources, making it more challenging to solve the subsequent exercises. In reality, it was all about leaving people behind; being selfish was the most sensible strategy to reach the top of the tower alone, ensuring no one else did. But then, why couldn’t he look into the eyes of those he left behind? Why did he question, for a millisecond, helping that young man struggling with a simple task? Chishiya knew the answers to those questions, though it pained him to admit it. But… What if she had been there that night? Would she have died like all the others? Would he have survived? These unanswered questions haunted his mind, awakening ruthless fears he had locked away during his time in Borderlands.
The walk back to The Beach seemed shorter than expected when he lifted his head and saw the huge, neglected entrance of the hotel. It exuded a sepulchral silence, contrasting with the clamor and scandal that usually emanated from the building during daylight or party nights. In the stillness of the night, Chishiya could hear, like silent echoes, the voices of those who had lost their lives in the game, and the ghostly scent of blood that painted each floor of the tower reached his nose, carried by a gentle breeze.
“Chishiya!” A voice jolted him from his introspection. “Chishiya! You’re back early; I knew you would be!” The man felt a pair of arms encircle him, nearly cutting off his breath. The familiarity of the embrace, instead of comforting or offering refuge, immediately produced a feeling of rejection, and he freed himself with a swift motion, pushing the surprised girl a few steps back.
“Not now, Y/N,” he said abruptly, with a coldness he didn’t usually use with her, and moved towards the hotel’s interior. Y/N followed him, running in a way that Chishiya interpreted as that of a lost puppy. The idea almost made him vomit. What if one day he didn’t come back? What if she died? What if she died… because of him?
“What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Y/N bombarded him with questions, trying to keep up with his pace to his room.
Chishiya remained cold, walking firmly as if he didn’t hear her, and when he opened the door to his room and stepped inside, he turned to look at her. “Definitely a lost puppy,” he thought to himself as he observed the girl’s face twisted in a grimace of doubt and insecurity.
“Go to bed, Y/N,” he said briefly, and she felt as if he had just shot her heart.
“But… but what about the goodnight hug? We can… we can lie in bed and just hold each other! You don’t have to talk!” The woman’s tone sounded desperate, pathetic from her perspective, but she couldn’t help it. She needed it, needed to know he was there, that he had returned alive from the game and that… he cared.
But Chishiya closed the door without answering her pleas or looking at her a second time. Maybe he didn’t care for her as much as she thought… or maybe he didn’t care for her as much as she cared for him.
Y/N stood for a few seconds in front of the closed wooden door, hearing the man moving around inside the room. She heard the shower start running and Chishiya moving around the room, probably looking for a new swimsuit, completely ignoring the woman he had left with tear-streaked face and a broken heart on the other side of the door.
That night, Chishiya couldn’t sleep. Each time he managed to overcome insomnia, a dreadful nightmare seized his mind, waking him with gasps and sweat. He saw himself in the game he had played that night, but instead of the other players, it was Y/N who was there. They were both on the penultimate level, knowing only one would reach the top and survive. The puzzle was easy, but for some reason, the girl couldn’t solve it, and then his mind grew dark. He saw himself giving a correct answer that he couldn’t even hear with his racing heartbeat pounding in his throat. He looked into her eyes as they turned gray, white, lifeless. He watched her body fall to the ground with a great thud and saw her head bounce against the floor until it finally lay still. Then her mouth would open, and heavy words would pour out of the building’s speakers at full volume, as thick tears streamed from her lifeless eyes, soaking her face and creating a large puddle around her. “You killed me,” “It’s your fault,” “I hate you,” “I wish I’d never met you”… And he cried. He cried in his dreams because he was losing her and woke up with a damp trace on his cheek. Only the moon witnessed his own heartbreak in that cold and lonely hotel room, and when dawn came, with the first rays of light filtering through the room’s curtains, he realized how wrong he had been all along.
© 2024 [@dreamwavesexploringreality]
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Hey everyone!✨
I just finished writing a new piece based on a request I received. I might have taken a few creative liberties... but I got really into the story and let it flow in its own direction😅.
If you enjoy it and want to see where the story goes next, let me know! Your feedback could lead to a second part, so if you're interested let me know 🌟👀!
Thanks for reading and for all your support!
#aib x reader#alice in borderland#niragi suguru#aib#chishiya shuntaro#chishiya x reader#ao3#fanfic#arisu ryohei#kuina hikari#shuntaro chishiya#chishiya imagine#chishiya alice in borderland#aib chishiya#shuntaro chishiya x reader#aib imagine#open requests#requests open#request#reqs open
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Good afternoon/morning!
If you are still taking requests, I'd love to ask if you could maybe do a yandere Hannibal x reader (female if that would be okay) one-shot where the reader is one of Hannibals favourite patients (maybe shes a writer who gets alot of nightmares or something).
However, during one of their sessions, she reveals that she is withdrawing as she is moving back to Europe (this obvi messes up whatever plans Hannibal had for her). Perhaps she is moving away because she has realised how dangerous Hannibal really is and does not want to get involved.
It would be interesting to see how you would interpret Hannibals' thoughts, feelings, and next plan of action after hearing such daunting news.
Thank you <3
♡: i hope i did this justice
Shattered Dreams
PAIRING: Yandere!Hannibal X Patient!Reader
CONTENT WARNING: yandere hannibal, implied stalking, coercion, manipulation, mention of death, trauma, nightmares, mind games, mention of blood



Draped in a beautiful silk dress, a cashmere coat over your shoulders, your presence was loud and evident in Hannibal Lecter’s office.
You reminded him of him.
Charming, sophisticated, beautiful and completely enthralling. He knew somewhere he was too similar to you and that resonated with him. An attachment had already formed, an ethical sort of attachment which could put his career into danger
Yet he found himself not caring.
His main focus was you.
He often found himself imagining you by his side, as his other half. His soulmate, the only one for him and solely the mere imagination pleased him but it worked to increase his hunger too.
Anytime a patient other than you would show up, he'd have a scowl on his face and tend to their needs like he was being held at gun point.
But when you'd come.
It was like fucking spring had arrived in his office. Flowers blooming, radiance everywhere and even your scent was sweet like floral.
Here you were, once more in his office to converse about the demons that haunted you. Hannibal was the best at his job, too good but deep down, you'd already caught whiff of the danger that he was and could amount to.
He scared you.
No matter how many sweet smiles he'd sent you, the amount of terms of endearment he'd use to address to you — none of it concealed the monstrosity he harbored inside him. You'd captured it and now you were in a dilemma.
Whether to leave or tell the law enforcement.
You inhaled sharply and then slowly exhaled, a breathing exercise Hannibal had taught you to help you regulate your breathing.
“Everything alright, miss?” His gruff voice pulled you back into reality and you nodded your head quickly, not wanting him to know that you knew about his depraved instincts.
You smiled softly. “Yes.”
“Did you have nightmares again?”
“Yes.” You responded truthfully. “It does not matter how many books I write, how many characters I kill, there seems to be no end to these nightmares.”
Your nightmares stemmed from an accident you'd faced as a child. The only survivor were you, the only kin left while the rest of your family had died. Right before your very gaze.
It did not matter how much sleeping pills you took or how much coffee you drank. As soon as you'd fall into a slumber, the haunting eyes of your deceased mother would always stare back at you — lifeless and soulless.
And no matter how many times you dreamed of the bloody incident, you did not find yourself forgetting about them. You wanted to forget it, blur out the faces of your famo members but as each day passed by, it only grew more vivid and clear.
Its like your brain was working in reverse.
“Have you tried what I asked you to do?”
You looked up at him.
There it was, that smile of his.
It had nearly worked to trap you.
But you caught onto the danger looming beneath him. You were no foreigner to danger and Hannibal Lecter was a blood thirsty man who killed, killed and savored. You had no desire to end up as his meal. Or buffet.
“I need to tell you something.”
When you'd uttered those words out, Hannibal could already sense something wasn't right. You didn't appear as your usual self. You were rather, chatty and spoke to him about your problems. Worked together as a team to cure this plague that had jeopardized your sleep.
But today you were different.
Quiet, reserved, hands stable and placed over your knees.
Hannibal gestured for you to go ahead.
“I have decided to move to Europe.” You broke the news with a deep breath. Fingers bending and nails grazing across the fabric of your dress.
Hannibal tilted his head in confusion.
Akin to a puppy.
He didn't see any problem with your sessions nor did he find you troublesome. He was sure you also liked him, as your therapist but you did. There was some sort of fondness, between the two of you. There had to be. You were his favorite, you'd become a part of him without even realizing or intending to do so and now you wanted to leave?
Leave him?
There was not a corner in the world made for you to hide from him. Anywhere you'd go, he would find you.
Hannibal blinked, the darkness within him clawing at him, clawing for you. Commanding him over and over again to offer you drugged wine and take you so you wouldn't leave for Europe.
He put on a polite smile, hoping that would veil the darkness in him. “May I ask why?”
Your lips shuddered. “For a change. I think moving away from here would be better since my whole family died here, maybe the nightmares will stop occurring.”
Those nightmares might stop occurring but the nightmare Hannibal was about to become wouldn't stop.
You noticed the subtle change in his gaze and shifted in your seat, uncomfortable and uneasy.
Hannibal nodded, feigning understanding but he was all over the place. Everything was under his control — every damn thing since the beginning. How did he begin to lose control? There was absolutely no way he could let you move to Europe, let you get far away from him where he can't bask in the vision of you.
He would go to the ends of the Earth just to catch a mere glimpse of you.
He had to coax you out of this. Use coercion into making you stay here for the rest of your life.
Hannibal had plans for you.
Big plans.
He was going to make you his, bring you closer to him, unveil a part of him that no one had ever seen before.
He'll he'd fucking told you about Mischa today and no one knew about her. He had shown you parts of him no one had seen and now you were going to abandon him? Take those parts of him witj you and leave him empty, fucking lonely and abandoned?
Oh Hannibal was not going to let that happen.
He nearly felt angry.
Rage bubbling up inside him but he controlled it, calming it down.
“You have a life here, miss. A proper life; friends, colleagues, relatives. Don't you think abandoning it all would be a bit too extreme and intense, even for you?”
You bit on your lower lip.
In a way he was right.
Your whole life you had lived it here. Friends, closest of closest, relatives — the only blood relation left after the demise of your own and colleagues. It was all too difficult to leave them behind but fear was a tool which worked to push people to do things they never would've even thought about.
You swallowed. “I know, Doctor Lecter but these nightmares haunt me. These memories do not disappear, so it is better that I leave.”
Hannibal started to play with his hands.
They sat comfortably over his knees and all he could do was toss and turn his fingers, scratch his palm, the only way to actually show the unbridled emotion he was overwhelmed with. Yet his face carried a sweet smile like he was completely happy and supportive of your decision.
Hannibal saw how your lips shuddered when you spoke. They often shuddered when you'd lie in the beginning about your feelings, about how you did not miss your deceased family one bit.
He wondered if you were lying.
His own fingers tracing along his lips.
“Have you thought about where you'd go to? I mean, Europe is a vast place.” Hannibal commented and you swallowed, in a dilemma whether you should reveal your whereabouts or not.
It was a country.
A huge country.
He couldn't actually find you there, right?
“France.” You said, with a subtle smile on your face.
You wanted to get out of your comfortable seat, go home, pack your bags, board the plane and never look back. The man sitting before you was a killer, a cannibalistic serial killer and you didn't allow that to sink it at all in his presence.
Afraid your demeanor would break.
It would shatter and he'd capture you.
Hannibal grinned.
That was all he needed.
“Marseille is a beautiful city.” Hannibal said while his hawk like gaze analyzed your facial expressions.
Nothing.
You nodded in agreement. “So I've heard.”
“And Lyon too. I've been there.” He said, standing up from his couch and moving over to stand by his wooden desk. When he mentioned Lyon, not a single crease formed on your face nor did your lips shiver.
So it wasn't Lyon either.
Hannibal was viciously smart and he was going to find the city you were going to settle in sooner or later. “Nice has beautiful art. You should go there too.”
Your face scrunched up.
Hannibal caught that. The little crease of discomfort forming in your forehead and a feeling of satisfaction spread in his insides.
You were moving there.
“I think I should go now, Doctor Lecter.” You said, standing up when you realized your session had ended a long time ago.
This was the last session you'd ever share with him.
Hannibal walked towards you, hand extended out. “It was nice having you as my patient, sweetheart. Hopefully your nightmares will slowly disappear with time.”
Even though it was a goodbye, it did not feel like it.
Your gaze dropped down to his hand and you nodded, taking his hand and shaking it. His hold grew a little firm but you didn't say anything, slowly releasing his hand and retrieving it. “Thank you, Doctor Lecter. For all your help.”
He grinned as he watched you turn around and leave his office.
This was not going to be the last time you'll see of the man and he'll make sure of that.
Hannibal licked his lips. The sound of the door shutting putting a crack in his heart — his chest aching for a glimpse of you but he knew this wasn't the end. There was more, with him, there was always more.
You could not escape this easily.
— ♡ —
Months had passed.
You were still adjusting your life in this new country, surrounded by new people who speak a completely different language but you were still learning.
Your nightmares had deceased greatly by spending time in a foreign country and in a way, you were thankful for Hannibal. Because of him you'd abandoned your birth place — which honestly plagued you.
There was nothing left for you there.
Only bad memories and horrific nightmares.
You'd forgotten about nearly everything in that country except a certain blonde; Hannibal Lecter.
He still haunted you.
After that last session, you never possibly heard from him ever again. You met a man too, who claimed to have feelings for you but the next day he was reported for bad behavior against women. They had removed him from your workplace.
You felt a little sad that a man like that had shown interest in you.
Still, life was getting better and better.
You were still writing and had signed a deal with a new publishing house but other than that, you gave lectures at a university for your own knowledge and sake.
Your life felt like it had finally fallen into place.
“They have a new lecturer, have you seen him?” A female colleague asked and you looked up at her from your laptop. You shook your head.
The woman smiled. “Well, he'll be here soon. He's done PHD and has a masters degree too.”
You blinked a little but then went back to typing on your laptop, finishing the last chapter of your book. Break was finished after a few minutes but this time instead of heading back to your class, you were told to head to the office and give the new lecturer a tour.
Apparently he was a big deal, someone who had studied the human mind through and through.
You made your way to the office, opening the door with a smile. The dean sat there but the familiar mop of blonde slicked back hair caught your attention more — your fingers tightening around the metal hold of the door.
He turned around and with a smile, greeted you. “Hello, sweetheart.”
Hannibal was in Nice, in your university, as a lecturer.
Your face went pale.
Was there truly no escape from him?
#hannibal lecter#hannibal lecter x reader#hannibal one shot#hannibal fanfic#hannibal#hannibal fanfiction#mads mikkelsen#hannibal nbc#nbc hannibal#mads mikkelsen fanfic#tw yandere#hannibal smut#mimi writes ☆
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any dewey fluff hc ? love your work 💜💜
light up your heart, so i can see you shining !

☆ thinking abt dewey + fluff hcs . . .
☆ dewey (alnst) ,, gn reader . . reader and dewey's relationship is left up to interpretation ,, silly fluffy and domestic headcannons all thrown into a pot and mixed together to create something for the starving dewey fanbase (i'm apart of that fanbase...) ,, other characters are mentioned (isaac).
first off, dewey gives the most comforting hugs. maybe he'll squeeze you a little bit too tightly inbetween his stupidly beefy arms, but the way he holds you is enough to release all of the tension from both your body and your mind. if he rubs your back with the palm of his hand, the motion is soothing — if he pats your back, though..
yeah, he's not patting, he's knocking some of the air in your lungs right outside. but that's okay! he still gives some of the best bear hugs.
dewey, as a whole, just makes for a great pillow. and he doesn't complain either so long as the two of you are relatively close. you can rest your head on his chest and it'll feel like your head is resting against the fluffiest clouds known to man. but no, that's just the physical evidence of dewey's dedication to his workout routine.
speaking of workout routine, dewey would love it if you ever accompanied him to the gym. regardless of whether you're exercising too or just watching him as he goes about his routine, dewey enjoys the company. he isn't against the notion of teaching you a few new things about working out if you're not as well–versed in that domain.
the only way dewey knows how to comfort someone during a sorrowful moment is by being his authentic self. in other words, trying to cheer you up and by extension lighten the mood with whatever silly stories he can recall and share or with whichever joke comes to mind first. dewey is naturally quite the amusing individual, and it does work wonders.
but sometimes you don't want him to make you laugh. sometimes you want to spend some time with him in total silence, and dewey's okay with that too. is he a remarkably quiet person? no, he isn't, but when he can sense your distress signals that call out to him and tell him what it is that you need, he's willing to do his best.
even if you're not feeling down, dewey will lounge around in your vicinity and will hold back from exchanging one too many words with you if that's what you prefer.
if you prefer the opposite kind of hangout, dewey automatically becomes one of your favourite people to go out with — he always has something new he wants to try out, another adventure he wants to go on or some silly shenanigan he can pull off to piss a couple of people off. (isaac).
believe it or not, dewey's masculinity isn't fragile. therefore, he'll allow you to doll him up if you feel like doing so. he'll sit still while you turn him into a pretty princess, puckering his lips when you're about to apply lipgloss or lipstick on them, looking up when it's time to put some mascara on.
he would absolutely play along and act like the typical, girly and over–dramatic young female antagonists you always see in cartoons and similar pieces of media. hell, dress him up for extra accuracy! good luck finding something with that princess pink vibe that's going to fit his physique, though. at least you can give him a cute purse..
completely off—topic, but dewey is one of the greatest hypemen the world has ever seen. there is no such thing as feeling insecure when you know dewey. he does an effortless job at making you feel comfortable and proud in your own skin, causing your confidence to skyrocket despite being at its lowest not that long ago.
with dewey around, you feel safe. he's like a big guard dog whenever the two of you are out and about — no creepy individual has ever tried approaching you on the countless times you've gone out with dewey, because he can notice their stare even if they're far behind and on the other side of the road. a warning glare is all he needs to express for said individual to give up on whatever it was that they were going to do.
well, 'warning glare' is an understatement. realistically, dewey would pull out one of the most ridiculous scowls and probably warn that person not to come any closer or try anything funny via.. certain gestures. so long as you don't notice the silent exchange, everything's fine!
despite initially mistaking him for some himbo who has more brawns than brain, dewey is actually someone who you value more than you ever thought you would. and, of course, he values you too. more than words can express.
#⠀⠀⠀⠀Ꮺ heartz4dewey#alien stage#alnst#alnst x reader#dewey alien stage#dewey alnst#dewey alien stage x reader#dewey alnst x reader
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OFF-LABELS | O9

→ PAIRING : Med Student!Hoseok x F!Reader (Brother’s Best Friend AU)
→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.
→ DATE POSTED: March 10th, 2025.
→ SUMMARY: You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.
→ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, medical school au, brother’s best friend trope, age gap (4 years), pining, touch starved, overthinking reader, confident hoseok, gentle dom hoseok, medical terminology as flirting (lmao), study sessions, domestic moments, innocent (but not really), plausible deniability king hoseok, anxiety, internal monologue, guilty crushes, subtle teasing, emotional edging, gentle manipulation, praise kink undertones, intellectual attraction, competency kink, hand fixation, voice kink, medical intern hoseok, first year med student reader, home setting, casual intimacy, unresolved sexual tension (for now), secret attraction, nervous rambling, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts, anatomy lessons with ulterior motives, competent hoseok, flustered reader, close proximity, accidental touches that aren’t accidents, virgin!reader.
→ CONTENT in this chapter: Car rides that test limits, lessons in following instructions, behavioral correction sessions, power dynamics in enclosed spaces, and time management exercises that end in failure. | power exchange, car scenes, behavioral modification, training sessions, time limits, control dynamics, authority challenges, discipline dynamics, oral (m), deepthroating, some tears, blowjob in a car, spanking, kind threats.
→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 3k
→ MINI SERIES: PREVIOUS | NEXT
→ A/N: I really liked this chapter, and as I said previously, it’s probably my favorite one out of the 11 of them. 10 and 11 are a wild ride and basically pure smut. This one… I don’t know why, maybe it’s the thrill of pushing somebody to their limits or the anticipation of what’s going to happen to Chip now that Hoseok is done holding back. But something scratches my brain just right. Anyway, enjoy this one, and get ready for the next two because you’re going to need water (and Chip too… all I’ll say is she’s multiorgasmic, so.) Also, I did say this in my author intro for this series and all, but this is basically a self-indulgent story. I just wanted to explore plausible deniability, menacing kindness in medical settings, and a bit of psychological warfare. I like how brilliant Hoseok is and how he’s always ten steps ahead, and I love how Chip has basically rewired herself to be attuned to him unconsciously. Like ‘normal flirting’ isn’t for her. She doesn’t like ‘nice’. It’s a silly thing, but I really liked writing that, having her realize those things about herself, it shows growth. Maybe they’re both a bit messed up, but they somehow work. And that’s realistic and that’s what I like. So yeah, I wasn’t going for full analysis and psychological depth in this one, because frankly, it’s a mini-series so, word count is a thing. I wanted to actually have a story finished, a completed one, and if I went off-the-rails with this one then we’d be facing another slow burn 500k word count monstruosity—I can’t do that to myself. Some things are not spelled out. Some things are for you guys to interpret. And as always, I’ll be hearing all of you out in my inbox! 💕
PLAYLIST

The minutes tick by like honey drips—slow, sweet, deliberate. You check the time: 16 minutes left.
Fuck him.
Fuck his countdown and his medical terminology and his whole menacing kindness act.
"Mike!" You grab his arm, pulling him back to the dance floor. "Dance with me."
He looks surprised but pleased, hands settling carefully on your waist. Too carefully. You press closer, letting the alcohol and spite guide your movements.
15 minutes.
Your phone buzzes. You ignore it.
"You sure you're okay?" Mike asks as your hips sway against his.
"Perfect." You loop your arms around his neck, making sure to arch your back just so. Because you know he's watching. Can feel those surgical eyes cataloging every point of contact between you and Mike.
14 minutes.
Another buzz. Then another.
"Your phone's blowing up," Mike notes, glancing at your clutch.
"Let it." You turn in his arms, pressing your back to his chest. His hands hover uncertainly at your hips. "You can hold tighter, you know."
13 minutes.
Your phone starts buzzing continuously. Text after text after—
"Should you maybe check that?"
"Nope." You guide Mike's hands lower, letting them rest on your thighs where your dress has ridden up. "Just dance with me."
12 minutes.
The buzzing stops abruptly. Your stomach flips with anticipation.
Because you know what this means. Know what happens when he goes quiet. It's like watching storm clouds gather—that perfect, terrible stillness before lightning strikes.
11 minutes.
Mike's thumbs brush circles on your thighs—gentle, tentative touches that make you want to scream. Because they're wrong. No clinical precision. No calculated pressure points. Just... nice.
You hate nice.
10 minutes.
Your phone lights up with a single message. You shouldn't look. You really shouldn't look.
You look.
𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙷𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚞𝚗?
Heat floods your system. Because that's his voice—the one he uses right before he makes you fall apart. All honey and poison and promise.
9 minutes.
Your fingers shake as you type:
𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚞𝚞𝚞𝚞𝚙. 𝚖𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜
The response is immediate:
𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙽𝚘 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝.
𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚓𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜??
𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝟾 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜, 𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚙.
You press closer to Mike, making sure your dress rides up just enough. Making a show of it.
7 minutes.
𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎.
𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚋 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗
6 minutes.
𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎. 𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘.
Your thighs clench involuntarily. Mike mistakes it for encouragement, his fingers flexing against your skin.
5 minutes.
𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚞 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌. 𝚖𝚒𝚔𝚎’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐
𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙸𝚜 𝚑𝚎.
Just that. Two words that sound like a medical diagnosis and feel like a death sentence.
4 minutes.
𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚖𝚑𝚖𝚖𝚖. 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎
The dots appear, disappear, appear again. Your heart thunders.
3 minutes.
𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙽𝚘.
𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚘?
𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝.
𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚎
2 minutes.
𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙾𝚑, 𝙸 𝚊𝚖.
Oh.
Oh so he's actually here. Somewhere in this crowd, he is watching. He was pretending to be home, pretending he hadn’t been watching, pretending he wasn’t here.
But he is.
1 minute.
𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙻𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚙.
You turn in Mike's arms, pressing closer. Let your lips brush his ear as you whisper something meaningless, making it look intimate.
30 seconds.
𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚘𝚙𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎’𝚜 𝚞𝚙
𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙸𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚍.
Your phone goes silent. The crowd shifts around you, bodies pressing closer in the dark. Mike's hands move respectfully somewhere above your waist.
And then—
"Mind if I cut in?"
That voice. Honey-thick and surgical-sharp, right behind you.
Oh.
Fuck.
Your entire body freezes, even as Mike continues moving near you, oblivious to the way your pulse just flatlined.
Because Hoseok is here.
Not just watching from some hidden vantage point. Not just sending threatening texts. But here—close enough that you can smell bergamot and antiseptic and all those things you want to feel under your lips.
"Mind if I cut in?" he repeats, and now his hand settles on your waist, surgical fingers spanning your ribcage like they belong right there.
The touch is gentle. Clinical.
Lethal.
Mike hesitates, hands stilling immediately. "Uh, we were kind of—"
"Were you?" He responds swiftly, and it has no business being this hot.
Hoseok's thumb finds the pressure point between your ribs, pressing just hard enough to make your breathing stutter. His other hand extends past you, offering Mike something that glints in the strobing lights.
"I believe this is yours." He adds then.
You crane your neck to see—and nearly choke.
Because that's a hospital ID badge.
"Dr. Jung?" Mike's voice rises in recognition. "From the ER rotation?"
"Mm." Hoseok's thumb digs deeper into your side. "Small world."
The music flutters around you as understanding dawns on Mike's face. Because of course. Of course, Mike is doing his internship at SNU. He told you so earlier. Of course Hoseok would know him. Of course this whole situation would implode in the most spectacularly awful way possible.
"I didn't realize—" Mike starts, but Hoseok cuts him off with a smile that could sterilize surgical equipment.
"That this is my best friend's sister?" His hand slides higher on your waist, proprietary and utterly poisonous. "The one I specifically mentioned during orientation? About maintaining professional boundaries?"
Oh.
Oh no.
Mike's hands drop from your body like they've been burned. "Shit, I didn't—I mean, she didn't say—"
"No?" Hoseok's voice is dusted in cyanide. "Must have slipped her mind. Just like it slipped her mind that she has an 8 AM anatomy lab." His fingers tap your ribs. "With me."
You should say something. Should defend Mike or explain or—
"I'll just..." Mike backs away, hands raised in surrender. "Yeah. Nice seeing you, Dr. Jung."
He disappears into the crowd, leaving you alone with six feet of barely contained medical malice.
"Nineteen minutes," Hoseok murmurs against your ear, turning you in his arms until you're facing him. "I gave you nineteen minutes."
Your mouth goes dry. Because he looks... devastating. White dress shirt rolled to his elbows, dark slacks that you just know cost more than your textbooks, hair slightly disheveled like that day he fingered you.
He looks like he just stepped out of surgery.
He looks like he's about to perform one.
"I—" Your voice cracks as his hand slides up your spine, pressing you closer. "You said don't come Thursday."
"I did." His other hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip. "And yet here we are. On a Friday. With your dress halfway up your thighs and some intern’s hands all over my—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.
"Your what?" The tequila makes you brave.
Stupid.
Reckless.
His eyes darken. "You know exactly what you are."
"Say it." You press closer, feeling the way his breath hitches. "If you're so concerned about my behavior, Dr. Jung, diagnose me."
His thumb presses harder against your mouth. "Don't."
"Don't what?" You let your lips part, tongue darting out to taste the pad of his thumb. "Test you? Pretty sure that ship sailed around minute seventeen."
A muscle jumps in his jaw. "You're drunk."
"Tipsy," you correct, rolling your hips against his. "Just drunk enough to tell you exactly what I think about you blocking my number and playing hot and cold and—"
His hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back. "Not here."
"Why not?" You bare your throat, feeling his pulse thunder for the first time ever. "Scared of losing control, sunbae?"
The honorific hits like a match to gasoline. His grip tightens painfully in your hair as he drags you off the dance floor, through the crowd, past the bathrooms to a darker hallway near the emergency exit.
Your back hits the wall hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. His hands cage your head as he looms over you, expression thunderous.
"You want to talk about control?" His voice is barely audible over the muffled bass. "Let's talk about how you deliberately disobeyed me. How you let some fumbling intern put his hands all over what's mine."
Flames lick down your spine. "Yours?"
"Mine." He leans closer, lips brushing your ear. "Or did you forget how pretty you looked choking on my cock? How desperate you were for my fingers? How you begged—"
"Fuck you," you spit, but your thighs press together traitorously.
His laugh is cruel and gentle all at once. "Oh, Chip." His knee wedges between your legs, spreading them wider. "That's exactly what you want, isn't it? Why you've been testing me all night."
You shake your head frantically, even as your hips roll against his thigh.
"No?" His hand slides up your inner thigh, bunching the dress higher. "Then why are you so wet?"
His fingers brush against damp lace, and you bite back a whimper.
"Tell me," he demands softly, circling your clit through the fabric. "Tell me why you're soaking through these pretty panties."
Your head thunks back against the wall. "I hate you."
"No." His fingers press harder, making you gasp. "You hate that I'm right. That I know exactly what you need." His other hand cups your breast through your dress. "That no matter how many other aspiring doctors you dance with, no matter how much you pretend..." His thumb rolls your nipple roughly. "You'll always be my Chip."
The possessive pronoun makes you whine. He swallows the sound with a kiss that tastes like punishment and promise.
"Car," he growls against your mouth. "Now."
"Make me."
His smile is surgical precision and poorly contained violence. "Last chance to behave."
You bite his lower lip in response.
His growl vibrates through your chest as he hauls you away from the wall.
"Have it your way."
The world tilts as he hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing—all that strength he showed you back home on display as he secures you with one arm.
You're still giddy enough from tequila and victory to wave cheerfully at Mike's shocked face across the bar.
SMACK.
The sharp crack of his palm against your ass echoes even over the music. The sting blooms hot and perfect, pulling a sound from your throat that’s definitely not pain.
"Oops," you giggle, squirming deliberately against his shoulder. "Sorry, Dr. Jung."
Another smack lands harder, right where thigh meets curve. This time, your yelp dissolves into an embarrassingly breathy moan.
"Still feeling defiant?" His voice is sugary-sweet venom as he starts walking, each step jostling you against his shoulder. "Or should I conduct a more thorough behavioral assessment right here?"
"You wouldn't dare," you taunt, voice muffled against his back.
His laugh is quiet. Lethal. "That’s adorable, Chip. Truly."
SMACK.
You yelp again, fingers digging into the back of his shirt. “Sadist.”
“Self-restraint of a saint, actually.”
You’re halfway to the exit when he hums thoughtfully. Almost like he’s just remembering something.
"You know," he says conversationally, "I was going to let him off with a warning."
Something tingles in your stomach. "Hoseok—"
SMACK.
"But then he put his hands on you." Fingers tighten on your thigh, casual but severe. "And that? That’s something I just can’t overlook."
You push up against his back, twisting to look at him. "You’re not—"
"Relax," he murmurs, effortlessly adjusting his grip as you squirm. "I’m not going to ruin him."
A pause.
SMACK.
"But he’s an intern, isn’t he?" His tone is all polite, mere curiosity. "Which means his next rotation is what—three weeks?"
You unawarely hold your breath.
"ER is brutal at SNU," he continues mildly. "And interns? They burn out so fast."
"Hoseok." You say his name like it’s a warning.
Like you have any say whatsoever in what he does.
"Mm. No, you're right." He sighs like he actually considers it. SMACK. "Wouldn’t want him transferring to another specialty out of sheer exhaustion. What a shame that would be."
You dig your nails into his back, panic rising. "You can't—"
He chuckles, patting your thigh as if to soothe you. "Of course I can’t. That would be unethical."
SMACK.
You whimper, thighs squeezing against his chest.
"But maybe," he says softly, fingers pressing into the burning skin of your ass, "someone will make sure he remembers exactly where he stands."
You go rigid.
"Someone like…" He taps his fingers against your thigh. SMACK. "The Chief Resident?"
Your pulse pounds.
"Or maybe," he continues, voice all silky amusement, "someone even higher than that."
"You are insane," you breathe.
"And yet—" His hand slides under your dress, fingers teasing the damp heat between your thighs. "You keep testing me."
Your head thunks against his back.
His chuckle is quiet. Knowing. "That’s what I thought."
You squeal as he pinches the sensitive spot he just spanked. The cool night air hits your legs as he walks through the parking lot, carrying you like a misbehaving doll.
"Put me down!" You mean to say it like a retort—but you’re laughing now, drunk on tequila and victory and the way his fingers keep finding new places to leave bruises.
"Oh, I will." His palm connects with your other cheek, evening out the sting. "Right over my knee first, then bent over my desk, then—"
"Hoseok!"
"That’s not my name tonight, is it?" Another smack, another moan you can't quite swallow. "What did you call me? Dr. Jung?"
You're definitely going to die. He’s going to kill you with his bare hands and perfect voice and medical terminology.
(Worth it.)
His car beeps as he approaches—something sleek and black that probably costs stupidly too much. The passenger door opens and—
"Wait." You twist to look at him over your shoulder. "Aren’t you going to check my alcohol levels? Make sure I’m safe to—"
His laugh rumbles through your whole body. "Oh, Chip." He deposits you in the seat with gentleness, despite his rough demeanor. "Bold of you to assume you’ll be conscious enough to remember your own name when I’m done with you."
Your nipples perk up as he buckles you in, movements deliberately slow. His fingers subtly trace the marks he left on your thighs, pressing just hard enough to make you whimper.
"Besides." He straightens, smile pure poison in the streetlight. "I need you exactly this brave for what comes next."
The door closes with a soft click that sounds like a death sentence.
And you?
Well.
You've never been happier to die.
Hoseok sits on the driver’s seat in a matter of seconds, and the car immediately purrs to life with a swift flick of his wrist. His hands flex on the steering wheel—those perfect surgeon's fingers that make your mouth water just looking at them.
"Hair up," he commands without looking at you, voice clinical and cold. "Now."
You fumble with your hair tie (the one you always wear on your wrist and thank the Jesus for that right now), fingers trembling as you gather your hair into a ponytail. His eyes stay fixed on the road, but you feel him watching in your peripheral vision.
"Good girl." The praise drips like antifreeze—candied yet devastating. His legs spread wider, expensive slacks pulling taut across his thighs. "Now pull it out and suck."
Heat floods your face. Because he's not even looking at you—just expecting obedience as he navigates through Seoul's nighttime traffic with perfect precision.
"I—" You swallow hard, remembering how you'd barely managed half of him last time. How your jaw had ached for days. How he'd had to finish with his hand because you couldn't—
"Nineteen minutes, Chip." His voice stays honey-smooth even as his knuckles whiten on the wheel. "That's how long until we reach my apartment. Make me cum before then."
Your fingers shake as you reach for his fly. The zipper sounds obscenely loud in the quiet car.
"Nervous?" He takes a turn with too much accuracy, still not looking down. "After all that sass at the club?"
You finally free his cock—already hard, already leaking, already massive. Your mouth waters even as anxiety twists your stomach.
"I can't—" You remember choking, tears streaming down your face as he'd guided you deeper. "Last time I couldn't—"
"Eighteen minutes." His thumb brushes your cheek, the touch deceptively gentle. "Better start practicing."
You lean down, bracing one hand on his thigh as you take him into your mouth. The taste is familiar now—salt and skin and him. His breath hitches slightly as you swirl your tongue around the head.
"Deeper." The command is velvet-soft but unmistakable. "You wanted to play games tonight, Chip. Show me how much you've improved."
You sink lower, trying to relax your throat like he taught you. His cock hits the back of your mouth and you gag slightly.
"Sixteen minutes." His hand finds your ponytail—not pushing, just holding. "Remember your breathing exercises."
You whimper around his length, tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes. He's so big—stretching your lips obscenely wide as you try to take more.
"That's it." His fingers tighten in your hair as you bob your head. "Good girl. Use your tongue just like I showed you."
The praise makes you moan, the vibration making his hips twitch upward. You gag again as he hits deeper.
"Careful." His voice stays steady even as his cock throbs against your tongue. "Don't want to crash. That would be..." His grip tightens marginally. "...inconvenient."
You pull back to catch your breath, lips still stretched around his tip. "How much time?"
"Fourteen minutes." He takes another turn smoothly, like he's not getting his dick sucked in Seoul traffic. "And you've barely managed half. So disappointing, Chip. Can’t you do better?"
The words feel like a slap stinging across your cheeks, but you can’t deny the wetness they bring through your panties. You sink back down with renewed determination, forcing yourself to take more. Your throat spasms around him as tears streak your cheeks.
"Better." His thumb wipes away a tear. "But still not enough. Show me how sorry you are for disobeying me, Chip. Show me you mean it."
You hollow your cheeks, sucking harder as your hand works what you can't fit in your mouth. His breathing grows heavier but his driving never falters.
"Ten minutes." His hips roll up slightly, making you choke. "Want to know what happens if you fail?"
You whine around his cock, trying desperately to take more.
"I'll park the car." His voice drops lower, darker. "And teach you properly. Right here. Until you learn."
The threat makes you redouble your efforts, tongue tracing the thick vein on the underside as you force yourself lower. Your jaw aches, drool gathering at the corners of your mouth.
"Five minutes." His control is cracking—just slightly—voice rougher as you work him faster. "Running out of time, Chip."
You're crying properly now, mascara probably ruined as you desperately try to please him. He momentarily glances down, taking in your ruined expression as your eyes lock with his.
"Fuck." The curse slips out as his hips jerk up. "Three minutes. Show me how badly you want to make it up to me. You can do it, Chip."
You're a mess—tears and spit dripping down your chin as you take him as deep as you can. His cock twitches against your tongue, pre-cum bitter, but so perfect because it’s him.
"One minute." His grip becomes brutal in your hair. "Better swallow it all this time."
You feel him pulse, feel his thighs tense under your palm. His cum hits the back of your throat in hot spurts as he guides you down further than you've ever managed.
"Good girl." He sounds wrecked even as he parks the car perfectly. "Every drop."
You swallow obediently, throat working around him until he softens slightly. When he finally lets you up, you realize you're in his parking garage.
"Time?" you rasp, voice completely destroyed.
His smile is gentle but noxious as he tucks himself away. "Twenty-one minutes." He cups your tear-stained cheek. "You failed."
Butterflies erupt in your stomach as he exits the car, coming around to your door. His expression is pure medical malice as he helps you out.
"Don't worry though." His thumb traces your swollen lips. "We have all night for remedial lessons."

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @just-reading-dany @sanarin @billy-jeans23 @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @hobis-sprite0218
© 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓.
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#hobi x reader#hoseok x reader#jhope x reader#bts scenario#bts fanfic#bts x reader#bts imagine#bts fanfiction#bts scenarios#bts fic#hoseok fic#hobi fic#hoseok fanfic#hobi fanfic#fanfic#bts au#jung hoseok#j-hope#hobi#bts hoseok#off labels#OL
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Why does I am a teacher: Super Mario Sweater count as a Mario character? If we assume that it's a video game, then it definitely also counts as a Mario game, but what is the logic behind counting is as a Mario character as well? Am I supposed to interpret this as the sweater the game teaches you how to make being a Mario character, or is it something else?
I mean the real reason it's in the bracket is that enough people nominated it to make it in and I respect The Bit too much to disqualify it for not being "a character". figuring out what technicality it qualifies as a character under is left as an exercise for the reader
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Okay, so I’m a bit wine drunk but I don’t think I’ve ever really articulated why I love Snarry together and I’m currently trying to finish a fic after taking a three-year-hiatus from writing these two, so this is probably a good exercise!
I’m a bit on the older side of fandom, having been a fanartist and fervent reader since 2003, so my connection was really sparked during that time between OOTP and HBP when Snape and Harry were at some of their most clashing and deeply vitriolic, forced together into hateful vulnerability by Occulmency lessons. Every scene between them was electric, laced with tension as we truly did not know how things would go, or even where Snape’s true loyalties lay. He was an unknown, tied up with Harry’s own family’s mysterious past, connected to Harry in a myriad of odd ways that few other characters were, and - as a rivals-to-lovers lover - I was fascinated by him. From that first moment when they lock eyes in the Great Hall and that frisson of pain shoots through Harry’s scar, I desperately wanted to know who the hell this man was and his story. I think a lot of Snarry shippers come to the ship with a special appreciation for Severus Snape’s character himself. He’s such an incredibly drawn character, rich with complexity, complicated and pretty fucked up, with clearly-held passions, hatreds, weaknesses, and motivations. He’s emotional in a way a lot of other characters aren’t, though I think he’d loathe to hear that. And his character voice! It’s unique and pitch-perfect. You always know exactly who is speaking with his lines. Honestly, the way he evolved from a spy/traitor stock character to become so multifaceted and enigmatic is a masterpiece of characterization, and it’s an aspect of why I’m drawn to him - there’s still so much about his origins and well, what his damage was, that we don’t know. Because of this, I especially love Snarry fics that delve into character studies of him, trying to explore all the shadows left behind. I also admit I have a preference for interpreting Snape as morally grey. I like him petty, sharp-tongued, ambitious, with an incredibly liquid definition of what is right and wrong. He’s self-interested, dripping with disdain, and really doesn’t see that as a problem. What happens to him when he deeply falls in love?
I love a ship that makes me work for it. There’s no obvious line of how Snape and Harry might wind up together, so each fic is a wealth of possibilities of bringing these two together despite their roadblocks. As I mentioned, I’m big fan of animosity in a ship. Give me rivals, give me enemies, give me the sparking passions, the sharp fury, the way they stoke each others’ emotions and seek to hurt, the racing hearts, the raised hackles, the intense emotional reaction to another person. Just throw it at me. I devour that shit. I love the messy and taboo nature of their relationship, the complications raising from their age difference, temperaments, and largely similar and shared traumas. There’s an interesting element of Snape being a foil to James Potter, and how that relates to Harry and their past. Basically, this shit is really good potting soil for incredible fucking fics, packed with nutrients.
The shared natures of their traumas, like Voldemort and each being forgotten and abused as children and how they might be able to understand each other and bond from it is also something that’s fascinating to explore. I love when a writer pushes on Snape’s bruises, looking to make them hurt, cracking his sardonic brain open and rooting around in there, and I love when they compare and contrast to Harry’s. There’s a seductiveness to how Snape is so obsessed with Harry, fixated on his Boy Who Lived heroic reputation, clearly dripping with envy. What, beyond jealousy, might draw Snape to Harry and what, other than hatred, might draw Harry to Snape?
It’s all this, the passionate, electric, dangerous nature of their relationship; the way their characters contrast each other yet have surprising connections; and the question of finding solace that keeps me here, 21 years later. I’ve had wines less complex than this ship. They’re fascinating. They’re messy. They’re everything.
[crossposted from a reddit comment I just left, and wanted to share with y’all]
#snarry#i need them to hatefuck it out#i need snape to be cracked open and see all the tender parts fall out
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Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch.21
Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.
Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications
Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here.
The scene between Ch.20 and Ch.21 (the immediate result of Ford seeing Stans death, and Bills reveal) was not shown on purpose. Because it was a very emotionally intimate affair. It's up to the readers' interpretation how Ford and Stan reacted after they left the dreamscape. I will tell you this time Ford was HONEST-honest, like he even told him the truth about Bill and that's how Stan came back.
Bill's Nicknames:
Ford: Fordsy, Sixer, IQ
Stan: Slick, (ex)Conman, PTSD Barnum
Fiddleford: (The) Hick, Glasses, McSuckit
Stan’s Nicknames:
Ford: PhD, Doc, any synonym for the word ‘crazy’
Fiddleford: Specs, Stretch, F
Bill: Lashes, (One-Eyed) Demon, (The) Triangle
“(italics)” Indicates that the speaker is speaking in Spanish (unless stated otherwise). This author only knows English, and I did not want to misrepresent Spanish by using Google Translate.
When people are in the dreamscape together, their dialogue is written normally. But if Bill and Ford are communicating in Fords head without the mindscape, Bills dialogue is in "italics", and Fords dialogue is in 'apostrophes and italics' like thoughts are. Memories are written entirely in italics.
First - Prev - Next
CH.21
RING
RING
CLICK
“Hello, Dr. McGucket speaking.”
“Is it double-doctor yet, F?”
“Well I’ll be! It’s good to hear from the case study himself. How you doin’ this evening, Stan?”
“I’m doing pretty great actually, hiding out from d- Stanford.”
“Still having trouble using real names, darlin?”
“I know now he’s my real, actual, twin. But… I dunno specs, it’s hard to see myself as his brother; there’s still a lot of stuff I don’t remember.”
“Still uncoverin’ small memories' day-by-day?”
“Yeah, mostly going through childhood stuff now… still having trouble with his- our, parents faces. Feelings get too big for my brain to handle with that subject.”
“I'm still beside myself that the key to helping you uncover your lost memories was Stanford’s meditative exercises. The answer was right in front of us the whole time!”
“...Yea’.”
“Stan, have you… thought about reporting yourself as alive to the authorities? I know it’s been over a year since that car accident, but there hadn’t been a body…”
“Not yet… I got a lot of enemies, stretch. I don’t wanna bring all that trouble to Gravity Falls, ya know?”
“Yeah, you bring enough trouble all on your own.”
“Were you always such a smartass, McGucket?”
“I usually hear ‘sassy’.”
“Heh. I’d believe it. By the way, did your beard like the biker chick I sent her way?”
“You can say 'wife' Stan, you don’t have to say beard every time just because we’re- oh that don’t matter none right now. I have half a mind to cane your hands after that disaster.”
“Disaster? Jimmy told me they had a great time!”
“... Stan, when you described this woman to us, you said she was ‘extremely hot, out of this world, and holds other people accountable’.”
“Was I wrong?”
“You didn’t tell us she was a partially undead psychopomp who can transform into a flaming skeleton, and drags people down the fiery yonder under the weight of their sins!”
“I’m not hearing the part where I was wrong.”
“It wasn’t easy explaining to Tater where Old Man Jenkins went…”
“Trust me, if he got dragged ‘down’ he deserved it. Jimmy tried that on me once, and Hell decided I wasn’t bad enough. But hey, sounds like you’ve been having more fun than me.”
“And what have you and Stanford been up to?”
“He’s a little pissy right now.”
“What did you do?”
“Why do you always think I did something?”
“...”
“Point taken. Every time I go into town I pretend to be him, right? Well, the townsfolk of Gravity Falls don’t just think he’s a menace, they also see him as some kind of cryptid too. They’re always wanting to check out his creepy cabin in the woods and whatever freaky science stuff he has lying around.”
“Okay…”
“I may have let some people look at his paranormal stuff while he was asleep in his lab. For a price, of course.”
“Stan!”
“What? It’s not like he’s patenting anything right now, and the grant moneys gonna run out eventually. Especially with the late fee’s he’s accrued over the years. He wants me to stay here, but keeps shooting down my attempts at contributing.”
“Your last attempt at contributing was raiding Mayor Befufftlefumpter’s estate and stealing a Fabergé egg.”
“That was honestly more for me. I’m still mad about him triple-stabbing me when I tried mugging him months ago. That old codger has more ruthlessness than you’d think.”
“Well, you ain't goin' on more revenge quests when I come back down in three days are you? Can you not do that, for me?”
“Fine, I promise; no vengeance plots anywhere in this house.”
(...)
“Stanford’s Log: Vengeance Plot number fifteen.”
“Bill, what are you going on about this time?”
“Just narrating your elaborate revenge scheme against that list of people who tried to kill your brother.”
“Please refrain, my muse.”
“Ah, no fun Fordsy. So, which poor sap are you creating brutal nightmares for this time?”
“Did you finally find that monster from the homeless shelter?”
“I had to jump around the minds of a few vagrants, cops, and humanitarian workers to piece the details together, but it looks like someone already beat you to the punch Sixer. That guy was shanked to death in an alleyway seven years ago over a bag of coarse-grain Himalayan pink salt he thought was crystal meth.”
“I was looking forward to that one… He deserved worse.”
“Aww, don’t be too disappointed Sixer. This next guy is the one who locked him in the trunk of a car and dropped it into a reservoir. Ironically, he has a fear of small spaces and the dark! Also, public speaking. I think you have a fair bit to work with there.”
“Well then. Project me into his mind, and I’ll be sure to be creative.”
(...)
“For the short amount of time you’ve been able to manifest yourself here, you have a surprisingly high degree of control over your mindscape.”
“All ya need is a little imagination PhD, you should try it sometimes.”
“I will stick to what is tried and true.”
“Hey, when am I gonna be able to jump around headspaces like you?”
“I’m afraid it is not an ability that can be learned or taught, manipulating your own mindscape is something you can learn and train in, or have a natural aptitude for like yourself or our mother. The reason I’m able to traverse the mindscape of others is because of my deal with-”
“Meeee!”
“Oh fuck! What are you doing here, ya One-Eyed Demon? I told you you’re not welcome here.”
“Well hello to you too, slick. That’s some way to greet your saviour.”
“If you’re a saviour, I’m Madeline Kahn.”
“Besides; you know good ole’ Fordsy can’t go anywhere without me. We’re partners; through all of time, space, and creepy shipping art.”
“Stanley, Bill, please. Do not make this dream session another fight.”
“I’m watching you, Triangle.”
“Get your two-eyed privilege out of my vertices, ex-con man.”
“Enough. Stanley, as far as your memories go this may be a painful topic, but somebody had to have tampered with your car. Do you have any idea who would’ve done that?”
“Lots of people have tried to kill me so I can’t really think of anyone specifically who stands out. As far as hating me the most goes, it's a tie between the IRS and the City of Tijuana.”
“...Why does the City of Tijuana hold such contempt for you?”
“I was banned from there after they figured out the ‘corn tortillas’ I was selling were really just flour tortillas I mixed with sand.”
“...You are being serious, right now?”
“Mhmm.”
“There is an entire city’s worth of people in Mexico who would go out of their way to tamper with your vehicle and have you killed just because you were selling them flour tortillas and telling them they were corn tortillas?”
“I wouldn’t say the whole city, just their judicial department, police force, a dozen clubs, at least seven gangs, a prison, and this one guy who sold even worse tortillas.”
“They should have drawn and quartered him.”
“Bill!”
“Some crimes just can’t be forgiven, Fordsy.”
(...)
“Saddle up, Stan.”
“I’ve never used one of these, Jimmy…”
“Better learn quick, before the Taxman gets you first, (brother).”
“How old were you when this happened, Stanley?”
“Oh, god, I don’t really remember. Eighteen? Nineteen? I wasn’t new-new to the streets, but I was pretty fresh compared to the rest of the biker gang.”
“You were still a teenager, and she just handed you a shotgun?”
CLICK-CLICK
“I’ll put ya inta the fuckin’ ground!”
“Are you?”
“I-I…”
“Are you really going to shoot me, son?”
“Yeah!”
“Well do it then, shoot me.”
“... Oh for fucks-”
CRACK
“Didja shoot him, Stan?”
“...Yeah, I killed him. He’s dead.”
“Good, let’s get the fuck out of here, (run quickly)!”
“You didn’t shoot him?”
“Naw, just cracked him with the buttstock… I never killed nobody, doc. I was always kinda soft compared to the other guys, ya know?”
“I wouldn’t say that makes you soft, it’s admirable that despite everything, there were lines you wouldn’t cross. And, about that taxman…”
“Yeah I dunno what shit the IRS is on, and it didn’t matter what name I was using, they always managed to find me.”
“That agent you just spared went to your ‘funeral’.”
“I’m not surprised, he was always telling me that it wasn’t over.”
(...)
KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK
“Oh no, holy shit, we need to leave.”
“Stanley, what are you talking about?”
“I know that knock, that’s the cops. Doc, we gotta run!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, why in the right mind would-”
CRASH
“STANFORD FILBRICK PINES THIS IS THE TIME PARADOX AVOIDANCE ENFORCEMENT SQUADRON AND BY THE ORDER OF TIME BABY YOU ARE WANTED UNDER SUSPICION OF MEMORY TRESPASSING, RECKLESS PERCEPTION DILATION, AND UNLICENSED NIGHTMARE FUELING.”
“...Stay here, Stanley. I’m going to see what it is they want.”
“Wait-.”
“Stay here, don’t follow me.”
“...Fine.”
“This is Dr. Stanford Pines. How can I help you?
“Dr. Pines, I am Agent Lolph and this is my partner, Agent Dundgren. We are agents under the cosmic being known as Time Baby, and you are under arrest for suspicion in extradimensional criminal affairs. ”
‘Cipher, can they do this?’
“Yes, cosmic authorities are beyond the need for warrants.”
‘Is there anything I can do?’
“Say ‘I invoke Globnar’.”
“What is that?”
‘Just do it, Fordsy. I can't represent you in transdimensional court, and you really don't want me to.’
“Does The Accused have anything to say? Anything you say can and already has been used against you in future court.”
“I invoke Globnar.”
“Are you challenging us to Globnar?”
“Say yes. To avoid charges.”
“Yes. To clear the accusations against me.”
“So be it. May Time Baby have mercy on your soul. You have 48 hours to prepare.”
(...)
“Ya telling me you breaking into peoples mind has been a real, cosmic level crime this whole time?!”
“Yes… More specifically, doing so without permission. I had your consent to access your dreamscape, so that instance wasn’t illegal.”
“God, PhD, how many brains have you been breaking and entering?”
“Details are not important.”
“And what did Lashes tell you about this… Glob thing?”
“It is gladiatorial time combat, in which tributes can either find justice, or face the whims of the winner.”
“So you’re going to fight those guys?”
“That might be one of the challenges, there are several. It is a point-based system.”
“Let me go with you.”
“Absolutely not, Stanley! I will not subject you to the consequences of-.”
“Come on, doc. There’s two of them, and I’ve dealt with all kinds of pigs before; foreign, domestic, transdimensional, and space-faring.”
“No. That’s my final answer. Do not bring this up again. I will be fine.”
(...)
“Hey Doc, I’m back from the- what’s with that get up?”
“You told me the multiverse was cold and dry.”
“So you needed a turtleneck, scarf, and ski goggles?”
“Yes.”
“And what’s with the belt around your chest?”
“What if I need to sling something like a gun onto my back?”
“And it’s all black because…?”
“I don’t need to hear fashion judgement from you when your knit cap is covering almost all of your head.”
“I was pretending to be you in town again, genius. Is this… this how you’re preparing for that Nobglar thing?”
“Globnar, Stanley. They’ll be here in twenty minutes… are you going to try to convince me to bring you along again?”
“Would it work if I did?”
“No.”
“Figured as much. Before you go, can I at least wish you luck?”
“... I’d appreciate that.”
"High six?”
“High six.”
CLICK
*Looks down and see’s Stan jabbed him in the abdomen with the tranquilizing gun. Looks back up at Stan. Looks back down at the gun slightly longer. Then looks back up at Stan again.*
“I’m sorry, Stanford.”
*Stan rips off his beanie. His hair’s been cut to the same length as Fords*
“But this is for your own good.”
To be continued…
#he did it guys he said the title#for your own good#early amnesia au#mystery trio#gravity falls#cross posted on ao3#fanfic#fanfiction#stanley pines#stan pines#stanford pines#ford pines#fiddleford hadron mcgucket#fiddleford mcgucket#bill cipher#fiddlestan#background fiddlestan#Agent Lolph#Agent Dundgren#Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron#Time Baby#jimmy snakes#emma may dixon#tate mcgucket#only mentioned
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— qimir x reader
trigger warning: graphic scenes and descriptions of violence, blood and death. please proceed with caution.
request via ask: "I actually would like to request a one shot or maybe even a story where the reader ( or an oc doesn't matter ) is hunting Jedi for her own reasons and is on her way to becoming a sith, but she's terrified of her force because it's not only powerful, but full of rage so needless to say it stems from the dark side. I don't want her to replace Osha or Mae, in fact I want them included in the story. however, I do want Qimir to end up teaching this character. Add some seduction of course, some mystery and I want it from the character's pov. I know this idea is all over the place and I'm not giving you much to work with but I would definitely like to see him interact with this character who could learn a lot from him but has the potential to be a stand alone character herself."
note from author: I think I understand the gist of what you're requesting so I will definitely interpret it in my own way. Please let me know if this is what you had in mind :) also, sorry it's so long, I had to introduce the character first haha!- calamiity
There's a distant hum that tickles at her brainstem and finds itself traveling down to the pit of her stomach. she should be weary of this sensation because it was nothing more than the force riddling through her body. decorating her veins in a fire that could coat the 7 levels of hell in different degrees of flame. What kind of beast had she become to worship a power that made her feel this way? The moonlight, a silvered blade slicing through the night did nothing to hide her or shield the outside world from seeing what she truly was, a beast in human form. it whispered to the stars about her, but the sky was her only companion. Without judgement, It listened to her battle cries and the pleas of the Jedi that she cut down mercilessly. Crimson clung to her robes and dripped slowly down the exposed pieces of her face outlined by the fabric that covered her nose and lips. the deep red of it was in complete contrast to the darkness reflected in her irises. She had allowed the force to nearly consume her from the inside out and the eerie abundance of obsidian that nearly took over her entire vision told her that she had gone too far tonight. Her power — a forbidden curse with a seductive allure. The force must be exercised and properly managed, but the emotions beneath the surface of her consciousness were far too powerful for tradition. Wrath, Loss, Pain and Vengeance. They all danced the danse macabre within her soul, drenching it in affliction. there was no turning back now. Her veins were like molten lava, but they were chilled by the sound of the whimpering jedi that lay at her feet. Before she could stop herself, her eyes wandered to the delicate skin under his chin and she could feel the power of the force expand and contract around his throat. It took half of a second for her to realize that he was choking. a gentle tilt of her head was the only give away to her true curiosity. could she really end his life this way? how long would it take? A thread, a piercing silver stream of light slid through the forefront of her mind and she followed it. It broke off to her left and her eyes caught movement behind the shop window that sat uncloaked. It occurred to her that the 4 jedi she had murdered in front of the shop window was witnessed by someone. rather or not she was wearing a mask didn't matter, the idea of being seen in her most volatile state nearly made her shutter. however, there was no turning back now. With the distraction of the hidden bystander, the once choking jedi had gotten up and began sneaking away. She couldn't let that happen. Refocusing, she retrieved his lightsaber and ignited it with deliberate slowness. Aligning her gaze with his position, she extended her left arm to match his height, letting the dark blue blade hover above her other hand. Once she was certain of her aim, she harnessed the Force and propelled his saber like an arrow. It flew straight and true, embedding itself in the center of his back and causing him to collapse lifelessly where he stood. She turned back to the glass in search of the movement that she had seen before, but there was nothing. although she was sure that the person was still there, there was no reason to pursue them. instead, she flexed her force once more to create a smoke screen and vanish into the night where she had come. The night’s embrace was both her refuge and her torment, and as the echoes of her power faded into the void, she was left with the haunting realization that the greatest battle she would ever face was not against her foes, but against the seduction of her own darkness.
Her ragged gasps were the only thing that filled her ears as she removed the bloodstained robes that clung to her skin. A bath would do her some good, but it wasn’t until she was completely bare that she noticed the weight missing from her belt—the sai dagger made from cortosis was gone. Panic surged through her as she realized she must have dropped it during the chaos. however, she couldn't go back to that shop now. the bystander from before had already seen her cloaked figure, if she chanced it now then he would most likely get a glimpse of her. her best bet would be to return in the morning disguised as a merchant.
At first light she followed through with her plan to return to the shop where she had committed the atrocities from the night prior. it was strange to see that the fallen jedi had been removed, the ground cleaned and the sound of murmuring voices questioning if the chaos they heard about last night was even real. "I heard it was a rumor." said one store vendor. "No way, there have been many Jedi killings over the past few days. You heard about that cloaked figure that went after Indara a few nights back?" another spoke.
She paused for a brief moment at the name, she had never killed a jedi named Indara....perhaps there was another seeking out revenge? either way, it made her job easier. one less monkey for the zoo.
"I heard it was a drunk bar fight that went wrong and that they turned on each other." she chimed in. if everyone was going to put out some gossip, she might as well add her tidbit to throw them off a bit.
"There have been a lot of them spotted at the pub lately." the older woman agreed.
She hid the half hearted smile that graced her lips when she turned away from them, but her heart sank as she locked eyes with her missing dagger prominently displayed, as if it were for sale, in the window of the shop from last night. The idea of it being displayed as a trinket for someone to snag it nearly made her mouth run dry. She knew she had to retrieve it before the blade—or its significance—fell into the wrong hands. but how?
#qimir the acolyte#qimir x reader#qimir fanfic#mae x qimir#osha x qimir fanfic#osha x qimir#star wars qimir#the acolyte spoilers#the acolyte fanfic#the acolyte#manny jacinto fanfic#manny jacinto
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Okay, prime buddy meeting rodimus, ships collide, rodimus look at buddy w Shock of how big his ship is and crew, even buddy standing tall and spiky. Like wdym your the leader of the fallen stars….what? Your only (insert young age) and your a prime?!
I don't understand completely what the request is. So I did my interpretation of the request. If this is not what you want, please let me know.
Hope you enjoy!
Bot Buddy from the TFP universe meeting MTMTE Rodimus
SFW, platonic, Cybertronian/ Bot reader
TFP/MTMTE
This was Buddy's fault they were in this situation.
Buddy, being the ever loving technician, was helping Ratchet and Wheeljack with the newest tweaks on the groundbridge.
Wheeljack had just installed some new circuitry to the bridge and needed some help making sure everything went accordingly.
"Everything functional on your end?"--Buddy
"All clear, Wheeljack?"--Ratchet
"All good Sunshine!"--Wheeljack
"Don't call me that!"--Ratchet
A sudden beeping came from Ratchet's end near the console, Wheeljack went to go see what was wrong. Buddy went over to the bridge's opening to see if there was a problem there.
The bridge's lights flickered on and began to violently drag in all loose things around it. Including Buddy. Ratchet was holding on to the console for dear life as Wheeljack dug one of his katanas into the ground and held it with a steel grip.
"BUDDY HOLD ON!"-- Ratchet
"WHAT DO YOU THINK IM DOING?!"--Buddy
"BUDDY HOLD ON TO MY SERVO!"--Wheeljack
"WHEELJACK I'M SLIPPING!"--Buddy
"HANG ON BUDDY! IM ALMOST THERE!"--Wheeljack
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"--Buddy
The portal had sucked Buddy in right as Wheeljack's servo brushes Buddy's servo.
...
Meanwhile on the Lost Light...
Rodimus was back at his desk carving out some designs when a bright light appeared and a sudden weight fell on top of him.
"AH! WHO ARE YOU?!"--Buddy
"WHO ARE YOU?! YOU LANDED ON TOP OF ME!"--Rodimus
"WHY ARE YOU YELLING!?"--Buddy
"I DON'T KNOW! YOU STARTED IT!"--Rodimus
After a couple of minutes of hectic explaining, existential crisis, and a lot of deep venting exercises, Rodimus finally got a complete response.
"So essentially you're from another dimension were your war is still going on, only have a small group of Autobots left, and you dropped into this universe via groundbridge malfunction."--Rodimus
"And you're the Captain of this giant Star ship with more than a hundred Bots on it, are on a quest to find some mythical knights, and the name is..."--Buddy
"Oh! Rodimus, Rodimus Prime."--Rodimus
"Wait what happened to Optimus? And what about the Matrix of Leadership?"--Buddy
"Well, Prime is a part of the new Cybertronian government with Starscream as ruler and the Matrix is broken."--Rodimus
"...wait what..."--Buddy
"The matrix was broken by accident."--Rodimus
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN ON ACCIDENT?! AND DID YOU SAY STARSCREAM WAS IN CHARGE OF CYBERTRONIAN!?!?! WHO'S IDEA WAS THAT?!"--Buddy
There was a lot of explaining to do when Rodimus came out of his habsuite with Buddy in tow. Especially with how much of a difference in frame Buddy had to everyone else on the Lost Light.
Buddy made friends with many bots during their stay aboard. They had plenty of stories to tell and to hear stories from this new dimension. The only bumps in the 'road' were when Buddy saw the alternate versions of Ultra Magnus, Ratchet and Megatron.
With Magnus
"It's a good thing those shoulder pads never change in different dimensions, sir."--Buddy
"Thank you?"--Magnus
With Ratchet
"You're telling me that Rodimus flipped over the Captain and fell on his face how many times per week?"--Buddy
"I lost count after 5."--Ratchet
With Megatron
"...do you have any dark energon in you?"--Buddy
"Do I have what?"--Megatron
"Oh you don't! That's good. You're one of the better Megatron's."--Buddy
It took a while later for Brainstorm and Perceptor to fix Buddy's dimension and set coordinates.
It was time for Buddy to say goodbye to their friends and head home.
"Thank you everyone!"--Buddy
"No problem Buddy! And if you're ever in the same dimension, just give us a call!"--Rodimus
"And if you guys are in my dimension, you call me! Bye!"--Buddy
"Bye Buddy!"--Rodimus
Buddy jumped right into their dimension.
Buddy knew it was the right one because of the feeling they had in their tanks.
Also because they landed on top of Wheeljack.
"AAAHHH! WHAT'S ON ME?!"--Wheeljack
"Wheeljack it's me!"--Buddy
"Buddy?! Oh thank the Prime's! Where were you?! We've been trying to scan your signature for days."--Wheeljack
"You have no idea what happened."--Buddy
#transformers#transformers x reader#maccadam#idw mtmte#mtmte x reader#tfp#tfp x reader#mtmte rodimus#tfp ratchet#tfp wheeljack#bot buddy
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How do you feel about Shadowheart's romance in game/ I've seen some complaints about it being shallow and vapid. I blame this on Act2, the lack of a romance scene
In general?
I think it's a solid exploration of what it's like to try and be with someone that is struggling with their sense of self, navigating an abusive relationship, and who has what might seem like oxymoronically intense and lax boundaries over personal details and feelings, etc. Is it like, The Perfect Story of All Time? No. That doesn't exist.
Also, it's a video game and Larian has limited budget/time. Shadowheart has a ton of content dedicated to herself as it is. Part of enjoying these stories is accepting the constraints.
However, I think Act 2 works spectacularly for her romance BECAUSE it lacks a dedicated romantic scene until the end of the Gauntlet/Nightsong sequence. A lack of it says way more than having it would.
She's a zealot on the brink of realizing a goal in Act 2. She won't realize it, and it's an unrealistic goal, but she doesn't know that.
She's being presented with the opportunity to finally be accepted by her abuser as Good and Right and maybe that she can be Special — while also trying to hide herself from the PC that does care about her, someone who actually respects her boundaries, because that's new and unique and strange and not what she's been taught she deserves as a Sharran. Loss and emptiness cannot abide a full heart.
If she adheres to the conformity of her religion, she'll be accepted by a goddess that won't get out of her head or her body. (Extratextual interpretation, but) If she allows herself to accept love from an external source, that means she's capable of being loved and that's very difficult to accept for someone who is programmed to be a certain type of way. Go look up actual cult deprogramming practices and try to trace the lines between that and what Shadowheart experiences. This is an exercise left to the reader.
My take is the people that find the romance "vapid" have never been in a relationship with someone who has a harrowingly troubled past. Not that I expect them to, or that that's an aspiration anyone should have. But they've never tried to love someone who is VERY hesitant to even call it a relationship in the first place for X, Y, or Z reason. A genuine real world example is trying to maintain relationships with folks that have borderline personality disorder.
It's literally the meme of "you accept my neurodivergence until it looks like something that isn't out of a John Green novel."
#hey you can ask me things!#bg3#bg3 spoilers#shadowheart#shadowheart analysis by yours truly#gotta stop blasting character analysis on a weeknight#this post assumes non-sharran shadowheart ofc
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if u think about it, computer science = math = physics = chemistry = biology = neuroscience = psychology = sociology = anthropology = philosophy = literature = linguistics
the interpretation of = is left as an exercise to the reader
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Goodness gracious THE ANGST I began reading the Vil fic while eating and I had to push away my plate. Ate my food cold but t'was worth it
''left you feeling young again'' I very rarely see anguish described like this and I'm always so happy when it happens!! because yes, that's exactly what it feels like; when it's raw and intense to a point it feels like it did growing up, when we're barely learning to harden ourselves and handle strong emotions
And as usual the way you write loneliness and isolation- mhua rat's kiss on french cuisine
Bonus Grim mention as yuu's child because he absolutely is
much appreciated as always! angst not too weak I hope? (•⩊•) I kinda made this an exercise in seeing how many plot twists I could throw in without having it become unbelievable, and also leaving things open-ended for the reader to decide for themselves (the worst of these was definitely reader confirming they're seeing someone else, which could be interpreted as truth or as a lie, depending on who you are and how you're reading it) because emotional confusion and cognitive dissonance were important themes here
and of course, themes of past trauma and being unwilling (not unable) to move on from that. I love this sort of thing in writing, personally I loooove to regress to my past self as a coping mechanism for the present, even though it's literally terrible for my mental health. it's impulsive. so that's what I wrote about here!
yuu's relationship with their home and twst is really interesting to me, that was more or less the main conflict, the divorce was very secondary in the way it was only meant to further the conflict. I intentionally left much unresolved and unanswered, the distance between vil and reader, even after the apology and "forgiveness" (which, yes, was not genuine) that was supposed to leave much unresolved and unanswered
silly as it is I did force crowley to be symbolism here, since he was arguably the most important adult in yuu's life when they were in school. as an adult (implied late 30s/early 40s here) and as an employee of nrc their relationship to him is inherently different, in the beginning when yuu/reader is with sam they refer to crowley by his first name, at the end when with vil they default to "the headmage" which, given yuu's age and position and the earlier dialogue, feels disingenuous, like yuu is making themselves and their inner world smaller and more palatable for vil. it also infantilizes yuu, in a way. right. there's more subtext here that's really up for the reader to decide, I was almost hesitant to include the reason for the divorce because I would have liked for the reader to come up with that themselves, but it felt better to explicitly state that it wasn't anyone's fault, vil is career-oriented and distant by nature and the only thing yuu has ever wanted in twst is to belong somewhere. these two traits are at odds with one another. etc etc. so that little bit where yuu is making themself smaller for vil had purpose. agreeing with him even though they didn't mean it had purpose. yuu's desperation to belong somewhere has done nothing but hurt them and the people around them. and they will be doomed to nrc forever. again the crowley relevancy is there somewhere. you get it it's angst
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