#is it not enough that almost all of my posts about it are critical/picking it apart

[colorful-horses]

why are u into the racist demon show 😭 i want to support ur art but not if ur hyping up racism

Do you think passively following an extremely popular indie show is the same as hyping up racism

[chahnniesroom]

too close to home

pairing: none (platonic ot8 & female reader)

summary: as the only female of stray kids, you've always felt a little out of place. this comeback, the comments and criticism seem to hit a little too close to home and you start to think that maybe the group is better off without you.

word count: 8.5k

tags/warnings: 9th member au, hurt/comfort, angst, mean fans, anxious thinking, insecurities, overthinking

a/n: this is my first fic for my appreciation event! big thank you to everyone who has supported me and sorry this took so long to post.

special shoutout to @kangaracha who is basically the only reason i was able to finish this fic! she was my biggest cheerleader throughout my writing and if you would like to read an amazing 9th member fic, please please go read queenmaker.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

You had known from the start that it would be difficult being in a co-ed group. It was rare, especially in K-pop. But being outnumbered eight to one? It was unheard of.

You had been just as surprised all those years ago, when the company had pulled you into a room and offered you a position in the boy group that they were about to debut.

You had heard about the team that Chan had put together, every trainee had gossiped about how JYPE was trying something new with a self-formed team. You hadn't paid too much attention to it, you were busy enough with preparing for your own evaluations and the possibility of being included in what everybody had thought was a boys group hadn't even crossed your mind.

You had accepted the position almost immediately.

At that point, you had been a trainee for almost three years, but had only been considered for debut less than a handful of times. You knew with each line-up that hadn't worked out, you were closer to being forced to give up on the idea of becoming an idol. If you rejected the offer this time, you might not get another and you had been ready to do anything to achieve your dream. 

Plus, you knew there was a high chance that they'd drop you from the group anyway. The position brought a lot of interest to the group, but you knew the company would be watching closely to determine whether it was worth the risk or not. 

It had been a bit of a rocky start, but now the nine of you were close, you had to be when you spent most of your waking time together. You considered the boys to be your second family and you knew that they felt the same way. 

It was just that there was clearly a difference in the dynamic when you were and weren’t with the group. It wasn’t necessarily bad just… different. The boys never excluded you or made you feel like you weren’t part of the group and you had great individual relationships with each of the members. 

It was inevitable though, you had never shared a dorm with the group, especially earlier in your career when you were less familiar and it would have been entirely unacceptable. You knew that this was the main reason you didn’t feel quite as part of the group, there was just a level of closeness that was formed when you actually lived with someone.

Well, it was that and the nagging guilt because you knew that Chan had hand-picked every member of Stray Kids himself.

Every member except you.

While the members had promised that they were the ones who had the final say, you knew it wasn't quite what they had expected. All of you had been desperate to debut though and even if it wasn't ideal, nobody was going to say anything that might jeopardize this chance.

Still, you could tell that the boys did their best to include you and for the most part, they succeeded. Even early on when things had been a little bit awkward between you, they were fiercely protective. In interviews, they insisted over and over that they wanted you in the group and it had been nice to hear, even if you knew they were just saying it for the cameras. 

They frequently invited you over for dinner or just to hang out, but you couldn't help feeling jealous when it was time for you to leave at the end of each night. It wasn't anything you could change though, so you just tried to appreciate their company while you had it.

So when the company brings up the idea of new dorm arrangements, you're surprised and a bit confused when they don't immediately inform you of where you'll be staying and kick you out of the meeting room. You've never participated in the discussions that the boys have regarding roommates, there has never been any reason to. 

You're shocked by how easily things fall into place, even more so when Chan approaches you, asking if you'd feel comfortable living with him and Jeongin. They assure you that any of the pairings would be happy to have you stay with them though, and that they'd also understand if you preferred to live on your own.

You were hesitant at first. It had been out of the question when you had first debuted. Even if you and the boys had been comfortable with it, which you weren’t, the company would have totally rejected the idea of one girl living with eight boys.

Instead, their solution had been to force you to remain in the trainee dorm even after your debut which meant constantly listening to jealous girls criticize anything and everything about you. It had been exhausting, partly because you were getting used to balancing schedules with practice, but also because you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mad at them. You were all too familiar with the disappointment and frustration that came with watching the people around you succeeding.

You had briefly considered asking about sharing with the boys when the dorms had split in half because you knew you needed to get out of the toxic environment the other girls were creating, but then the company had offered you an apartment to yourself. It had been one of the easiest decisions you had ever made. 

It had been too good to be true, though. The apartment had given you the privacy that you had craved, there were a multitude of issues that almost made you miss being in the trainee dorms. Whether you moved to a new apartment on your own or into one of the dorms with the boys, you knew that it would be an improvement.

You’re curious what living with the boys would be like and honestly, you’re a bit lonely in your current apartment. It only takes a day or two of thinking before you confirm that you’d like to join them.

The moving process is quick too, at least for you. The boys offered to help you move, but you adamantly refused. Your place had been so tiny that you didn't have the space to store many things and you didn't like shopping that much anyway so all of your clothes fit into the couple of large suitcases that you kept under your bed. Since most of the furniture had come with the room, you were able to bring everything over to the new dorm before the boys had even finished packing.

It's hard to settle in at first. You don't have any siblings and have never had to live with boys so it takes some getting used to. Luckily both Chan and Jeongin are quite careful about being respectful of your space. 

It's also a relief that you get to divide up some of the housework that you used to have to do all on your own. Even though it's not too much, it's nice to have more time in your day for other things and the three of you have developed a system that works well and feels natural.

Chan is meticulously clean and although you don't think you're that messy, you’re more careful to keep things in the right place. The worst part is that you know Chan won't complain or nag you if you leave your things around, he just quietly cleans up your messes which makes you feel both touched and a bit guilty.

You have no regrets about moving in with them, especially when you start to get more busy. It's nice to be living with people who have the same or similar schedules to you so you don't have to worry about losing track of time and being late to things. 

Not only that, but you feel like you have more support. Jeongin reminds you to eat regular meals and Chan checks in when he notices that you're up later than usual. The three of you chat more than you did before and now have a number of different inside jokes.

You're especially grateful because you can already sense that this comeback is going to be hard on you. It's not the songs that have you concerned, all the recording finished smoothly and you're more than happy with how your parts turned out. You also really like the concept that's being proposed for the cover art and all the music videos.

It's the dance that's the problem.

As a trainee, you had always excelled in dancing and had actually had been assigned the role of main dancer in some of the girl groups that you were considered for. It made it especially hard to come to terms with the fact that when you had joined Stray Kids, you weren't even included in the dance line. You knew that your singing was nice and your voice added diversity to the group, but it had never been what you were most confident in and you felt inadequate compared to Seungmin and Jeongin.

But when it comes to this title track, it's especially obvious why you're not considered as one of the lead dancers. By lunchtime, everyone has memorized the moves, you included, but the choreography is definitely more suited for male dancers. No matter how much you focus on trying to match the style of everyone else, you're sticking out like a sore thumb. 

Most of the members take a short break for lunch, but you're determined to keep practicing and Minho is willing to coach you through the parts that you're struggling with the most. On a technical level, you're hitting most of the moves, but you still haven't been able to do a runthrough that doesn't elicit at least a few corrections. You can tell that Minho is running out of patience and you're even more frustrated than he is.

Luckily the rest of practice is working on the different formations and angles for filming the music video, dance practice, and future performances. The details are less important and everyone is mainly focused on not crashing into each other.

You try to sneak in as many solo practice sessions as you can, but by the time filming for the dance practice rolls around, you’re still not feeling confident. In fact, you’ve been dreading the schedule for days and you feel a little queasy every time you think about it. It's far from your first dance practice filming, but something about this one just feels more daunting.

The morning of filming, you force yourself to eat a decent breakfast, knowing that skipping it would just make dancing more difficult for yourself. Chan had woken up early to prepare a simple meal while you and Jeongin had helped set the table and clean up afterwards. You're a bit more jittery than usual and you're pretty sure both of the boys have noticed, but they don't comment which you appreciate.

Everyone goes through hair and makeup fairly quickly, there's no elaborate outfits and crazy makeup for a more casual video like this. Your bad feeling for today just worsens when you see that while the rest of the boys are in their usual loose fitting sweats and shirts, you've been given a tight fitting outfit that reveals a bit more of your midriff than you usually like to show off. Even though you can't deny that it's a flattering look, it just makes you self conscious, feeling like you stood out even more than you usually did standing beside the guys.

Determined to power through filming, you warm up as quickly as you can so that you can spend as much time as possible reviewing the moves with the rest of the boys before the crew finishes setting up.

Your stomach is a flurry of butterflies as you get in position to start filming, even though you know that usually the first try is a throwaway. Not only is this the first time filming for the day, but the group hasn't actually done a performance of your new single, only practices.

You monitor the recording carefully. There's a few things to improve with the camera angles and position, that was to be expected, but you still have the nagging feeling that something about your dancing doesn't match the rest of the group.

You try to make your movements bigger in the next run through, while still looking natural and staying in time with the music. It's not quite right though and each time you try again, there's more and more things that you're unhappy with.

You can tell the rest of the group isn't pleased with how things are going either. You've been doing this long enough that these dance practices usually only take a couple hours to record, but now it's been at least three and none of the takes have even been considered as a keeper. A few times you haven't even been able to make it to the end of the song before someone messes up.

Your choreographer is in the back of the room and although he hasn't explicitly called you out, you can feel his gaze on you the longer this takes. 

“Come on guys,” Minho complains after a short break. “Focus! Let's get it done this time.” You watch as his eyes flicker towards where you're standing for the faintest of moments as he says it. It feels like a blow to the stomach.

You hate disappointing people, you're only human after all, but something feels even worse when you know it's the other members that you're letting down. Especially when it comes to dance, because you've always wanted to impress Minho and his notoriously high standards. The guilt sits heavy in your stomach as you push through your growing fatigue and take your position in front of the camera again.

As soon as both the director and choreographer announce that you're finished for the day, almost everybody collapses on the spot. One-takes are always the most exhausting and everybody has to focus on keeping their movements sharp because it's extremely obvious when you aren't in sync.

You, on the other hand, make your way to the screens where they're showing the playback. Sweat is dripping from your neck and forehead and you absent-mindedly swipe it away as you watch. Someone drapes a small towel over your head and you look over to see that Minho and Hyunjin have crowded behind you to take a look.

“It's good,” one of the managers comments.

Instead of agreeing, Minho hums noncommittally. You feel yourself tense up.

“What?” the manager asks. “Don't tell me you want to do it again.”

“No, no, it's fine.” Minho says mildly. 

“We can do another take,” the director offers. From behind him, one of the camera people groans quietly. You try not to wince at the sound and only partially succeed.

“I think this is the best we're going to get,” Minho replies, before he turns and walks back to where his things are, effectively ending the discussion.

“Sorry for making everyone stay late,” you say quietly, bowing quickly before trailing after Minho. Hyunjin eyes you weirdly as he keeps pace.

“Why'd you say that?” he asks as he packs his bag.

“I felt bad that they had to stay so long,” you say, confused. “We normally tell them that if filming goes over.”

“No.” Hyunjin pauses his movement to study you. You can't help but shrink away, feeling a bit like a bug under a microscope “We normally thank them for their hard work. You made it sound like it was your fault.”

“It's just been a long morning,” you deflect. “Are you heading back to the dorms now?”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his wet hair, flicking sweat everywhere. “Have to shower and I have a bit of time before my vocal lesson. Want to head back together?”

“You go ahead first,” you reassure him. “I have a couple things left to do at the company so I'll stick around for a bit longer.”

“Sure. If you're finished early, feel free to drop by. We can have dinner or something together,” Hyunjin offers.

“Sounds good! I don't know if I'll have time, but I'll definitely see I can join,” you promise.

Lying always leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but you know there's no way you're going to sacrifice time that you could be using to improve the dance just to hang out.

You stay late in the studio that night. Your only other schedule for the day is fittings for the music video and all the music shows, which finishes pretty quickly. Since you don't have much of an appetite anyway, you choose to skip Hyunjin’s dinner offer to continue practicing more. You had asked one of the managers to send you a copy of the dance practice and each time you replay it, the pit in your stomach seems to grow.

You lose track of time, picking apart each and every move to try and figure out what you're doing wrong. It's not until Minho knocks on the door and enters, startling you in the middle of yet another runthrough, that you realise how long you've been practicing.

“You still have so much energy?” Minho calls out as he walks closer to you.

“Just had a few things I wanted to fix up before I went home,” you explain in between breaths. 

“And?”

“And what?” you ask.

“Did you fix them?” he replies, raising an eyebrow as he scans your sweaty form and the empty room. “Have you been practicing this whole time? You've been here so long that even Channie-hyung went home. He asked me if you were at our place.”

“What? I-”

“It's almost 2am,” he says gently. “It's time to go home.”

“Can I do one more run through?” you ask sheepishly. “Actually, it’s good that you’re here, I just want to make sure-”

“You've been practicing long enough.” Minho's voice turns stern and he grabs your hand to lead you to the couch to sit. “Did you even eat?”

“I wasn't hungry,” you say quietly.

“Y/n-ah,” Minho scolds you. “You need to fuel your body if you're going to work it so hard, you know we've talked about this.”

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to practice more,” you say, staring down at your hands. You’re not allowed to pick at your nails since you just got them done, so you settle for fidgeting with one of the rings that you’re wearing. The sharp edges of the gemstones prick at your fingers but you can’t get yourself to stop. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just couldn’t get the dance right today. We had to film it so many times.”

“What are you talking about, Y/n-ah?” Minho asks, bewildered. “We weren’t- you weren’t the reason we had to redo the dance so many times.”

You look up at him finally and don’t see any of the annoyance that you were expecting. The concern and genuine confusion that you find instead catches you off guard.

“What? But- On our fourth take during the second chorus, my legwork was so sloppy compared-”

“Hannie literally forgot which direction we were supposed to move and he almost knocked into me,” Minho interrupts. “There was no way we were going to be able to use the footage, that’s why we stopped early.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

Minho taps a finger to his lips, deep in thought.

“Fifth take, well that was my fault, so we're not going to talk about that. Sixth try, Yongbokkie and Innie both missed a cue and crouched later than everybody else, that one made me want to pull out my hair.” He shakes his head.

“That’s when we took a break,” you realise.

“Yeah, we were hoping it would help us have a clean run. Jinnie had sweated through his makeup and needed touch-ups anyway.”

“I thought you guys were annoyed at me,” you say in a small voice. “You didn't seem happy with the final video.”

“It wasn't my best take,” Minho admits. “I kind of wanted to do it again, but I didn't want you guys to have to stay even later.”

“Did you even see yourself?” You reach for your phone and unlock it to show the paused dance practice video. “Look, I've been trying to copy how fluid you moved in this part. See there? I looked so stiff compared to you, it's awful.”

“Y/n-ah,” Minho says carefully. 

“And look at this move,” you say, skipping ahead a couple seconds. “I couldn't quite-”

You cut yourself off mid-sentence when Minho leans forward to pluck your phone our of your hands and throw it off to the side. You don't even fight him, just stare with wide eyes, scared of what he's going to say next. 

“You were fine, you did well. But even if you did mess up, it's okay. This dance is tiring, it's challenging. We all have bad days and it's okay to make mistakes.”

When you don’t say anything in response, he slowly moves closer and envelops you in a tight hug. You sniffle a little bit and when he starts to rub slow but firm circles onto your back, you can't stop the few tears that escape.

“Hey, what's going through your mind, huh?” he asks in a low voice. “Why are you being so hard on yourself?”

“I just don't want to let you guys down,” you say.

“Y/n-ah, you're not letting us down if we have to do a few more takes on a dance practice,” Minho says incredulously. “Is that all that's been worrying you?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “I was just nervous about filming the dance and disappointed when it didn't go like I wanted it to.”

“Silly girl,” Minho says, ruffling your hair affectionately. “You're doing just fine. It's okay to be nervous, but you don't have to be pushing yourself so hard. Come on, it's time to go home, we have an early schedule tomorrow.”

You follow him meekly as he leads you out of the building and to where a driver is waiting to take you back to your dorm. Even though you feel a bit better knowing that you weren't the cause of the schedule overruns, you're still not satisfied with how you're dancing, but you know that it's pointless to pick a fight. Not only is Minho just as stubborn as you, he's not afraid to bring in reinforcements and you'd hate for the rest of the group to catch on to how you've been spending most of your free time. They already have enough to worry about, the last thing you want is to add to that.

Moving forward, you don't stop practicing, but you do take more care to try and pretend that it's not eating up all your free time. You stop using your favourite studio, you know the dance so well that most of the time you don't even have music playing, and you make sure not to stay out late enough that it's noticeable.

You start to feel a little silly with how much time you've devoted to this, significantly more than the rest of the members, especially when the music video filming goes by without a hitch. By the time the Studio Choom video is filmed, you're a lot more confident about the performance and even starting to enjoy yourself.

The rest of the preparations for the comeback start to fly by, especially after the album announcement goes live. There's not a day that goes by that's not filled with different photoshoots or interviews.

Before you know it, the album is released and even though your schedule is absolutely packed, you spend all your free time reading through comments and reactions. Maybe it was cliche to say, but you really did treasure hearing from Stays and comebacks were always when you felt closest to them.  You especially liked being able to interact with them on a more personal level.

You were almost certain that you were the most active member on Bubble, you liked to send daily updates on what you were doing and reminders to Stay about maintaining their health. It did sting that you were also pretty certain that you had the least subscriptions and likely some of them only stuck around because you thought it was funny to send candid photos of the boys every so often.

You had always looked forward to fan signs the most though. Before you had debuted, you had loved seeing footage of the cute accessories, silly pick-up lines, and heartfelt messages from the fans. Not only that, but it was the only chance to speak to fans in person, even if it was only for a minute or two.

You were immensely grateful for everyone that supported you, but maybe it was your eager anticipation for fan signs that left you feeling so disappointed and empty. You had slowly grown used to Stays ignoring you for the boys, for always being the one that didn't receive any gifts to play with, for having the smallest stack of letters at the end of each event. But somehow you were always hopeful that the next time would be different.

Of course, it wasn't like you resented everybody else in the group. In fact, you were genuinely glad that they were enjoying themselves because they deserved it. They worked hard, were amazing performers and talented at creating music, and as a result, the fans loved them.

You, on the other hand, were just missing something, and it seemed that nothing you could do would change that. You had bounced through different positions, focused on vocals, dance, rap, music production, writing lyrics, and had enjoyed yourself thoroughly the whole time. If only the fans had liked it as much as you.

At least with fan calls, it wasn't as blatantly obvious that you were the least popular, least favourite member of the group. In fact, sometimes you were glad because you knew the boys often had crazy fans who had absurd or cringy requests while most of the time you spoke with someone who was politely feigning their interest.

It's almost funnier when the company sits you all down in the same room for the calls like they do today because you get to witness and subsequently tease the boys for the aegyo and silly poses they're forced to do. It's not like any of you can refuse anything the fans ask you to do, not with the staff breathing down your neck the whole time.

As expected, most of your calls are fairly generic and you're grateful for it. You have easy conversations about the album, which dances are your favourite, and you get to share some stories from the tour that you recently finished. You're maybe halfway through the calls when things start to take a turn for the worst.

“I even think that you would have done great as a solo artist! Are you thinking of releasing any solo music soon?” the girl that you're talking to asks excitedly.

“Oh, thank you.” You smile back even though the innocent question makes your chest ache for some reason. “I- well, solo music-” You take a deep breath to gather your thoughts. “I don't know about the future, but right now I really can't imagine releasing anything other than music as a part of Stray Kids. I love working and performing with the rest of the members and I wouldn't want to change anything.”

It's how you actually feel, but you can't help the way that your eyes dart over to check on the staff member that's supervising your call. You feel a bit better when you see their nod of approval and try to focus on the fan to finish the rest of the conversation.

Thankfully you get a quick break before the next call. You know the fan was probably trying to be encouraging, she had started off the call praising your skills and was probably just curious. Still, there's a voice in your mind that tells you that she'd prefer it if you weren't a member of Stray Kids. Or rather, she'd prefer that Stray Kids didn't have you in it.

You try to bring a positive mindset into your next call, but it's with a Stay that’s decidedly less interested in talking to you. You exchange greetings and make small talk until she seems to get an idea that makes her sit up straight all of a sudden.

“I have a question for you,” she says, eyes glinting in a way that makes you a little nervous, even though you're not sure why.

“Go ahead,” you encourage her because you're mostly feeling a bit relieved that she's finally showing some emotion other than boredom.

“Which of the boys would you say is best in bed?” she asks slyly.

You stare at her dumbly, thinking that you must have misheard her.

“Sorry,” you say, laughing uncomfortably. “I don't- I don't think I understand your question.”

“You heard me,” she scoffs. “What's the point in having you in the group if you're not sleeping with at least some, if not all of them?”

“No, I- It's not like that, I don't-” Flustered, you stare desperately at the staff, hoping they'll step in and end the call. Instead they just motion for you to continue. “I mean, we're close, but not-”

“If you want, you can just tell me your favourites,” she giggles, as if she's just asked you what songs on the album you liked. “It must be either Chan or Jeongin, if you decided to live with them.”

“No!” you exclaim.

“So it's not either of them?” she says, tapping a finger against her lip in thought.

“That's not the kind of relationship we have.”

Mortified, you find that you're tearing up a bit. You've heard the theories before, know that there's a lot of gossip and rumours because you're in a group of men, but you've never been outright accused to your face like this.

From the corner of your blurry field of vision, you see Seungmin wave bye to whoever he's talking to. He must hear the distress in your voice because he glances over, then does a double-take when he sees just how bad you're doing.

“What's going on?” he demands, stalking over. Before the staff can do anything to stop him, he leans forward and disconnects the call without a warning. “Why didn't you do anything, isn't it obvious that something’s wrong?”

“Y/n-ssi was handling it,” the staff member says. “It’s not fair to the fans if you cut a call short without reason.”

“No reason? Do you have eyes?!” Seungmin motions to where you're surreptitiously trying to blot away the tears without smudging your makeup. He's gotten the attention of everyone in the room now, even the members who are still in calls and have to pretend nothing is happening in the background. You can only hope that the phones aren't able to pick up anything being said.

“Min,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you tug on his sleeve lightly. He glances back at you, eyes softening slightly. “It's okay, I'm fine.”

You're grateful that he's stood up for you, but all the scrutiny is getting a bit overwhelming. You just want to move on and pretend nothing happened because the last thing that you want is for the company to think you're a liability who can't even handle a nosy fan.

Seungmin crouches in front of you and studies you carefully. You're still clutching onto the sleeve of his sweater. You take a deep breath to compose yourself, then give him a watery smile.

“I was just being really sensitive today, I promise,” you plead. “Just let it go.”

He starts to say something, then cuts himself off, eyes watching something happening over your shoulder.

“Let's just take a quick break from the calls,” Chan says evenly. You didn't even notice that he came up being you and is standing behind you protectively. “We'll be back in 10 minutes.”

It's a command, not a suggestion, something that the staff would normally push back against, but for some reason they stay quiet, allowing the nine of you to filter out of the room unimpeded.

Nobody says anything until you find an unoccupied dance studio. Minho is quick to lock the door after you all pile in.

“Hey,” Seungmin says softly from where he's been stuck to your side. “You holding up okay?”

“Yeah, I don't know what happened. I'm fine now,” you say.

“Are you sure?” Felix asks from where he's sitting on your other side.

“Really, it was nothing,” you assure him.

“If you were upset, then it's something,” Seungmin insists. “We promise we won't think it's silly or anything. It's probably something we've all heard before anyway.”

You have to turn away from the way that he's looking at you with his huge, pleading eyes. But the rest of the group is also gathered around, concern lining their faces.

“She implied that the only reason I'm in the group is because I'm sleeping with all you,” you say stiffly, regretting it immediately when you feel both Seungmin and Felix freeze in place. “Which obviously is not true, so it's not a big deal.”

“Y/n, you know that's unacceptable, right?” Chan says slowly, through what sounds like gritted teeth. You finally tear your eyes away from where you've been staring at the patterns that you can see in the grain of the wooden flooring, to see that his jaw is clenched, neck muscles pulled tight. 

“Fans say inappropriate things all the time, it's not like I haven't read things like that before. It comes with the job.” You shrug.

“That doesn't make it okay. This is serious. You shouldn't have to-” Chan cuts himself off when he notices that he's started to raise his voice and just pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Listen, I know. I just- I don't want this to be a big commotion. It sucks, I didn't respond well, whatever, let's move on,” you say. “She's going to post about it online, but in a few days, nobody is going to remember anyway.”

“Hyung, can't we just end the call if they do anything inappropriate?” Changbin complains.

“You know that we can't,” you remind him before anybody else can say anything. “It's part of our contract.”

“I hate these stupid fan calls!” Hyunjin passionately declares from where he's sprawled out on the floor. “Channie-hyung, can we just cancel the rest of them?”

“Don't say that,” you scold him mildly. “You love fan calls the most out of all of us.”

“I love some of them,” he argues back. “But not if that's the way you're going to be treated during them. Plus, if another person asks me to call them mommy then I'm actually going to quit being an idol.”

“Ew, your fans are weird.” Jisung wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“They're your fans too!” Hyunjin shoots back.

“Okay,” Chan claps his hands together a couple times before things devolve further. “Unfortunately, we do have to continue with the rest of the calls and we can't delay things too much. It's time to head back.”

There's a bit of casual chatter as everybody heads back, but you can tell everyone is still feeling a bit tense. Seungmin only releases your hand when he absolutely has to and you squeeze a couple times before you let go to try and reassure him that you're going to be fine.

The second you sit down, a makeup artist descends on you, tutting her tongue when she sees that you've accidentally wiped away some of your eyeshadow. You obediently stay still, watching as Chan approaches your table too, stopping to lean down and say something in the ear of the staff member that has been monitoring you. The blood slowly drains from her face and she nods rapidly in agreement with whatever he tells her. He claps a hand on her shoulder and even though it's a light and friendly gesture, you can see the way she flinches slightly.

You raise an eyebrow when he looks your way and he just smiles innocently in return and makes his way back to his seat. You don't comment, not even when you notice that the staff's fingers are trembling so hard that it takes her a couple tries to connect you to the next call. You know that it's not her fault, she's just following instructions from the company after all, but you're not feeling very sympathetic at the moment.

Instead, you just try to focus and take on an upbeat persona in the hopes that nobody realises how upset you truly feel. You're hurt and a bit wary of what the fans might do next, but you don't want to take it out on the people who haven’t done anything to you yet.

Fortunately, the rest of the calls are rather uneventful and you leave the company feeling drained, but not as terrible as you had expected.

You spend the rest of the day thinking about what you could have done differently, how you could have handled the call more gracefully, what kind of answer you should give if something similar ever happens again. But no matter what, you just get stuck pitifully thinking to yourself that it's not fair, you shouldn't have to deal with these kinds of questions in the first case. You're sure the company will give you a briefing and some scripted lines tomorrow anyway, so it's probably for the best that you just try to pretend nothing happened at all.

That evening, you try your best to avoid social media, but you knew that some of the other boys had seen videos based on the stormy expression on Jeongin's usually smiley face when you got home and the way that Chan comes back from the gym with more bruises than usual from his boxing session with Minho and Changbin.

They never say anything, but they have been extra careful around you. Chan has brought home your favourite takeout without you asking and Jeongin jumps up to clean up the second that everyone has finished eating. After you decline to watch a drama with them, you can hear one of them pacing past your bedroom every few minutes, pausing right outside your door before continuing on.

You have just decided to muster up the courage to actually watch the recording of the video, it was embarrassingly easy to find one, when Seungmin video calls you. You immediately click away from where your own stupid looking shocked face is paused on screen to answer because you know Seungmin knows that you prefer to text unless it's an emergency.

“Hey,” you greet him warily. “What's up?”

“Felix is trying to kill me,” Seungmin complains.

“What now?”

“Just look!”

Seungmin changes to his back camera to reveal their kitchen, which is littered with baking supplies and seems almost hazy for some reason.

“Is that smoke?” you ask, sitting up in bed.

“I said not to film!” Felix's voice comes from somewhere outside of the frame. Seungmin pans over dizzyingly fast to show where he's crouched in front of the oven, streaks of flour smudged on his clothes and in his hair.

“I'm not filming,” Seungmin comments, unbothered by the fact that Felix is pulling out a pan of what looks like they should be cookies but look alarmingly similar to lumps of coal. “I'm on a call. Show Y/nnie what you made,” he prompts.

“What?? Noooo,” Felix whines. “Y/n don't look!”

“What are those supposed to be?” you laugh.

“I wanted to make something to cheer you up,” Felix says miserably. Seungmin cackles, moving the camera closer so that you first get a close-up of Felix's face, then a better look at the burnt baking sheet. You keel over, stomach starting to hurt from how hard you're laughing. “I was trying to clean up while they baked and didn't hear the timer go off.”

“Well I appreciate the thought,” you say, when you can finally catch a breath. “And you definitely succeeded in making me feel better. Didn't the fire alarm go off?”

“We just got it to stop,” Seungmin says, switching the camera so that you can see his face again. “It's freezing in here now, we had to open all the windows to air out the place.”

“You poor things,” you coo, leaning back onto your bed now that you aren't concerned that they're in immediate danger. “Do you want to come over to our place?”

“I want to, but someone has to make sure that sunshine over here doesn't burn anything else.” Seungmin rolls his eyes, making you laugh again. You hear Felix yell something in the background. “I just wanted a witness in case I don't make it to our schedule tomorrow. I think I gotta go.”

“Yeah, I think you'll be busy cleaning up the rest of the night. See you tomorrow!”

You end the call, plunging your room back into darkness. You lie on your bed for a few moments before unlocking your phone again.

Even though you knew that it wasn't wise, like clockwork you found yourself scrolling through social media after every comeback. It used to be worse, when you had been living alone and would spend countless hours curled up on your tiny bed, face only illuminated by your phone. 

The rest of the members all know that you had private social media accounts, they all had them too even though you technically weren't allowed to. What they didn't know was how many nights you had wasted away, watching funny compilations, reaction videos, and analysis of performances. Sometimes, it even felt like you were subconsciously searching for the negative comments, wanting to understand better the mindset of the haters.

It was an old, but bad habit, so you had tried your best to stop once you moved in with Chan and Jeongin. But tonight you just couldn't sleep. After wandering into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water, you end up getting distracted by your Youtube recommendations.

You don't know what kind of strings the company pulled, but by some miracle, there's no clips of your disastrous fan call circulating any more, although there were still a lot of people talking about it.

There had been mixed comments. Some of the clips had excluded the terrible questions and people commented on how bad your media training must have been, but a majority of people were furious on your behalf and complained about how out of bounds the comment had been. 

You should be relieved that the videos have been taken down and you are to a certain extent, but just a couple days ago the dance practice that haunted you had been posted. Just one more thing to worry about. As you feared, while a majority of the comments were nice, there's already people picking apart your performance, comparing you to the boys. 

You click from one comment to another, then move onto fan made videos, inevitably falling down a rabbit hole of the many edits that exist where you had been cropped out or digitally removed. It was almost mesmerizing, watching videos of how well the group worked without you, how natural it looked to see what it would have looked like if it was just the eight of them. Some nights, you could almost forget that the edits were exactly that, edits and not the reality.

“Hey,” Chan interrupts. He is obviously trying his best not to scare you, but you were startled anyway, dropping your phone on the counter. “What are you up to so late?”

“It's nothing,” you said quickly, fumbling to lock your phone so that he can’t see the video that’s playing, but Chan had scooped it up before you had the chance to pick it back up.

“What's this-” You could see the moment that he pieced things together, the way that even in the dim lighting you could tell how his brow had furrowed and his hand had tightened around your phone. “How come you're not in these videos?”

“Hm?”

“You were definitely in this performance,” Chan says, studying the paused screen. “You're supposed to be… They removed you.” He finally realises with horror. “Why are you watching garbage like this?”

“I just want to know what Stay are thinking.” You shrug. “I saw this video and couldn't help but watch. It’s not a big deal, I was just curious.”

“They're not Stay if they're not supporting the whole group!” Chan startles you with the sharpness of his voice. He catches sight of your wide eyes and softens his tone. “Sorry, I just hate akgaes and seeing these kind of posts.”

“Oh come on,” you say. “You're telling me that you've never thought about what the group would be like if you weren't being dragged down by me?”

“Dragged down- Y/n-”

“Don't lie to me, oppa. I know you've seen what people are saying about the group, about me. Have you seen some of these edits? Stray Kids looks good as eight,” you admit.

“I’m not lying! None of us would want to be making music or performing without you,” Chan insists.

“You don't have to say that just to not make me feel bad.” You shake your head.

“We’ve been together from the start, why would I have chosen you to be a part of Stray Kids if I didn't actually want you to be on the team?” Chan asks, sounding frustrated, but also genuinely curious.

“Because the company added me to the team at the last minute?” you say, as if it's obvious. Because to you, and basically everybody else, it is. “I know I wasn't part of the group that you picked. It's okay-”

“What are you talking about? You know that I chose you too, right?” he asks slowly. 

“But the company-”

“They couldn’t have just added you to the group without our say.”

“No, I know that you guys agreed it to, but-”

“Y/n-ah, we didn't just agree to it. They told me they wanted us to consider adding a female member to Stray Kids. We thought about it and said yes. I was the one who wanted that member to be you.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. 

“What?”

“Why are you so surprised? I saw your evaluations, you were one of trainees strongest in dance, probably the only one that could keep up with us, your singing has always been stable, and I know that based on your personality and work ethic, you would get along well with the rest of us. It was the obvious choice.”

“Oh.” Is all you can say, mind racing.

“You really thought the company just added your name onto the roster and we went along with it?”

“I don't know, I guess so?” you say sheepishly. “I was just so grateful to debut, it didn't matter at the time. It felt so out of the blue.”

“You know that one of the reasons that JYP didn't have you on that many of the girl group line-ups was because he was considering making you a solo artist, right?”

“Huh? There's no way,” you immediately deny. “Nobody ever mentioned that-”

“He told me when I brought up your name to add to the group. I guess they never wanted to get your hopes up.”

“I thought they were going to drop me soon,” you admit, scratching at the back of your neck. “I uh, I thought maybe I would do at most one more year of training and then move back in with my family. I had even started filling out university applications to keep my options open.”

“Y/n, you were consistently having amazing evaluations, you were being praised so much by everyone. Why would you doubt yourself?”

“Three years as a trainee and nothing to show for it. You know what it was like, how hard it was to see people come and go. It didn't matter how great my evaluations were if I never got to debut.”

“But-”

“Don't tell me that you never thought about quitting. Oppa, I thought that you of all people would understand what it was like.” You hate the way that your voice cracks.

“I thought about it all the time,” Chan says. “Sorry, I didn't mean it like that.”

“It's fine,” you mumble.

“Y/n-ah,” Chan asks tentatively, like he's afraid to learn the answer. “All these years that we've been together, did you really think we didn't want you?”

“Yes? Well, not really. I didn't think you guys disliked having me in the group per se, I just always thought that maybe you would like it more if I wasn't? And I guess it didn't help that there are a lot of people who thought the same way.”

“I'm sorry we didn't reassure you more.” Chan runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “How did we not see that you felt this way?”

“Because I didn't want you to? It's not like it was your fault anyway, I was just overthinking.”

“You know we're going to have to make it up to you, right?” Chan says, looking a little mischievous. 

“Oh please no,” you say, backing away nervously thinking of how much coddling and smothering you're about to endure. You're pretty sure you're already one of the members that's doted on the most. “Things are good as they are.”

“Nope, I refuse.” Chan approaches you, reaching out and catching your wrist so that you can't get away. “We're going to give you so much love that you're not going to doubt yourself ever again.”

“No!” you squeal, trying to tug away from his grip. “I already-” 

The rest of your sentence gets cut off as Chan pulls you into an embrace and your face gets smashed against his shoulder. He squeezes you tightly and contrary to your words, you just relax into his hold.

“What are you guys doing? You're being so loud.”

Both you and Chan freeze, then turn to stare as Jeongin shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with his hair all mussed up. You turn back to Chan for a second before he replies.

“Just having a bit of a heart to heart, Innie. Come here, join us,” he invites.

“Ugh, why would I want to hug either of you?” Jeongin complains, wrinkling his nose before immediately walking over and enveloping both of you in his arms.

Even though you know you're going to have to leave for a schedule in a matter of hours, with both Chan and Jeongin's arms wrapped tight around you, you feel lighter than you have in months. You feel secure, at ease, and finally, like you've found a home in these boys.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

[saudianna]

💥 love is papaya orange ᝰ.ᐟ

ੈ✩‧₊˚ : word count : 1.1k proofread once ahah ੈ✩‧₊˚ : synopsis : after oscar's first championship win, his ego clashes with you- lando's lifelong best friend—when they're forced to work closely at McLaren. what starts as hate turns into secret tension, messy feelings, and a tangled love triangle that neither sscar nor lando saw coming… until it explodes into something no one can control!! ੈ✩‧₊˚ : featuring : oscar x engineer!reader x lando ੈ✩‧₊˚ : author's note : my first fic!!! ive been on tumblr for a year and a bit now, and ive finally gained the courage to post something. constructive criticism is very appreciated, enjoy!! also this is set in 2026 ੈ✩‧₊˚ : genre : smut, smut and more smut!! theres some fluff and angst in the midst of it all ੈ✩‧₊˚ : tws : oral (f receiving), fwb, overstimulation, love triangle, fingering, lands neglected in this chapter, praise, degradation if you squint real hard,

<- previous | part 2 | forwards ->

part 2. meeting 🐅

It was a quiet, airy evening in Woking, the McLaren dinner awaiting you. The luxurious limo picking you up and dropping you off at a visibly expensive restaurant, you headed inside. Unfortunately a bit late, but hey, punctuality wasn't really your thing anyway. You spot Zak, waving and processing the new faces, and old! You waved all big to your big time childhood friend, Lando Norris! He stood up to greet you and you sat inbetween him and another familiar face. You had obviously always watched F1 so you had recognized him almost immediately.. except he rather looked a bit bleek. Oscar Piastri. The 2025 WDC winner, multiple grand prix winner and to you at least, McLaren's number 2 driver. You put out your hand to shake his, but instead he looked you up and down and gave you an obviously fake, and rather weak smile as he shook your hand inattentively. You raised your eyebrows as he turned around, rather appauled by his disrespectful and honestly pathetic attempt to try and disregard you! Had he not known you were the new Race Engineer? 

Already having somebody look over you and your abilities was short of your expectations. You weren't particularly surprised, always having people feeling disdain about you and credentials. But maybe you were expecting for something to change here. You tried to enjoy your dinner with the rest of the welcoming crew, but had a pit in your stomach, feeling you had already made an enemy, he shot you dirty looks the entire night, But why? You didn't understand exactly why orwhat you did to make him feel this way about you already, maybe he was upset that Andrea Stella had left, but either way it was evident that he did not enjoy your presence.

The ride home was settling, Lando's arm draped over your shoulder as you guys caught up and he comforted you about the Oscar situation. It had been 2 years since you had seen the lifelong best friend, so it was nice to reconnect. You guys had been friends with benefits before and the last time you saw each other had ended up with a rather.. passionate send-off. You lock eyes with him and he grabs your jawline softly. "Can i?" he cooed, and you nodded a bit. He pulled you in for a deep kiss and you melted into it. "Its been so long, I've craved you so much..." you smiled and laughed gently, he tucked your hair behind your ears and scooted to the other side of the limo as it slowed down on your street. Lando rushed to get out and open you door, like the true gentleman he was. You giggled as he took your hand and kissed it and pulled you up. He walked over to your hotels lobby door, opening that for you as well. 

You basically crashed into his arms as soon as your hotel room was open, he undressed you, high heels and silky black dress dusted to the side. He smirked at the sight of you. "Good lord.. I missed this view." he grinned and pushed you off him, he removed his suit and crawled over to you on the bed. "So gorgeous huh? You missed me?" you nodded but that wasn't enough for him. "Use your words. Or ill punish you.. and we all know what happens then." you quivered and responded, "Y-Yes I missed you Lando.." you stammered out. "Awh, so nervous for what baby? Or is it excitement?" he chuckled and dipped his fingers down to where you needed him most. "Fuck. So wet for me darling." he groaned at the moisture encasing your panties. He grabbed the waistband of your lacy panties, pulling them and letting them snap back to your hip. He looked up at you, one thigh bent and your hand in his hair and he sneered. "Beg for it baby." you gulped and parted your lips, "Please Lando.. i want your tongue on me so bad.." he snickered to himself "Good girl baby, so eager for me" he pulled your panties down teasing you. 

He pressed a small kiss to your clit and you wriggled, he grabbed your thighs. "Are you sure this is okay baby? We don't have to.." you cut him off- "No please- i need you so bad!" and he giggled to himself. "Alright.. just lay back and enjoy it baby." without warning, he slid his tongue, flatted out, and licked a long stripe up the soaking folds, a slowness to it that was just right. You moaned at the feeling and he breathed out, happy to know you were enjoying it. "You liking it gorgeous?" he gasped out and you nodded frantically. "God.. Lan.. feels so good." you moaned embarrassingly loud as he eased two fingers into you and sucked softed on your sensitive nub. He lapped at your cunt, savouring the sheer gloss that covered his face and your pussy. 

"Fuck.." he stuttered out and pulled you closer, spreading your legs open and covering your cunny in spit and drool. Your legs quivered and you let out a breathy moan. "F-Fuck! Lan! I'm so close p-please" You gripped the covers, and he giggled agains your cunt, causing vibrations to run through your body. He pushed through and sent you tumbling over the edge with your climax. But to your surprise, he didn't stop, he just pushed you through and after. "L-Lan! Fuck t-too much!! Please- god-!" he chuckled out sinisterly and carried on lapping at your poor overstimulated cunt. You came for a second time, wailing so hard you were sure you were gonna receive noise complaints. Tears prickling your eyes, you let out a breathy sob as he held your waist. 

"Are you okay baby?" you nodded frantically. "Yes.. fuck.. thank you Lan.." you heaved and tried to catch your breath. He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Im glad you enjoyed it but don't worry about returning the favour now. I know you're tired." you smiled and he pulled you up into his arms. "Just sleep. We have a long day at the HQ tomorrow." you nodded and let out a small 'mhm' and he pulled the duvet up over the two of you, acting as your bigger spoon. You drifted off as he stroked you hair and let out little praises of doing so well for him.

<- previous | part 2 | forwards ->

a/n; I really hope you enjoyed this I was so scared to post this, but ive finally done it!! and dont yall worry cuz chap 3 is already in the making and ive planned all of the rest, im expecting there to be around 5-10 chapters, but honestly i dont know. so wish me luck!! mwah xx - sau

[grimmsbride]

HABITS [ curly / reader ]

when it comes to picking coworkers, curly isn’t the most dependable. but.. the same could be said about keeping his feelings in check.

tags / ex - friends with benefits to lovers(?) | bittersweet | oral sex ( fem. receiving ) | slight praise kink | porn without plot | canon-divergence | chubby coded reader | curly isn’t 100% accurate & i am sorry this is my first time writing for him | curly is lowkey a liar but it’s okay | curly is big ( based off fanart mostly but also game ) | pet names | etc. if i forgot something please alert me.

notes / it has been like.. months since i last posted on tumblr. but i am slowly getting my spark back. this has also been cross posted on archive so if you see it there do not be alarmed. my writing is rusty, so please be nice with criticisms i’m quite sensitive 😭 but please do enjoy <3

“You look like shit.” You murmured softly, eyes carrying up the man’s form. You hadn’t expected anyone to be awake at this hour, let alone outside of their quarters. But whether to your dismay or pleasure someone had joined your little excursion, that someone being your beloved Captain; Curly.

Who looked to be teetering between the land of the dead and living. Bags lined those pretty eyes, a little red— surely from strain. When was the last time he got enough sleep? Was a thought that quickly passed your mind. Regardless you decided against asking, seeing as you were positive he wouldn’t have an answer for you anyway.

The Captain— Curly, allowed the corner of his mouth to lift; a humorous sigh escaping him. “Do I? Hadn’t noticed..”

“And here I thought Mr. Handsome prided himself on his vanity and dignity.”

The man shook his head at your usual flirty remarks, glancing about your own form. He took in the makeshift wrap of blankets you held around your pajama-clad body, noticing your feet covered in slippers. Not the proper attire obviously, but reprimanding you just didn’t seem worth it at the moment.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrugged, eyes shifting away to glance at a wall. “More like didn’t want to. With so much work to be done I rarely get any time to my thoughts.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“For you.. maybe. I quite enjoy my mind.”

You smiled at the soft chuckle that escaped him, taking the moment to move just a bit closer. Again, your eyes landed upon those dreaded bags; hand rising slowly to his face. You watched as his eyes focused quite quickly, clearly puzzled by your sudden attention. Regardless he didn’t move, instead allowing your palm to press against his cheek— your thumb then moving to trace a bag.

“I’m serious though. It looks like you haven’t gotten sleep in days. Is something wrong?”

A flicker.. just a slight glint, drifted through his gaze. An emotion you couldn’t quite place but didn’t like regardless. You stood silently, watching as his hand rose before your own. Gentle fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging your hand down his cheek — the abrasion of his facial hair tickling your palm — before pulling it away from him.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about [Name].”

Curly spoke, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. But you knew him. All, too, well. The man could hold water but there were times it spilled over just a little. Even if he didn’t explicitly say it, you knew his concern was something big— something that definitely affected you.

“Captain stuff, huh?” You said slowly, hand pulling away from his own in a dejected fashion. You couldn’t help but feel that way, eyes drifting away almost stubbornly.

“I thought our relationship was above such titles.”

“[Name]—“

You shook your head, Curly clamming up in response. Times like these were exactly why you regretted taking the man up on his offer. The promise of lines not being crossed was a discussion made in the same breath, yet here you were; questioning why exactly your past relations meant little to his decision to be secretive.

But it was just relations.. right? Just sex, a way to blow off steam. People that sleep together with no love shouldn’t act like this anyway.

Your eyes finally lifted from its stubborn gaze on the wall and back to the blonde before you, attempting to seem unfazed by the intense stare he was delivering you.

You forced a smile. “I’m just messing with you, Captain. Lighten up a bit.”

Curly continued to stare before coming close, a single footstep that pressed against the metal beneath the two of you. You nearly forgot how large the male was; broad and tall, staring down at you with those bag lined.. beautiful eyes. He reached over, fingers ghosting the back of your hand for a moment before grabbing it.

This caused you to shiver, eyes widening slowly as you watched the man bring it back to its previous place; right at his cheek. He used his own appendage to assure you cupped his face.

“I know you well enough to know when you’re joking or not, [Name].” Curly spoke lowly, eyes flickering between multiple spots on your face. “Right now.. I don’t want to worry you. It’s something I’ll figure out, but I will let you know soon.. I promise.”

That’s what you hated most about Curly. Even if you were clearly worried about him, he just loved to spin it so he could worry about you. All while easing such worries with the prettiest words. a master of the tongue. In more ways than one.

The flush of warmth that broached your cheeks was hard to ignore, eyes fluttering to the ground as his gaze grew intense. You allowed your thumb to trace his skin, teeth grazing the inside of your cheek. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let such thoughts or feelings resurface. Strictly professional was your own personal mantra.

Yet here you were, holding the cheek of the man you’ve been pining for— desperately wanting to touch more.

And that you did.

Against better judgement, head clear of thinking— you pressed forward, allowing your lips to brush against his own. You felt his breath stutter, body growing still at your bold action. This allowed your eyes to rise, batting thick eyelashes at the man as you spoke:

“Then.. until then, why don’t I take your mind off of it?”

You solidified your words in a single kiss, free hand clutching your blanket that threatened to slip. You felt the hand on your own slowly fall, clearly from shock. You couldn’t blame him. This was going against everything the two of you decided on. Everything the two of you have built since being onboard of this ship.

Even so, you didn’t mind destroying it— nor did your beloved captain.

Large hands slid under your blanket, finding the small of your back. With a pull you were flush against his form, the kiss deepening. Soft lips collided in a gentle battle, that slowly became fierce as time passed. Feelings buried deep began to bubble over, creating that haze that left you breathless. You could only moan as his tongue slid across your lips, effectively parting them. There, Curly took his time to claim your mouth as his once again, coating each and every inch with his saliva.

Your hand slid from his cheek to a large shoulder, gripping him so tightly as your knees began to buckle. Any longer and you were sure you would topple over right then and there.

Desperate for air Curly reluctantly pulled away, staring at that little string that connected the two of you. Heavy breaths escaped you, causing the want developing deep in his stomach to just burn even more. His eyes lifted away from you for a moment, an inner turmoil playing behind his eyes.

He was the Captain. He didn’t have time to play hooky and hook up with an old fling. Curly had duties.. responsibilities and expectations. And yet, as his flicked back to your form; so wanton and palpable— any thought of being the revered Captain of Tulpar escaped quite quickly.

Leaving behind Curly. A man who couldn’t quite help his desires. And a man who wasn’t the best at picking his coworkers.

“Come here.” Curly spoke softly, tugging you close before leaning; slipping his hands under your legs and lifting you easily.

The butterflies in your stomach tumbled and tumbled, threatening to spill from your mouth the moment he stepped towards his room. Effortlessly, as if your body meant completely nothing. Oh how you loved whenever he showed off his strength.

The door slid open routinely, revealing the simple quarters. A bed, desk, and dresser— surely filled with underwear and extra uniforms. The air was cool, perfect yet you couldn’t help but shiver the moment the man laid you across his sheets. A breath caught in your throat as he climbed over you, a hulking mass covering your line of vision only allowing you to see him.

Curly’s hands pressed against the mattress beneath you, leaning down to steal your lips once again. His light beard brushed against your skin, a feeling that caused you to chuckle, a feeling you missed.. feeling. Your hands rose, collecting his face into your palms as you deepened the kiss. Soft smacks of passion passed throughout the room as lips tangled in a secret conversation.

A hand rose from the mattress, treading down your plump form to find the edge of your shirt. His fingers, ever so gentle, slid under the fabric to spread across the span of your warm stomach. You sighed into his mouth, reeling into his touch as it grew higher and higher— soon skimming the bottom of your breasts.

“Curly..don’t tease.” You pulled back to speak, eyes focused on his features. You couldn’t help the pulse between your thighs the moment an impish smile crossed his features.

“I’m not, just.. remembering.”

With his soft murmur Curly was lifting your shirt off your body, placing it somewhere on the bed. Lowering, his breath fanned across your warm skin, gentle kisses pressing against your neck.

You hissed, eyes pinching closed, as your hands lowered to grasp his arms. Your lips parted as a large hand soon covered one of your breasts, gently squeezing whilst his thumb brushed against your hardening nipple.

As much as you wished to beg for more you knew better than to do so. Curly wasn’t a person that rushed when it came to these things. He enjoyed taking his time, building your pleasure bit by bit so when the main event happened you were completely lost in ecstasy. And as annoying as it was to admit, you couldn’t help but love his attention to detail.

The kisses lowered to the valley of your chest, tongue gliding across the hot skin, sliding to your untouched nipple. The man mumbled against your flesh, licking and sucking; delivering such sweet attention you couldn’t help the bated breaths beginning to form.

Should you be worried? The others weren’t close but weren’t far. And you highly doubt any of them would want to be waken by your less than professional “activities”.

Unfortunately, as Curly’s other hand traveled low concern for their sleep slowly drifted away.

You whimpered softly as his hand breached your pants and panties, fingers gliding across your slick slit for a moment before using two to spread you gently. Fuck.. was the simple sigh that escaped you as his middle finger easily found your swelling bud, rubbing it into slow circles.

“Fu..fuck Curly, I’m supposed to be taking your mind off work.”

Curly lifted from your breast, nipple red and slick from his constant attention. “Oh don’t worry, you are.” The man confirmed, allowing a finger to slide lower— pressing against your entrance. With ease it was slipping in, velvety walls swallowing the thick digit greedily.

“Now all I can think about is you, your body, your reactions.. how much I missed when you’d…—“ As another finger of his slid in, the Captain curled them ever so slightly, watching intently as your lips parted wider, a breathy moan escaping your throat.

“— did that.”

His lips curled, clearly delighted. Would it be cocky to admit he loved the way you didn’t change? How he still remembered every single button to press? It was if.. you were made perfectly, just for him.

That, or Curly ruined you for every other man.

The man released your breast for a moment to tug your bottoms down, allowing him to watch his fingers appear and disappear into your wet snatch. Soft plaps escaped from between your pretty thighs, arousal trickling down his appendages and surely to your taint.

His mouth couldn’t help but water, and without thinking the man was lowering closer. Curly’s lips parted above your cunt, breath fanning across the wet heat for a moment before covering your sweet little bud. His free hand quickly came to rest on your lower stomach, only to then decide to hold you down with his forearm.

There; unable to move, his lips sucked your swollen clit, beard brushing across you so deliciously.

A swear dropped from your lips, hands flying to your mouth to cover more sounds that threatened to spill. Your legs fluttered, a warmth brewing deep in your tummy— one you haven’t felt in months. Sure, when you could you rubbed one out — unfortunately without your beloved vibrator that hadn’t made it on Tulpar with you — but this was different. A feeling you couldn’t quite replicate with your own fingers or imagination.

His fingers were just so much longer, bigger; filling and stretching you perfectly. Pushing against your warm walls, curling to press against spots you couldn’t achieve. And even as your clit began to sting at the sensitivity, the pleasure was far more overwhelming.

Tears sprung at your eyes and through a glossy gaze you were taking Curly in. His own eyes were closed, heated breaths and groans fanning against your cunt as he devoured you effortlessly. Such a fucking messy eater. And you loved it.

As the pleasure brewed, forming into a band bound to snap you allowed a hand to lower to his hair, fluffy blonde locks sliding through the gaps of your fingers as you clung to him. Your legs shook, body arching off the bed as your other hand held your mouth so harshly you were sure there were scratches on your cheek.

“Fuck..!” Slammed against your palm in a muffled cry, body clenching as you came undone. You heard an all too familiar groan of pure delight as Curly gently lapped you up, withdrawing his fingers but refusing to remove his arm.

Whimpers of overstimulation did nothing to him, the man continuing to clean you up until he was satisfied. And when he finally was, he rose, the bottom half of his face coated with your mess.

Your hand lowered from your mouth, soft pants escaping. “I hate you.”

“Do you?” Curly was quick to answer, moving his arm to instead grasp your thighs. He lifted you a bit, pulling your bottom closer to him. Once you nodded the man chuckled, thumbs gliding across the marks that were painted across your hips.

“I don’t believe that. Not one bit.”

You opened your mouth to retaliate, but was left silently searching for snarky banter as you watched the captain’s hands move towards his slacks. There, his thumbs caught the waist band of his bottoms, tugging them down to reveal that sharp v-line and much more. Curly was a large man, everywhere. His length was thick, a round tip— bulging red with an angry vein traveling down his pale shaft.

You wondered if a pillow would be better than your hands at this point.

“Thought you were gonna say something..”

Curly teased, pulling his bottoms down the rest of the way and tossing them with your pile of clothes. He could only chuckle as you shook your head, crawling over your form to hover a breath’s away from you.

“Good.”

The man was smart to capture your lips as the moment you felt his length prod and push, you couldn’t help the little cry escaping you— perfectly muffled by his own mouth.

The stretch burned, burned so damn good you could have came again just from that. Curly was a gentleman of course, pushing in slowly, allowing you to grow accustomed to his size after so many months.

About halfway you were pulling away from his lips, head pressed against the pillow beneath you as sharp pants escaped you. Curly’s hand brushed your hip whilst the other cradled your face.

“That’s good.. breathe, you can take it all— can’t you?” His voice was sweet, soothing as his hips continued to push— plunging deep inside of you.

Your eyes were struggling to stay open, pretty groans falling from your tongue, easing into a sigh the moment you felt his hips stop; now fully seated within you. The feeling was mildly uncomfortable, even with his loving preparation, but you could make do.

You have before.

Curly leaned down, pressing his lips to your face, peppering them across his skin. Your forehead, under your eye, your nose, lips, and chin— everywhere he could reach. Attempting to soothe you even more.

Your hands rose gliding under his shirt to instead press against his broad, muscular back. Your finger tips traced little shapes across his skin, soon curling to allow your nails to scrape the moment he moved his hips.

Curly began to pull them back slowly, allowing only the tip inside before pushing forward. A single motion that caused the both of you to shudder, pleasure quickly brewing once more.

Soon enough with little restraint, Curly started a gentle pace. Back and forth, a hand on your waist whilst the other kept him upright. His length pressed into you deeply, pushing against a spongy spot that caused stars to invade your vision.

Your eyes were screwed shut, mouth lax as whimpers of passion escaped you sharply. Your nails dug and dragged into his back, an ache forming in your hips as his simple thrust became drills.

Curly couldn’t help himself at this point. He’s been holding back for far too long. Every interaction, every playful banter, every secret exchange of the eyes— played within in his mind. The man was smart enough to acknowledge how stupid he was. Playing with yours and his feelings, pretending your past didn’t matter; that coworkers were a status that you could achieve.

But no. He was fooling himself. There’s no way in hell, especially after this, was the man going to be able to go back to just being coworkers.

“Curly.. fuck, fuck— they’re gonna hear—!” You cried, legs shaky and wrapped tight around his waist. In the midst of his haze had suddenly increased his speed, ferocity; placing nearly his entire weight behind each thrust. Your eyes were rolling back at this point, nearly lost to the pleasure if it wasn’t for the sudden banging of the bed against the wall.

That fear of being discovered nearly killed your high.

Fortunately, Curly heeded your concerns, his hand lifting from the bed to instead grip the metal railing. You nearly gushed on the spot, watching his eyebrows pressed close, focusing so intently on your pleasure. His grip on your hip nearly mirrored the bed, refusing to release you. Every thrust you took, pushing you deep into the mattress as your breath threatened to leave.

“Mi..missed you.. I missed you so much.” Curly huffed, pants escaping his open mouth as his thrusts never faltered. The wet sounds of skin on skin filled the room, a steady rhythm to accompany his thrusts.

You tugged him closer by his back, shoving your face into his neck with your mouth directly against his ear. You wished to reply, expressing you felt the same exact way— even more. But of course you were left to only moan and gasp, his name coming out in struggled cries that only stirred him up even more.

Moments of your intense passion continued until your peaks grew closer, the two of you struggling even harder to keep your voices level. Maybe you two truly didn’t give a damn who heard.

“Curly!—“ His lips were colliding with yours in moments, sealing the deal as you came undone for the second time that night. You gushed around him, coating his dick with your thick essence— trickling to his sheets.

The man, releasing a final groan right into your mouth, pushing deep; releasing inside of you. Filling you to the brim.

The captain’s hips slowly settled, yet his lips continued to cover your own; moving slowly and lovingly. Curly released the bed frame to instead cup your face, cool fingers an ease to your hot skin.

Soon enough the two of you pulled away, a soft groan escaping you as the man slowly slid out of you. You tried to ignore the rather unpleasant feeling of his release slowly trickling out of you, instead focusing on the man above you— who was currently smiling.

Your swollen lips flattened into a pout, hands rising from his back to instead rising to his face.

“Don’t smile at me, Captain.”

Curly chuckled, hands sliding under you to lift whilst he sat up. Pulling you onto his lap, the man cradled your waist, thumbs brushing across your skin.

“It’s habit at this point, my love.”

You couldn’t help your own smile, arms wrapping around his neck, leaning to give him a small peck.

“Mhm..” You only hummed, eyes closing in a blissful manner as his forehead pressed against your own.

“No matter what, I’ll always be here to support. You know that, right?”

“I know, [Name]. I know.”

[lemoncrushh]

You Said You'd Never Leave

Summary: You worry that you can no longer handle being Harry's girlfriend.

Warnings: angst, insecurities, mentions of body image issues and anxiety

Word Count: 1735

A/N: Another angsty blurb from my 2016 collection, most likely based on a prompt. Famous Harry x reader.

Juggling the bags of groceries in your hands, you turned the key and shoved the door open with your knee. Not bothering to close it behind you, you made it to the kitchen without dropping the bags until you reached the counter. That was when the tears began to fall. You rested your hands on the countertop while your vision blurred as you let it all out. Your entire body shook with sobs. You couldn't do this anymore.

You suddenly heard a sound, causing you to stand up straight and wipe your eyes. But you quickly realized it was just something outside, a neighbor mowing his lawn, or perhaps the postal carrier. Remembering that you'd left the front door open, you walked over to shut it, turning the lock. You leaned against the closed door, your shoulders still shaking and your heart pounding in your chest.

"Stop crying," you told yourself, wiping your soaked cheek with the back of your hand.

You returned to the kitchen to unload the groceries. As you put the vegetables in the refrigerator, you secretly wondered if they would go bad after you left.

After you left...

You shook your head, hurrying to put the rest of the food away before another flood of tears came. Then you headed for the bedroom where your dress hung on the closet door. You stopped in the doorway when you saw it. You'd almost forgotten you'd hung it there the night before. It was long and black with a deep neckline. Although you'd been hesitant to wear it, Harry had told you you'd look beautiful in it.

Trying your best not to cry again, you walked into the adjacent bathroom and turned on the water for a shower. Then you deliberately undressed, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

You didn't like what you saw. Worse, you didn't like what other people saw.

Your body and overall physical appearance had never been an issue until you'd started dating Harry. Sure, he thought you were beautiful and told you so constantly. But it never seemed to be enough to chase away the inner demons, the voices in your head that told you he was too good for you, and completely out of your league.

Of course it didn't help that everywhere you turned someone was talking about you, posting pictures of you either alone or together. They would criticize what you were wearing, commenting on your curves or some minuscule detail that you'd never even thought twice about before. The magazines printed trash about you, sometimes twisting a story or even making one up completely just to shut you down.

You'd been dealing with this for a while now. You'd moved in with Harry nearly three months ago, and you'd dated for another five months before that. One would think you knew how to shake things off and let them be. But you couldn't. It got to you. It scarred you.

You even had Harry fooled. Not that he didn't know what you were going through. He saw it firsthand. He knew it bothered you. But he had no idea to what degree. You acted cool as a cucumber when you were out, and assured him many times over that seeing the tabloids and pap pictures didn't mean a thing to you.

It was all a lie.

As you stepped into the shower, you recalled the look on the woman's face in the supermarket. She'd looked at you like she knew you and for a moment you even glared at her, trying to place her from somewhere. But when she glanced at the magazine on display and back at you, you knew she was scrutinizing you, mentally nit-picking every little detail about you. You'd turned around to pay for your groceries when the young cashier's jaw dropped.

"Oh my God," she'd said, halfway between a squeal and a cough.

You'd quickly paid for your items and made your way out to the parking lot, not giving the girl a chance to say anything beyond have a nice day. You could feel the eyes on you. You couldn't see them, but you knew they were there. You'd driven home in silence until your phone rang, scaring you and causing you to nearly run off the road. You'd known it was Harry, but you didn't answer.

After the shower, you dried off with a towel and returned to the bedroom. You eyed the dress hanging up, but instead opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. You knew you wouldn't be wearing that dress tonight.

You weren't sure how long you'd been sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into space when you heard the front door open. You didn't bother to answer when Harry called your name down the hall. You didn't even look up when he stopped in the doorway.

"Hey," he greeted. "Did you get my message?"

You lifted your head slowly then. You'd forgotten to play back his message.

"Sorry," you muttered. "I was in the car when you called."

"Oh," he said, stepping into the room. "No worries. I was just saying I'd be a little late."

"Okay," you nodded solemnly.

"Something wrong?" Harry inquired. "I thought you'd be dressed."

You looked down at your t-shirt that you'd already forgotten you'd put on. You took a deep breath and lifted your eyes.

"I'm not going," you replied.

Harry furrowed his brows. "What? Why not?"

You ran a hand down your face and bit your lip. Then you picked at a thread in your shorts.

"Because I'm tired. I can't do this anymore, Harry."

The tears threatened to well in your eyes again, but you forced them at bay.

"What? Can't do what?"

"This," you threw your hands up. "This relationship. Being Harry Styles's girlfriend."

Harry was silent but you felt the bed shift as he sat down beside you. Then he took your hand and threaded his fingers through yours.

"Baby..." he breathed. "Talk to me. Tell me what happened."

Your chest ached with the sobs that were threatening to emerge.

"It's not one thing that happened, Harry," you explained. "It's everything. I feel them looking at me. Everywhere I go, they're either glaring at me or talking about me behind my back."

Harry squeezed your hand, remaining silent, knowing you still had more to say.

"They say horrible things. Not just about our relationship, but about me personally. My body, how I'm not good enough for you. And they're right."

"[Y/N]," Harry finally spoke, "Baby, I-"

You freed your hand from his grasp and rose from the bed.

"I know it comes with the territory," you interrupted. "I know you've told me this time and time again. And I get that. But I can't shake the way it makes me feel. It hurts, Harry."

You crossed the room to stand in front of the dresser, your back to him.

"I think it's best if we end this now," you confessed.

You didn't turn around, but you heard Harry curse under his breath. You hated to hurt him. You loved him, and loved being with him more than anything. But you couldn't live like this any longer.

"Do you remember the night you moved in?"

Your breath caught at Harry's question. You nodded slowly.

"A lot of things were getting to you then. But we talked it through. And I swore I loved you and I would always be here for you. That it wasn't about them. This is you and me. Do you remember that?"

"Yes," you whispered, turning to face him.

"You said you trusted me. You said you weren't going to leave, no matter how hard things got."

You sighed, your shoulders dropping.

"I know I did," you choked. "But I was fooling myself, Harry. It's just..."

As your words trailed off, Harry stood up and stepped closer to you.

"It's just what?" he asked, reaching for your hand.

"It's just too hard." You felt a tear trickle down your cheek as you took a shaky breath.

Harry lifted his other hand to your cheek to wipe it away. As your eyes met his, you realized that he was crying too.

"Please don't go," he begged. "I need you."

"Harry..." you shook your head. "How could you possibly need me? You have the world in the palm of your hand."

"I need you to remind me what's real, what's important. I need you to be here when I get home so I can see your beautiful face and kiss your lips and hold you tight. I need you, [Y/N]! I love you. Please. Stay."

The tears were falling like mad now as Harry wrapped his arms around you and you fell into his chest.

"I love you so much, Harry," you cried. "But I don't know if it's enough anymore."

"Why not?"

"I feel like I'm having an anxiety attack every time I go out," you swallowed. "Everyone knows who I am and they hate me and..."

"Hey...shhh..." Harry rubbed your back, soothing you until your body stilled.

"Listen to me," he demanded, lifting your chin with his hand. "We'll get through this, okay? It might take a little more time."

"I can't stay inside forever," you argued.

"I know. But we'll think of something. I'll get you a bodyguard if I have to, just to put you at ease. It'll be okay, [Y/N]. I promise."

You stared into his green eyes that pleaded you to agree and understand. Every time you looked at them, they seemed to melt away all your anguish.

"We don't have to go tonight," Harry added, surprising you.

"Really?" your eyes widened.

"Yeah," he nodded, running his hands up your arms. "It's just a stupid party. We can stay here if you want."

You felt all the heaviness lift from your shoulders in that moment. All of the worry washed away with his words.

"That sounds wonderful," you said just before his lips met yours.

"I love you," Harry murmured against your mouth.

"I love you, too," you replied.

"And I promise I'm here for you. I promised it months ago, and I still do. I believe in us. I believe we can make it. Do you still trust me?"

"Yes," you nodded, never more sure in your life. "I trust you."

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[creating--memories]

╭──────────.★..─╮

Doubling Back to You: part 2

╰─..★.──────────╯

Wc: 2.5k

Cw: mentions of toxic relationship

Authors note: ok I don’t love, love this chapter but here it is. Lmk what y’all think. Sorry I didn’t have time to proof, I’m lowkey hving gf issues 💔😔 hmu if u want to yap. Ok anyways that’s all enjoyyyy. Also feel free to send requests of where you want this to go, I have an idea but I’m always open to suggestions.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

New York, 2030

This compounded attack hit Paige like a train a couple of months ago, in the middle of the WNBA semi-finals. Paige had torn her acl before, back in her UConn days, and even though her comeback had felt bigger than her setback, somehow the second time felt even worse. Which is how she ended up here, stranded on the couch in her Brooklyn apartment surrounded by her teammates and other basketball acquaintances.

Her girlfriend and teammate, Vanessa, had invited over their entire team, along with about twenty other people Paige didn’t recognize. Vanessa had insisted she wanted to “cheer her up” and “help her feel better” about the injury, but as Paige sat alone on the couch of their shared apartment nursing a watered-down Shirley Temple, Vanessa seemed more focused on networking and showing off her recent basketball highlights than Paige’s feelings.

When Vanessa had met her that first night after her injury, she seemed almost happy to see Paige lying in the hospital bed with her dreams crushed around her. She tried to brush it off, like she was reading into things too much, but Vanessa seemed a little too eager to snap some pics of the blonde and upload a pitiful story to her Instagram followers, captioning it “my poor angel 🥺” . She seemed to pay more attention to responding to pity messages about Paige’s “career-ending injury” than her girlfriend who was in pain in front of her. Paige couldn’t help but feel like she hadn’t invited all of these people over to cheer her up, but rather to oggle and make a mockery of her.

Paige knew Vanessa was competitive, it was one of the reasons she was first attracted to her, she loved how much she put into her game, never giving up against her opponent, never settling for anything but the best. What Paige didn’t realize was Vanessa’s competitiveness didn’t stop with basketball, it traveled into their relationship as well. Paige’s success became an opportunity for Vanessa to bring her down. Vanessa didn’t just see these opportunities as friendly competition, it was an chance to remind Paige that she isn’t as good as she thinks she is, that eventually she’s gonna fail, that she will never be good enough. and as much as paige was used to tough critics, she couldn’t help but start to believe her.

The night was slowly winding down, and Vanessa was exchanging contacts with the people that remained. She said her last goodbyes to the departing guests and shut the door behind her as she made her way to sit next to Paige on the couch. The blonde was frustrated, an apartment full of people was the last thing she needed in that moment, but frankly she didn’t have the energy to pick a fight.

Vanessa pulled out her phone and shoved an instagram page in her girlfriends face.

“So I was talking to Ashley tonight, she’s been getting into sports marketing. Might be a good career idea for you once your knee heals” she said as she scrolled through the carousel of posts gesturing to the woman in the pictures.

Paige looked at her girlfriend with a confused expression, barely paying attention to the woman on her phone. “What are you talking about ness? I’m gonna rehab and continue playing basketball, I’m not ready to retire yet.”

Vanessa covered her mouth, stifling a small mocking laugh. Her eyes narrowed in fake sincerity, eying Paige like she was a hurt toddler on the playground and not a professional athlete.

“Oh P. You really think anyone is gonna want to take on a player after an injury like this? Baby I know you like to be optimistic, but I didn’t think you were delusional.”

Paige just stared back at her, not knowing what to make of her girlfriends words. Was this really it for her? Was she really done for good? She knew she was tough, she had injuries before and was able to come back from them, sometimes even better than before, but maybe she was right. Maybe she was too much of a liability.

Vanessa sighed and gave her knee a pitiful pat and sat up from the couch, making her way towards the bedroom before turning around one last time.

“P, you were already going downhill before your ACL. Let’s be honest babe, you’re not having a comeback”

With that, she disappeared into their bedroom leaving Paige on the couch alone, a single tear streaming down her face as she sunk further into a shell of herself.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“Richards! Stay in motion” Azzi yelled as her players practiced the new plays she had drawn up that morning.

Paige was sat on the sideline watching the girls practice quietly. Azzi had worried she wasn’t gonna show, but 15 minutes into their practice, the blonde slipped into the gym. She was quiet, carefully studying Azzi and the players. She didn’t react throughout the practice, just watching intently. Her stoic expression was a stark contrast to the player Azzi had remembered watching at UConn and in the W, always cheering and celebrating her teammates. It had been a few years I guess, she thought.

Azzi blew the final whistle of practice, making her way over to the bench where the Paige was sitting. The blonde was leaned back, legs spread slightly, her demeanor casual yet purposeful. She made eye contact with Azzi as she walked towards her, the corner of her lips upturning ever so slightly.

“So does the Paige Bueckers have any feedback for the central high jaguars?” Azzi said as she crossed her arms in front of her chest and shifted her weight onto her left hip.

Paige let out a small chuckle, waving her hand as if swatting the praise away.

“Nah coach, you’re doing great out there. I liked what you drew up.” The end of her sentence hung in the air, the intonation resembling the end of a question.

“Well that wasn’t very convincing at all. Come on Bueckers, I can take it.” Azzi said as she pushed the blonde’s shoulder playfully.

Paige opened her out slightly to speak, her tongue darting out to lick her lips quickly, the small motion sending a wave of heat to Azzi’s stomach, making her think thoughts she definitely shouldn’t be thinking in a high school gym.

“Nah, it’s just- number 11, uh-?” She raised her eyebrow

“Collins”

“Collins. You’ve got her as a forward. You should really be playing her as point guard. When you had her switch with number 8-“

“Richards”

“-Richards, they ran the play was more efficiently” She lost herself for a moment, getting caught up in the game, forgetting for a second that she wasn’t a basketball player for a moment, and that she was in fact discussing a high school team with a woman she had just met yesterday.

Azzi was listening carefully, taking her words in, trying to not get too distracted by the blue in her eyes shimmered while she talked.

“Hm, I didn’t think about that, you still know your stuff Bueckers.”

Paige forced a small smile and shook her head. She began to say something back to the curly haired woman, but was interrupted by the sound of her phone buzzing. She pulled it out of her pocket. Looking at the notification, she sucked her teeth and began typic a response.

“everything ok?” Asked Azzi.

“Yeah, no, it nothing just, I have this meeting with Elena’s social worker later, and my little brother Drew, was supposed to come over to hang out with her while I was gone, but he just bailed last minute”

“I know she’ll probably be fine on her own, she’s almost 16, I just get worried you know, don’t like to leave her alone.”

Azzi tried not to melt at this, Paige’s care for Elena breaking her usual nonchalant demeanor. The brunette bit her her lip and uncrossed her arms.

“well, I mean, I’m not doing anything tonight. I could come over and hang out with Elena for a bit.” Azzi offered, holding her breath as she waited for Paige’s response, hoping she wasn’t being too forward.

Paige held up a hand in protest.

“I appreciate it really, but I couldn’t ask you to do that, I’m sure you have other things you need to do.”

“Embarrassingly, I really don’t. Plus, I really don’t mind, I usually hang out around here while Elena has been getting in extra workouts after practice the past few weeks” Azzi insited

Paige licked her lips again, pondering over the offer for a few minutes.

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to burden you-“

“Paige please, I’m hanging out with a teenager for a couple hours, not going to jail”

Paige laughed at this, letting the humor relax her a bit.

“Ok, ok. Well I appreciate it, really.”

Just as Paige had finally agreed, Elena made her way downstairs from the locker room.

“What’s up P?” She said as she raised her hand to high five her aunt.

“Looking good out there Elena, saw you breaking ankles” Paige teased as she grabbed her niece by the shoulders and ruffled her hair.

“Alright, alright” she laughed as she pulled herself out of the older woman’s embrace.

“So are we gonna pick up Drewski on the way home?” Asked Elena

Paige scratched her neck awkwardly.

“So, actually there’s been a change of plans. Drew had something come up last minute, but coach Fudd offered to come hang out, you know so you don’t get bored” Paige explained

“Aunt P, I love you but you’re seriously a bad liar. Let’s just admit you’re afraid to leave me alone and you want a babysitter”

Paige and Azzi exchanged a look of shock and worry as they both tried to think of something to say to the teenager.

“Relax you two, I don’t mind. Coach is chill” Elena said as she reached out her arm to fist bump Azzi.

“Oh- but I have homework, and I’m playing Fortnite with Kayla later, so I hope you brought a book or something”

Paige let out a sigh of relief and both women began to laugh.

“Alright well, let’s get out of here” Paige said, and the three of them made their way out the door.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

When Paige returned from the meeting with Elenas social worker, she found Azzi laid out on her couch, legs propped up on the coffee table. A Disney movie Paige didn’t recognize was playing on the TV, and she could hear soft giggles coming from the curly haired woman. She didn’t notice Paige at first, distracted by the movie. Paige made her way through the apartment and over to the living room.

“Hey” the blonde said.

Azzi let out a small gasp, “jeez you scared me”

Paige felt her chest flutter at the sight of Azzi. Her curls were messily pulled into a bun atop her head and the sound of her giggles was intoxicating. She wanted to curl up on the couch next to Azzi and listen to her laugh until her breathing slowed and they both fell asleep right there.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No you’re all good, just got a little distracted” said Azzi gesturing towards the TV.

Paige sat down on the couch next to Azzi.

“So uh, how did everything go?” She asked.

“Pretty good, tried to play the ‘cool coach’ role and get Elena to hang out with me, but she wasn’t buying it. She’s been upstairs playing fortnite”

“Teenagers.” Paige laughed.

“What about you, how was your meeting?”

Paige tensed a little and glanced up the stairs, making sure Elena was still in her room.

“It was ok. My cousin, Elena’s mom, she hasn’t had her shit together for a while now, it’s finally catching up to her. It looks like Elena is gonna be staying with me for little while longer.”

Paige ran her hands through her hair and dropped then onto her lap.

“She’s a good kid, it sucks she’s mixed up in all of this” said Azzi

“Yeah, she puts up a tough front, but I can tell she’s hurting”

Both women sat in silence for a moment, processing the situation, both just wanting the best for Elena. After a moment Azzi broke the silence.

“What about you Paige, how are you doing with all of this?”

Paige was caught off guard by her question. She wasn’t used to being given space to share her feelings, to open up and not keep a composed front for everyone around her. She had become so used to putting up walls around people, to closing herself off in order to spare the people and relationships she had. But something about the way Azzi looked at her, her brown eyes glistening with something deeper than pity. Care. She could tell Azzi genuinely cared how she was doing. She felt her walls coming down slightly, not completely unguarded, but maybe just enough to let her in a little.

“It’s been hard, I mean at first I had a total freak out when I got here, I’ve never been responsible for a child. But strangely now I feel like taking Elena in has given me a sense of purpose. I think I was so caught up trying to figure out my own fucked up life, I forgot what it means to care about things, about people, and Elena has been bringing that back to me a little. I just wish I could take away the pain it’s caused her.”

“Yeah, I get that. Sometimes God puts us on a path we didn’t realize we needed until you get to the end” said Azzi.

Paige smiled, she felt a weight lift off of her chest. For so long she had trained herself to put on a strong face, to hold her feelings in, scared if she let them out they would be met with hostility or shame, but Azzi’s words grounded her. For the first time in a while she felt seen.

“Hey, thanks again for tonight” said Paige

“It was really nothing Paige, you don’t have to thank me”

“Well let me at least take you out to dinner, to make it up to you” the blonde offered.

Azzi bit her lip, trying to hide the blush that had creeped into her cheeks.

“I’d like that”

“Great, I’ll pick you up on Friday then.”

“It’s a date.”

[thisischaostragic]

i have been holding space for the Agatha finale (i’m in queer media) and am pleased to report that my feelings about it have shifted quite significantly. follow me, my friends, to a more or less coherent, very long text post at the end

primary thing: this show is very much about motherhood. idk why that didn’t totally register for me in the first half given how often they mentioned Nicky, but realizing this changed my analysis a ton. Billy doesn’t just remind Agatha of Nicky — Agatha loves Billy like a son. (i know “like a son” is an oversimplification, but I’m sticking with it for this post.)

with that, my thoughts on Agatha’s arc almost completely flipped. when Rio shows up in E8 and says she has to take Billy, Agatha is revisiting her deepest wound all over again. her reaction is harsh, but it’s not some long-simmering revenge plan or a calculated effort to hurt Rio. Agatha is literally just reacting to the fact that, after all of the almost-reconciliation, the love of her life is taking her son again. i think she was trying to get Rio to fight for her or to say the trade was too high a price and bend the rules. Agatha was trying to get Death to act only as her lover, and looks devastated when Rio actually walks away instead.

and so, when Agatha goes to the morgue trial and says that “sometimes, boys die,” she’s continuing that realization that Rio isn’t personally chasing her down and causing her grief. sometimes, death just… happens. and “out of Death, life” is largely about Agatha realizing that Rio did bend the rules for Nicky, but also doubles down on the Nicky and Billy parallels. both of Agatha’s sons were literally borne of Death and living on stolen time. loss is inevitable.

i think Agatha genuinely believed that Rio could have kept Nicky alive and chose not to. we know that Agatha blamed herself for Nicky dying (“the truth is too awful”). so Agatha, who was taught by her own mother that nobody would ever actually love her for who she is, probably thought that the love of her life just… didn’t love her as much as she thought she did. going back to E1, i think “you don’t have a heart” is equal parts about Nicky as it is about Agatha herself. her main takeaway is that everyone will betray her, even when they claim to love her, and so she hides behind power and a god awful reputation so that she can keep everyone at arm’s length and never get hurt again.

ALL OF THIS IS TO SAY: when Billy is about to die, Agatha almost retreats back into the version of herself she became after Nicky died, but she doesn’t. she turns around and faces the pain head-on.

and I want to take a second to appreciate how immensely hard that would be. Agatha spent centuries killing people so she could be powerful enough to stay numb. Agatha spent all of that time pushing away the love of her life, who still loves her, who still sees her fully, and who Agatha is clearly still desperate to return to. Agatha realizes, probably to absurd amounts of despair, that she was wrong about all of it. and she still turns around.

it’s not about Agatha randomly sacrificing herself for a last minute villain kind-of-redemption. it’s about Agatha breaking the cycle she’s trapped herself in for an unfathomably long time, admitting that she knows Rio couldn’t change the outcome, and acknowledging that, yeah, she actually does love this kid.

and honestly?? i don’t think Agatha becoming a ghost counts as killing her. she’s literally still around, doing stuff, picking up brooches (👀 Rio wya), and getting a second chance at… not motherhood, exactly, but caring for a child. (and a queer child! and the idea of Agatha, who has been queer since the *1600s*, getting to tell this gay kid over and over again that there’s nothing innately wrong with him makes me actually sob.)

HOWEVER! i maintain some criticisms. i think Jen deserved to have an actual fight with the doctor who bound her. (the oops! it was Agatha All Along twist was… complicated. i have mixed feelings. essay for another day, but i wanted Jen to have rage time that everyone was just cheering for.)

i needed Death lore. how is she physically with Agatha so often if, as Agatha states, 120 people die every minute? is she Death the cosmic entity, or are green witches sort of responsible for decay on earth?

some of the plot elements were severely under-developed, and frustratingly, the vast majority of the underdeveloped plotlines had to do with Agatha/Rio’s romantic relationship, Agatha’s mother, and Agatha’s reasons for killing people. (the fact that they said she’s a siphon in interviews and not once on the show will never stop baffling me lmao.) i find it very frustrating that a LARGE chunk of the underdeveloped stuff relates back to Agatha’s queerness in some way.

however… i am willing to be generous about some of that, because i find it difficult to believe that this *extremely queer* creative team actually just disregarded major queer plot elements. i am far more inclined to believe that they were operating under a hostile corporation and pushing as far as they could, and in that case, they did a fucking phenomenal job.

i genuinely think that the way they landed the show opens the door for them to… dare I say it? … give Agatha/Rio a happy ending?? ghost Agatha literally need only show up to Rio’s house or cave or dimension or whatever and be like “heyyyyy, yeah that kiss was forgiveness and also i’m solid enough to use my hands now” and it would be believable. the fact that it would take them only 15 seconds to give us two fucked up lesbians having their version of happily ever after is actually pretty cool

anyway, this is an abridged summary of how my feelings abt the Agatha All Along finale went from like a 4/10 rating to an 8/10.

[idioticidoms]

Benders Over Silverlake

|Schlatt x Afab!reader x Ted

Summary: Heartbreak does a lot for people's growth. Your post break-up growth is tested at an influencer film screening. As your past romantic flame collides with the promise of new love, the decision of which one to choose is confusing at best.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: swearing, alc use, sexy wrist grabbing. minors dni, 18+, rpf

It's been two months since you've last seen Schlatt. Two months ago, he decided that long distance would be too much, that Texas was shitty, and that he had to leave for New York. After collecting the fragments of your broken heart, you decided to leave Texas too. Texas was cruel with its unforgiving harshness. The sun beat down on you and the asphalt had a way of biting your feet whenever you would walk. Texas hated you almost as much as you hated it.

So you moved to California. Partly because you knew the state was a natural Schlatt deterrent. But California welcomed you nonetheless. With open arms, with her gentle sandy beaches and kind palm trees. Schlatt’s friends missed you, that was clear enough. Ted and Eddy called within days of the break up news, both detailing how they weren't going to pick sides and how they hoped to continue their friendships with you. The Partiful invites remained frequent. But if you were going to effectively split up the life you had Schlatt and the new life you were eager to explore, it was critical to excise him completely. No mutual friends, no attempts at being "friends", nada.

This isolation was successful for about two months, until Ted rang your phone over and over one day gently demanding your presence at his short film screening. The excuse of your cat being sick wasn't sufficient enough for him, so you hastily agreed. The short film screening was in WestWood, probably the most annoying part in L.A. to watch a film screening. Transplants and Youtubers loitered around there too often for your liking. But, you dressed for the part. A simple black dress, your favorite hoops and comfortable heels. In short, dressed up enough to show respect but not at the cost of your own dignity.

Performing normalcy in front of influencers is rather fickle, mainly due to the fact their entire career is romanticizing the glitz of excess. Maybe that's why Schlatt's friends always really liked you. You showed them what life was like outside the confines of Twitter cancellations and algorithm changes. The car pulled in front of a pleasingly dilapidated theatre with a decently long line outside the doors. After thanking the driver, you stepped outside to join the queue. Butterflies were torturing your stomach. All your spatial awareness was exhausted on spotting Schlatt before he spotted you. So much so, you didn't even notice when Ted appeared until you heard the screams of adoring fans in the queue.

Ted is a shining representative of Hollywood's classic glamour. He possessed the uncanny ability to curl into a perfect white toothy grin every time a camera was near. His charisma was no exception either. Ted was the kind of guy to know what to say, to whom, but most importantly how. That kind of starpower both impressed and terrified you.

Ted pulled his lips into his signature toothy smile as he walked down the line of fans, greeting the conglomerate in the typical way they demand. After getting caught up in a few pictures, he finally came to your part of the line. He stopped in his tracks after seeing you.

"Y/N! You made it!" Ted said while pulling you into a side hug.

"Yeah, my cat got better overnight miraculously." You teased, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

"Perfect timing." Ted said, smirking slightly. "You don't have to wait here by the way, you can come in through the side entrance."

Before you could open your mouth to protest, Ted firmly grabbed your hand, pulling you from your place in line. You took a deep breath as he led you towards the mysterious “side” entrance. Ted was more than cordial, opting to actually speak to you instead of relying on Influencer Small Talk™ . You told him about your new job, your cozy apartment in K-town. All the delicious details of your new Schlatt free life.

"So when are you going to invite me over then?" He chirped in after your little triad about picking the most perfect curtains.

"We'll see."

The trek to the side entrance was no joke. After walking through two shoddy alleys, you were finally among the gaggle of influencers you've purposely deserted. Eddy was quick to greet you, along with a couple of other acquaintances. The room was glowing with excitement. You forgot how nice it was to hang around a bunch of eager creatives. They were inspiring, both to their audiences but also to themselves. Ted made the executive decision of handing you a glass of wine, which provided enough relaxation to settle your nerves. The wine was perhaps too relaxing because you failed to notice Schlatt's arrival. You were chatting it up with Charlie, completely unaware of Schlatt until he finally came up to you.

"I can't even believe I stayed in Texas as long as I did Charlie. Really, I've never been happier." You babbled on.

You finally noticed the stone cold expression on Charlie’s face as you heard an all too familiar scoff. In reality, you knew Schlatt was standing there for a while. His cologne was always a dead give away in any room. Schlatt always smelled like cardamom and pine. That scent which once was addicting now was insufferable.. You hoped he would take your "obliviousness" as a hint of indifference. But he refused to.

"Hey." He said flatly.

Charlie nodded a goodbye before slowly creeping out of the uncomfortable situation as you turned to face Schlatt. Schlatt looked better than ever before. His clothes, his handsomeness, hell even his hair was all annoyingly perfect. Breakup looked better on him than it did on you.

"Hello." You replied, taking a swig of your wine again.

"How’ve you been?"

His eyes were transfixed on you. Any failures of your poker facade would surely be noticed by his intense gaze. The wine made maintaining that poker attitude increasingly difficult. With limited options, you opted for the one that seemed the best. You walked away wordlessly. Walked away from Schlatt and his awkward Influencer Small Talk™ and towards your reserved seat. Schlatt was clearly staring (or glaring) at you as you sat down for the film screening to start. Either the organizing staff was ignorant of the circumstances or liked chaos, because no alternative explanation could answer why they had decided to sit Schlatt right next to you.  Schlatt arrived at his seat a few minutes after you, exchanging pleasantries along the way. You stiffened up as you felt his scent announcing his presence. The both of you sat there for a few minutes silently until you finally decided to answer his question from before.

"Good, I've been doing good." You said quietly, your eyes locked on the screen in front of you.

Schlatt didn't turn to face you, which was a relief.

"I can tell."

In any other situation, this level of loud silence would have been suffocating. But with Schlatt, all the silence did was make you want to talk. Ask him questions, ones for closure but also ones you would want to ask a friend. You would never admit it out loud, but you missed his presence in your life. All those late night drives to the convenience store or the sweet summer days spent in your backyard listening to the cicadas. It’s been hard to forget all that tenderness. 

The film screening was unsurprisingly a success. Ted came out to thank the audience for coming as well as to introduce the film. The film itself was fairly good. You knew that Ted was going to make it as a director. This latest project was just a litmus test for bigger and better, that much you knew. After the film was over, you shot up from your seat to speed walk to the bathroom. You splashed your face with a bit of water in an attempt to cool your flushed cheeks. Deep breaths (Y/N) you told yourself over and over, clinging onto the affirmation for dear life. After recollecting your cool, you stepped out of the bathroom with a renewed confidence to reject Ted's invitation to the unavoidable after party. But instead of Ted going up to you, it was Schlatt.

He ran a hand through his hair as he looked down on you.

"What?" You snapped, unable to disguise your bitterness.

"You uh...left your wallet." He said, his fingers extending themselves to present the forgotten wallet.

The flushed cheeks you worked so hard to discard at great length returned quickly at the realization of your own ditziness. 

"Oh fuck." You sighed in embarrassment. You took the wallet quickly. "Thank you."

The impasse of deafening silence fell onto you both again. You began to move towards the exit, but Schlatt quickly grabbed your wrist. The move was swift, but his grip was gentle.

"Wait. Are we okay?" He said, almost timid.

You took a moment to get a good look at this Schlatt. The last time you saw Schlatt, his demeanour was the exact opposite. Old Schlatt was coldly reserved. When he broke up with you, he didn't even give you the courtesy of looking at you like a man. Old Schlatt broke your heart in the middle of dinner, paid, then boarded the next flight from Austin to New York. The cleanness of the breakup was helpful in the process of moving on. But Old Schlatt from two months ago was not the Schlatt in front of you tonight. This Schlatt was timid and slightly awkward. You saw his hands fidgeting, which was something you only saw once before. Way back when he asked you out for the very first time.

"I guess." The answer was unsatisfactory, but the best you could possibly come up with.You weren't sure what he meant. 

"Are you sure? I mean (Y/N)-"

"No. No, just stop." You cut him off, averting your gaze to avoid tears. "You broke up with me and went to New York all within the same day."

Schlatt let out a sigh. 

"What's a broad like you doing in L.A. anyways?"

And suddenly, Old Schlatt appeared once more.

"I like it here. I'm happy here. Besides, New York is too full of assholes."

"Fuck you." He replied instinctively.

“Fuck you too.” You said, letting out an exasperated laugh. 

This wasn't how this night was supposed to go. This wasn't the way he was meant to see you again. He was supposed to see you on Instagram, smiling in a photo dump post soft launching  a new, better partner. He was not supposed to see you in some mediocre outfit at an event you didn't even want to go to in the first place. Before you could storm off in anger, you felt his grip on your wrist soften then move towards your waist. 

“I miss you.” Schlatt, his voice barely above a whisper.

You felt your breathing start to get heavy. His touch was still so addicting, even more so after months of absence. But before you could reply, you heard Ted calling out for you. Ted’s voice snapped you back into reality. You pressed your lips into a kind smile toward him. 

“I hope you’re doing well.”

Once more, you left him standing, looking like a fool. There was little guilt on your end for Schlatt’s embarrassment. 

“What did you think of the film?” Ted asked.

“I think I should save my comments for when you’re not surrounded by a large number of people who love everything you do.” 

As Ted laughed at your joke, your heart skipped a beat. 

“Fair enough. Also if you don’t want to come to the afterparty tonight because of Big Guy, that’s fine. I’m just glad you came.”

You felt a small glowing feeling in your chest. It was always in Ted’s nature to consider other people’s feelings. But you didn’t really notice how special that trait was until you had to experience a man like Schlatt. 

“Thank you. I’ll make it up to you though.”

“You’ll finally come on Chuckle Sandwich?”

It was your turn to laugh while Ted flushed. His eyes were unwilling to stop looking at you.

“No, but I’ll make you and Eddy dinner sometime soon.”

He nodded. Despite the complexities of the feasibility of a romantic relationship, Ted couldn’t deny how much he liked hanging around you. 

“I’ll text you what days I’m free.” Ted concluded.

“Sounds good.”

You stepped outside away from the adoring fans to wait for your Uber. L.A. night sky had a way of making neon signs pop. Concrete is painted in washes of electric pinks, blues and greens. Such lighting made anyone look more beautiful. This fact remained true as you looked up and saw Schlatt across the street waiting for his friends to go to the after party. He was tinted with the blues and pinks of the theatre’s neon sign. It seemed illogical how someone so beautiful could be so cruel. Just before your Uber arrived to whisk you away for the night, Schlatt looked up to meet your brazen gazing. He smirked at you, before yelling something inaudible. Charlie texted you later what Schlatt had yelled. 

“See you soon, sweetheart!”

authors note: thank u for reading!!! also thank u for showing a lot of love for my first fanfiction, it means so much! i've been living with this idea for a while. i plan on making this a multipart series with two endings so stay tuned for updates. any and all feedback is welcome <3

[buildgrist]

I wrote this last year on Twitter, but since Empty Spaces has sort of abandoned ship, I'll post it here too:

"Funeral"

A woman's whole life changes the first time she sees a combat doll.

First-person, combat doll setting by Twitter user mars_phobos_L1

CW: Harassment, violence, military context, blood, personality changes, conditioning, surgery, unreliable memory

Story below cut:

1.

I washed out of combat training almost immediately, but it wasn’t enough to get me off the hook. I’m sure you all know how it goes – just because you can’t fight doesn’t mean you can’t support the ones who do. If you can’t carry a gun, you can fix a gun, if you can’t fly a plane, you can fuel a plane.

Nothing wrong with that, of course! It’s simply efficient use of resources, and I’m certainly in no place to criticize that, especially not given my current status, so to speak. But even then I wasn’t exactly bothered by it -- I would have rather not been conscripted at all, but maintenance would be safe and interesting and I was already pretty good at it.

2.

The first time I ever saw a combat doll was when I was at the range, trying to get in enough practice to pass my pistol qualifications. I didn’t even know she was there, at first - there was no fuss, no fanfare - but as soon as her handler started barking those sharp, staccato orders I realized what was going on.

I looked over, of course. I know, we’ve all been taught not to make eye contact with the dolls because they might take it as aggression, but how could I not be curious? Can any of you say you wouldn’t be tempted to take a peek?

I hadn’t expected her to not be wearing her mask. All the publicity photos, all the technical diagrams, all the battlefield footage always shows dolls with their masks on, so I assumed that was just their usual state – but no, I was wrong. That was her natural face, with her implant jacks and her surgical scars and her delicate-looking skin. I truly hadn’t expected her to be so pretty…

She caught me looking, of course. Dolls are the apex predators of the battlefield, and noticing a maintenance trainee staring at her was trivial in comparison. She met my eyes before I could look away, and then I couldn’t look away. I knew nothing except her eyes and my heart pounding in my ears, and I had no idea what was coming next… and then she grinned at me.

That grin did something to me, something strange and frightening and wonderful. It felt like lightning running down my spine, like watching a sunrise after being blind my whole life, like finding my way out of a forest I’d been lost in since birth. I was never the same again.

3.

I needed to know who she was, of course. She could pick off targets faster than my eyes could follow, with a perfect bullseye every time. Her handler ran her through everything in our arsenal, and more besides - pistols, rifles, machine guns, throwing knives, on and on - and she was perfect every time. How could I have not wanted to know more after watching a display like that?

Well, apparently, that made me the weird one in the battalion. Everyone I asked about her just shrugged or gave me sidelong glances. Why would they want to keep track of which doll was which, they asked? They were all equally frightening, after all. What did it matter what the shark swimming next to you was named?

It took more than a week - and a couple cases of beer - for me to find out who I’d seen. My buddy on the security team had seen the handler’s name and done some quick research, and he was willing to pass on that information… for the right price, of course.

Victoria. Her name was Victoria, and the next thing he said to me was “be fuckin’ careful around that one,” which didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me at the time. We’re taught to use caution around all dolls, combat or not, why the extra warning?

Because, he told me, there were stories about the Victory-class dolls. They weren’t the fastest dolls or the most powerful dolls, but they were notoriously unpredictable, and dangerous even to their allies. I won’t get into the details right now, that’s not what I’m here to do - but some of your classmates went pale the moment I said her name, so ask them about it later.

But what did that have to do with Victoria? I had to ask, because I used to be a little slow on the uptake sometimes. In case any of you haven’t put all the pieces together: Victoria is the first Victory-class, the flagship, the template upon which all others were modeled – and that meant if there was some fault with the Victory-class dolls, some flaw in their design or their conditioning, Victoria would definitely have it.

4.

Even with all he’d told me, and all I’d learned on my own afterwards, I still couldn’t get her off my mind. Not that I was thinking about her every second, or even every day, but that moment never quite left my mind. I’d lay down and try to sleep, close my eyes, and behind my eyelids I’d see that bare face, that grin, and my heart would start pounding all over again.

By the time we were given our assignments, I knew what I was going to do. I knew what I had to do. I got the cushiest possible position – 8th Supply Battalion, well away from any combat zones, where the greatest danger would be a private driving a forklift drunk. The perfect position to serve out three years of compulsory service and go back to my old life, right?

Except I didn’t want it. I hadn’t wanted it since the moment I’d seen her.

As soon as we were dismissed, I went straight to the commander’s office and asked for a transfer – which they don’t usually do, of course, but he was willing to hear me out anyway, so I told him I needed to be on Victoria’s maintenance crew. Once he was done laughing he asked me what I was really there to ask for, and I repeated my request. I explained to him that I was serious, that I wanted, needed more than anything else, to be assigned to maintenance for Victoria.

He didn’t understand – which is no surprise, because I don’t think any of you do either. Why would I have wanted to be transferred to the only role that had higher casualty rates than front-line infantry, right? Truth be told, I didn’t understand either, and I still don’t. There’s nothing I can point to, no specific reason, just this surety that I belonged there and nowhere else.

Someone needed to do maintenance on the dolls, right? Why shouldn’t it be someone enthusiastic about it, someone fully committed to their role? I don’t know if my argument won him over or if he was just tired of listening to me, but in the end he just shrugged and wrote out my transfer orders: maintenance crew, Victory-class combat doll “Victoria”.

I still remember what he said when he handed me the orders:

“It’s your funeral.”

5.

Just because I’d volunteered for the position didn’t mean I was any less nervous when I first reported for duty! The rest of the crew had already been giving me a hard time - I was the squeaky-clean new girl, fresh out of training - but honestly, they weren’t why I was nervous. That was just some laughs and some hazing, nothing I wasn’t used to by that point.

No, I was nervous because of the six-plus feet of exquisite purpose-built killing machine standing in the middle of the maintenance bay.

The thing is, though.. the reasonable thing would have been to worry that Victoria was going to kill me, right? That’s what you’d be afraid of, that’s what any sensible person would be afraid of! But it wasn’t what I was afraid of.

I’d done my research, I knew the numbers, and I was certain - beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt - that I wasn’t going to survive three years in her maintenance crew. I’d made my peace with that before I ever even walked into the commander’s office.

I was worried that Victoria wasn’t going to like me.

6.

I know that probably sounds bizarre to you - after all, nobody worries about whether their tank likes them, right? - but trust me, it was absolutely the biggest thing on my mind. So much so, in fact, that I decided to introduce myself to her immediately! Why hang around hiding behind the rest of the maintenance crew when I could just walk right up to her and make a good first impression instead?

So that’s exactly what I did. Right into the maintenance bay, right past the rest of the crew, right across those painted lines on the floor… one foot in front of the other, listening to the pounding of my heart until I was within arm’s length of an active combat doll.

I took one more deep breath, accepted that it could have been my last, and gave her the usual introduction: name, rank, and role. She just stared at me, with those intense eyes I remembered so well, and I offered a little bit of extra politeness – just a simple little “I look forward to working with you, ma’am.”

7.

The moment the words were out of my mouth, she grabbed me by the collar and dragged me in, my body pressed up against hers, and as I stared up at her in shock and fear and excitement, I heard her voice for the first time.

“You’re cute,” she said.

There were teeth in my neck before I could even make sense of her words - combat-specced teeth, the kind that can slice through bone - and it was unbearably painful… but also something about it felt right. I was helpless in her grip, completely powerless, and I realized that I’d wanted that all along.

I saw her true face for the first time, then. That flat, blank non-expression she’d been wearing when I walked up to her had simply been another mask, another disguise… and she’d let it fall away. As she licked my blood from her lips, I understood – she was a hunter, a predator, hungry for more and strong enough to take whatever she wanted… and I was her prey.

I suspect your instructor would kick me out of this class immediately if I described what she did next, so I’ll just say ‘she had her way with me and I had no desire to stop her.’ You’ll have to use your imaginations for the rest… or come find me sometime and I’ll be happy to tell you all about it!

8.

Anyway, even though it seemed like I’d made an excellent impression on Victoria, the rest of the maintenance crew was pretty clear that I’d made a pretty poor impression on them. As soon as we were off-duty and the dolls had all been escorted back to their bunker, they made their feelings known in a very direct fashion.

I got off easy, they told me, pointing out maintenance staff for other dolls. One man had a bloody bandage where his ear had been, and another was completely unresponsive – just blankly staring at a wall. In comparison to things like that, a bite and some fucking was downright gentle for a Victory-class doll!

The crew insisted that I’d better not expect special treatment from Victoria to mean they’d give me special treatment too – I protested that I’d never once expected that, but I don’t think they were listening to me by that point. From all the shouts and cursing, it seemed like they were upset that I, the death-wish rookie who walked right up to a combat doll and introduced herself, had been treated more gently than maintenance staff who simply wanted to carry out their duties safely.

I tried to answer them, I tried to explain that all I’d done was to be friendly and polite, that I’d just wanted to treat Victoria with the respect she deserved. They didn’t like that answer.

Nobody told me about this, so I’ll pass it on as a warning to you just in case: maintenance crews aren’t just wary of their dolls, they’re downright resentful of them. From their perspective, the dolls are the thing that stands between them and getting home safely, and they’re not particularly fond of people who see the situation differently.

I, not knowing this, made some helpful comments about the dolls not being our enemy, about our purpose being to support the dolls so they can carry out their Purpose. Shortly thereafter, in a totally unrelated event, I slipped and fell down a staircase – completely by accident, of course.

I’d been hoping that the maintenance crew - and the staircase - had gotten all the vitriol out of their system by then, but it only got worse. Someone had found out that I’d volunteered for the maintenance crew, while they’d all been unwillingly forced into that position, and it was all over. That was all the proof they needed to decide I wasn’t like them in some indescribable way. They might not have been able to explain how, exactly, I was different from them, but they all agreed that I was, and they all wanted to make that my problem.

9.

I next saw Victoria for post-mission diagnostics two days later. The procedures would be routine, and yet the crew was far more anxious than they had been for our previous visit to the maintenance bay. A doll just back from an operation, having spent only a few minutes being gentled by its handler before being sent off to maintenance, was the most dangerous kind of doll as far as the maintenance staff was concerned: all keyed up on adrenaline and battle stimulants and potentially unsure as to whether or not it was actually safe or still on the battlefield.

The crew all talked like they were off to the firing squad, and I had no idea what to expect as we all walked down to the hall… especially when they all hung back, in ones and twos and threes, lagging behind me while I walked up to the maintenance bay first.

I was the tribute, the offering, the fresh meat tossed to Victoria to sate her hunger - and oh, did she ever take the bait. She ran to me, snatched me right off the ground, and sprinted back to her designated zone as if to convince everyone she’d never left.. except now she had me clutched in her arms, her deadly teeth tracing up and down my neck, that beautiful voice giggling in my ear.

The maintenance team had to conduct their diagnostics around me, in the end. Victoria simply didn’t want to give me up, no matter how they tried to convince her -- and I had absolutely no desire to argue with that. Where could I possibly have wanted to be more than her arms?

In fact, I didn’t want to leave her arms. Even once our duty shift was done and she’d turned me loose, bloody and weary and deeply content, I lingered in the maintenance bay as the others fled for the mess. I knew what was waiting for me there - the same thing that had been waiting for me since I first met Victoria - and I wanted to avoid it for as long as possible.

10.

I hadn’t expected her to notice me hanging around - surely I was unworthy of her attention, right? - and yet, as I lingered behind, she spoke to me for the second time. “Not joining them?”

“No ma’am,” I told her, quietly enough for nobody else to hear. I hadn’t meant to say anything else, but the prospect of having a sympathetic ear was just too much, and the words just tumbled out of me. As she stared down at me with that blank expression, I explained how the crew had decided I didn’t belong, and how they’d been treating me since – the punches, the kicks, the fish in my bunk, the thousand other little reminders that they’d decided to hate me.

Eventually I ran out of words and found myself simply staring up at Victoria. She hadn’t said a single thing the entire time, and her expression was the same unreadable blankness that I’d seen before. While I tried to figure out whether she was sympathetic or simply bored, I suddenly realized that she’d met my gaze, staring into my eyes as if she was looking for something. I couldn’t imagine what she was looking for - and, truth be told, I still don’t know what it was - but I stared back up at her and let her look for it.

I guess she found what she was looking for - or perhaps found an absence of the wrong things - because she simply grabbed me by the arm and practically dragged me right out of the maintenance bay. What was she doing? Where was she going? She ignored my questions, of course, so I stopped asking them and simply walked along with her in silence.

You probably haven’t seen a doll bunker yet, but they’re extremely sturdy – downright overengineered, even. They’re even more heavily reinforced than munitions bunkers, and the only route in and out is through an extremely sturdy-looking steel door. It’s the sort of thing that makes the vault doors in heist movies look like tissue paper… and that was the door Victoria had led me to.

Even though I’d walked to the bunker with her willingly, I couldn’t help but protest a little as she swung the bunker door open. I had been told, upon my assignment, that only handlers and commanders were permitted to enter the doll bunker – all support staff were required to stay out in order to avoid ‘unnecessary manpower shortages’. Not that that stopped Victoria, of course! She simply picked me up by the back of my uniform like an uncooperative pet and tossed me right through the door.

11.

Have you ever walked into a room and found eight combat dolls staring directly at you? Sixteen eyes fixed on you, unblinking, like cats that have just spotted a mouse? Presumably not, but if you’re very lucky - or very unlucky - you might get to someday.

That’s where I found myself as the bunker door slammed shut behind me – gracelessly picking myself up off the floor under the hungry gaze of eight combat dolls. They waited a moment, graciously permitting me to get back to my feet, and then… well, I guess the best way to describe it is to say each one started trying, in her own way, to draw me away from my host.

Not a word was spoken, but carnal offers were made, and one or two dolls began to creep toward me as if stalking prey – and then suddenly they all froze at once. I couldn’t receive dollchat yet, so I didn’t know what Victoria said to them - and even now she just giggles when I ask! - but whatever it was, it was enough to convince the other eight dolls not to steal her guest away.

I spent that night in her bunk. I didn't do a lot of actual sleeping, of course, but the moments I did get... having a combat doll holding me close and murmuring sweet reassurances in my ear was maybe the safest I'd ever felt in my whole life. To be told I'm safe now, that the squad will look out for me, that I'm theirs forever…

12.

I hardly ever left the bunker after that. I would have never left, if I’d had the option, but there were still two things I was expected to handle: work and food.

I was still a member of Victoria’s maintenance crew, expected to be present for those duties, and since the necessary hardware was in the maintenance bay, that was where I had to be too. My first duty shift after being taken to the bunker, I’d hesitated – I was even more uncertain about showing my face around the rest of the crew now, after all! Victoria had just returned from a mission, so she would be waiting for me there, but I still had to get from the bunker to the maintenance bay on my own…

Before I figured it out myself, one of the other dolls took pity on me. She took my hand in hers, as if I was a child, and led me to the maintenance bay herself. It was permitted - after all, she was being escorted by maintenance staff - and nobody dared to say she couldn’t stand by while we Victoria received her post- mission diagnostics and I received an entirely different kind of post-mission attention.

I’m not sure if the crew ever appreciated just how much lighter on them she was when I was around, you know? I don’t know if they even noticed, or if they were too busy hating me. It didn’t matter, though – when we were done, Victoria and the other doll walked me back to the bunker, hand in hand, as if they were concerned I’d stray – or flee, perhaps, but there was already no chance of that.

If any of you ever get invited to a bunker, be aware: there’s nothing for you to eat. There is food for the dolls, although it’s terribly bland, but those meals are measured out to the last bite. Even once the whole squad had fully accepted me as their own, they still didn’t have anything to give me – every bite of food for me was one less for them, and dolls are always hungry.

The only way for me to get food would be to get it from the kitchens myself. I’d have to brave the hallways solo, avoiding any other staff, and throw myself on the cook’s mercy in the hopes that they’d be willing to let me take something back with them – and I’d have to do it two or three times a day! It’d be absolutely miserable, right?

As it turned out, that was practically a nonissue. The kitchen staff recognized me on sight - word spreads quickly, especially when you’re escorted to the bunker by two dolls! - and realized that we could solve each other’s problems: I needed food, and they didn’t want to interact with the dolls. If I could come out of the bunker to receive each day’s rations, rather than the staff needing to hand-deliver it directly to the dolls, they’d be more than happy to throw in each day’s worth of meals for me! Teamwork and problem-solving, that’s what we’re trained for, right?

13.

With food resolved and my duties sorted out… well, one day started to blur into the next. There are no windows in a doll bunker, after all -- there’s no sense of time unless you’ve got a chronometer built in, and I sure didn’t. I slept when they let me, I did as I was told, and every time the rations were delivered I felt a little more like I was walking through a dream.

The kitchen staff stopped looking straight at me, eventually. It wasn’t that they were afraid of me - I was no doll, no battlefield predator - but something about me unsettled them. Maybe my body language had changed – after all, I’d been spending more time around dolls than humans, even I could tell that I was picking up their mannerisms, that I was absorbing the way they spoke and moved and held their bodies.

Or maybe it was something else. Maybe there was something in my eyes. I had prostrated myself before the squad and worshipped them for the goddesses they were. I had licked blood from a doll’s body without ever stopping to wonder who it had belonged to. I had given myself to them over and over, even after my stamina was exhausted and I could do little more than accept their desires.

They had made me theirs - with pleasure and pain, with fear and adoration - but they decided I was ready for more.

14.

I’d tell you it was a day like any other, but I don’t even know if it was a day. It was just another moment in the bunker, a moment of laying on a bare concrete floor, my limbs tangled with giggling dolls who simply couldn’t bear to let their plaything go… and then it wasn’t.

They hauled me up off the floor and pushed my back against the wall, one on each side of me, and the rest of the squad parted as Victoria approached, as the doll who’d claimed me first stood over me once more.

“You’ve been fun,” she told me, “but you can be better. We want you to be better. Don’t you want to be better for us?”

Even after all the time I’d spent with them, I still hesitated. I knew what they meant, and I had learned exactly what it entailed. The surgery, the conditioning, the experience of not being human anymore – but wasn’t I already seen as no longer human?

Victoria saw that hesitation, she saw the fear in my eyes, and stroked my head like a pet. She promised me she’d stay by my side the whole time… and she promised to do my conditioning herself.

How could I say no to that?

15.

The surgeons broke me. There’s no way to sugarcoat that. Even without all the modifications combat dolls get, having an arrhythmia control device implanted in your chest without any anesthetic is simply more than any human can bear and stay sane – so I didn’t. I screamed, I struggled and I let myself fall apart.

Victoria put me back together. She reminded me how much I liked being helpful, and how much I enjoyed being useful. She dug up my memories of how much I loved each and every member of the squad, and she made those memories into the core of my personality so I could never, ever forget again. As for the rest of my memories… well, I told you this whole story, didn't I? But everything before the dolls took me in feels distant, removed from me, as if they're someone else's memories instead of my own. It's better that way – I have a whole new life and a whole new family to love.

Speaking of which, Victoria had a surprise for me once I'd recovered, a way of celebrating me as the newest part of their family. One at a time, each doll got up on one of the bunks like it was a makeshift stage and delivered maudlin, overdramatic speeches about the person they imagined I had been before, and we all giggled along together.

In the end, it was my funeral after all.

16.

There you have it, that's the whole story. That's how I went from being just like you to being who I am now. Your instructor wanted me to share it as a warning, a cautionary tale, and I'm sure for most of you it is. But for one or two of you, if it appeals–

Yes, sir?

Understood, sir.

Thank you for your time, everyone! May fate preserve us! Good luck on your quals!

[depravitycentral]

Muzan Kibutsuji General Yandere Profile

Yandere! Muzan Kibutsuji x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of non-con, violence, graphic gore, mentions of cannibalism, verbal and physical abuse, murder, one brief mention of throwing up, brief mention of Muzan slutshaming you, mild sexism, verbal abuse, mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of low self esteem, fem reader, MNDI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 10K

DARLING PROFILE:

Human

Muzan is not one to easily develop feelings for others in any positive context.

He’s a selfish, cruel being, utterly bent on his own self-preservation with no regard for the lives of others.

He’s self-centered to the extreme, and as such, if he develops feelings for someone (especially romantically), it takes a very, very long time and can only be achieved under specific circumstances.

His darling has to be someone intelligent, quick-thinking, perceptive, ambitious, charming, and a whole list of other things that are almost impossible to achieve.

And yet, the biggest, most glaring trait they must possess is their humanity.

It’s strange and a juxtaposition to Muzan’s own inhumanity, but there’s just something that draws him in about the idea that his darling is so very flawed by the very nature of their being and yet so alluring and tempting and intoxicating.

It enrages him, quite frankly, but his darling must be a human in order for these feelings to form. He initially only feels a mild curiosity towards them – mixed with irritation and contempt, of course, but there’s this nagging feeling urging him to learn more about them, to interact with them, to understand why his pulse picks up ever so slightly when they’re around.

He likes the fact that his darling is so weak; he’ll never tell them, of course, but it only reaffirms his own superiority complex, convincing him that he’s the strongest, and his darling is the weakest.

They’re a pet, in a lot of ways, but Muzan finds himself oddly intrigued – his human is so complex, the emotions they feel and their motivations something he’ll never fully understand, but as time passes he finds himself hating their presence less and less, sometimes even desiring to touch them – a notion that makes his skin crawl in both disgust and a strange, potent sense of desire.

It’s frustrating and confusing, but Muzan’s darling will be a human – though not for long.

Intelligent

It’s no surprise, really, that Muzan is absolutely incapable of handling a darling that doesn’t possess above average intelligence.

They don’t need to be a genius, but his darling must have a strong grasp of both academic and social intelligence.

Where these intelligences lie is flexible; he’s equally impressed by a darling that can recite complex physics formulas and one that can analyze some of the most classical literature ever written.

It doesn’t really matter where the smarts lay, but his darling must be able to showcase at least some level of critical thinking in their daily life; Muzan is enticed by someone who can come as close as possible to being his equal, and as a creature that views himself as smarter and superior to all others, his darling must be something special, too.

(Of course, his darling will never truly be an equal – he’s still the most magnificent, perfect creature, tireless in his search to become immune to human constraints like sickness and aging, but there’s something endearing about a darling that can entertain some of his conversation, who can at least follow some of his logic when he’s feeling generous enough to include them in his plans. Besides, and he’ll never admit to it, he’s fond of hearing his darling’s opinion – he’ll continue with what he thinks best, of course, but if his darling present sound reasoning, Muzan will often entertain the notion for a bit, distantly surprised if his darling has considered an idea he hasn’t yet, or if they present a line of argument that manages to stump him.)

And so, in order for Muzan’s interest to be piqued, his darling must be intelligent and must be unafraid to showcase this – but as his attention is initially fickle (it does not remain this way, however), they musn’t be too proud of their intelligence.

Pride is a sin only he can indulge in, not some lowly human.

Perceptive

Muzan is, unsurprisingly, easy to upset.

Being in his presence is akin to walking on eggshells, with the repercussions of a single step out of line costing a life. And while he won’t ever kill his darling, but it’s still very much in their best interest to learn his triggers and what makes him particularly angry or calm.

His darling must be able to analyze others and understand them quickly – a certain level of empathy is needed, and while he’ll never admit that his darling can read him like an open book, in order to survive they must be able to.

He’s attracted to the idea that his darling understands when to speak and when to stay silent, when to approach him and when to give him space, even when to refer to him as my Lord rather than his actual name.

(He always prefers his actual name, as the way the syllables sound rolling off his darling’s tongue is heaven and sends shivers down his spine, but he must maintain a certain level of control over them and forcing such a title is a good way to highlight the difference in power between them.)

And so, a darling that’s able to pick up on these silent cues and patterns is immensely attractive to him – he has very little patience for idiotic people, and he already harbors enough resentment towards his darling for catching his attention that they must be able to navigate the treacherous waters he places them in.

Besides, there’s something indescribably pleasing when his darling knows exactly what he wants, able to predict his desires often before he can express them or realize them himself.

It makes him feel good, his ego getting stroked and relaxation spreading throughout his entire body, and of course, it only makes his feelings for his darling grow, taking root in his gut and twisting and turning these roots until they’re wrapped so tightly around his heart it may strangle it.

And while Muzan likes to think he’d never let someone hold such a grip on him, he’s simply in denial of how truly dependent he is on his darling’s presence – he’s in much, much too deep.

Quiet

Muzan himself is not a particularly talkative man – even during his human years, his voice was reserved mostly for complaints, yells, with a scowl sprawled across those pale pink lips of his.

He’s not one for idle conversation, and while he can force a pleasant smile and white lies and it suits his purposes, he generally doesn’t desire being in the company of those who talk incessantly.

It’s annoying, frankly, and Muzan isn’t exactly understanding or patient once he’s deemed someone irritating.

And so, a darling who is naturally less talkative is incredibly attractive to him – he likes that they’re quiet, that they only really speak when they need to, if only because he enjoys silence.

A more selfish part of him also enjoys the knowledge that a less talkative darling means a significantly lower chance of them interacting with other men – they aren’t likely to strike up a conversation with a stranger on the street, barring them from potential danger and potential suitors.

His darling’s quietness is pleasing, yes, but there are times when Muzan becomes annoyed by this particular trait, however; his darling should be quiet but still talk to him, when he desires it. They should be silent around others, sure, but they should still respond eagerly and enthusiastically when he initiates a conversation with them.

He wants to see them smile at him and treat his every word as if it were gospel, as if it were something precious and important and cherished.

And so, while his darling should watch their tongue around others (and around him too, really), they should be actively engaged when speaking with him.

But not too much – Muzan can tell when they’re forcing themselves to be eager, and it bruises his ego a bit to know that his darling isn’t being totally honest when they compliment his latest strategy in finding the blue spider lily or the Ubuyashiki manor.

It makes a wave of insecurity settle in his gut, a feeling he resents possibly more than feeling weak – it infuriates him, so it’s best to avoid laying it on too thick.

Really, being his darling is just one big balancing act – they’ve got to keep him pleased and happy, a task that could quite literally result in life or death.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Possessive

In general, your existence absolutely infuriates Muzan.

It takes an incredibly long time for his feelings to form, and even then, he’s entirely unsure of why he even likes you – you’re plain, weak, boring, worthless compared to him. Why is he wasting his time with you? You’re simply one human in a sea of them, all doomed to slowly wither away and die some miserable death, inevitably suffering and growing weaker with every day. Why would he ever find himself even remotely interested in a creature with such a glaring flaw?

How could he allow himself to ever hold even a flicker of intrigue towards a being with such obvious limitations?

Centuries and growing power have left Muzan with such an extreme level of arrogance that he’s equal parts enraged and in denial of his interest in you – early on, he tries his best to simply pretend that you don’t exist. Perhaps he’s having to live in human society for whatever reason, and you’re a neighbor or a woman he occasionally sees near his home.

Regardless, he’s making a point to not speak to you, to not even look at you, fully not acknowledging your presence all in the hopes that the weird, scratching feeling in his heart will go away and he’ll no longer be plagued by this weird, horrible awareness of you.

Except, while he likes to think that it works, the moment he sees another man look at you or converse with you, his nails sharpen and veins sprout along his temples, a new kind of irritation coursing through him. He doesn’t like the way you make him feel, but he likes this even less – this man, this human, who’s standing so very close to you and has absolutely no reason to.

The feeling is strange – it’s envy, he thinks, something he’d felt often back in his human days, but this is different. There’s something else, something sharper, something that’s twisting and burning, something that makes him grit his teeth, that gets his feet moving before he can really even think about it. He’s quick to separate you and the stranger, physically separating you with his body between yours, his breathing a bit uneven and strained, those blinding red eyes of his trained directly at the stranger.

He has enough self-control to not immediately slaughter the man (you’re in far too public a setting – killing every human in the crowded plaza square wouldn’t be hard by any means, but it’d certainly be a hassle), but he’s only brought back to reality out of the angry trance he’d been placed into when he hears your small, irritating, alluring voice saying the human name he’d flippantly told you.

Immediately he’s scoffing, glaring at the man for a final moment before turning on his heel, quickly sauntering away from you while trying to figure out why the fuck he’d just unconsciously rushed to your location. He’s unsettled, quite honestly, and angry, of course, but more than that he’s worried – he'd done that without his control, his body not waiting for his permission to approach you, to interrupt whatever that human had been trying to do.

(He personally raids a small village that night, slaughtering every human he can find in ways that leave blood pooling across every floorboard, his pretty, pressed clothing stained red and feeling wet and heavy against his skin.)

And even once Muzan eventually realizes that what he’s feeling for you is attraction – and, dare he say it, fondness – this possessiveness doesn’t subside. If anything, it grows worse. Because now, rather than simply being uncomfortable and angry with other men (and women) approaching you, he’s angry because they’re approaching something that’s his – you’re his human, his woman, his plaything.

And why do these stupid, irrelevant humans think they have any right to look at you, to steal your time and attention, or god forbit touch you? He’s overwhelmingly possessive, and while there is some part of him that feels something loosely resembling love for you, his feelings akin you much more to a beloved object rather than his partner. You are not an equal with him – he is in charge, and he’s the one who decides your fate.

And even once he’s stolen you away this feeling persists – he’s not loving, and he doesn’t really make any attempts to hide how he views you. He’s not particularly expressive, so there’s a very good chance you won’t be aware of his romantic intentions towards you until later into your captivity, but you’ll know that you’re below him from day one. H

e’s constantly verbally reminding you that he’s superior, that any efforts you take to escape, disobey him, rebel, or call for help can and will be dealt with accordingly – often with a few lives lost. He’s possessive and selfish, genuinely believing that you have no reason to interact with another living thing on Earth besides himself – you’re his partner, his woman, and although you’ll never be an equal, he should be absolutely everything to you.

So, you’d better get good at acting.

Obsessive

While Muzan never fully comes to terms with the level of his obsession with you, his actions speak much, much louder than his words. He may speak to you like you mean nothing to him, but if you knew the extent to which he’d stalked you, watched you, and collected information about you prior to kidnapping you, you’d become even more terrified of the demon.

He’s not particularly subtle about his emotions, but he keeps a very strict barrier between the two of you. He holds every ounce of control in the relationship – he knows everything about you, but you know very little about him.

You only know his name (and only Muzan, not Kibutsuji), that he prefers the small home he keeps you in to be extremely clean, that he doesn’t enjoy physical touch (at least, you don’t think he does – if you knew the extent to which he imagines touching you or the things he’s imagined doing to you, you’d never enter the same room as him).

You don’t know a lot of basic information about him that you really, really wish you did – why did he kidnap you? What is he? Does he want to kill you? Questions swirl in your head constantly, but the same can’t be said of Muzan – at least, not in the sense that you’re a complete enigma to him.

On the contrary, he understands you almost scarily well – courtesy of the extent to which he watched you before kidnapping you. Because he was so angered at himself for developing an interest in a human woman, he found himself desperately hoping that by finding out more about you, all of his interest would fade and vanish, allowing him to simply kill you and continue on with his life.

And so, he took to watching you – you’re remarkably weak, he finds out. You live in a home that’s very, very easy to break into, the locks on your doors hardly putting up a fight before budging under his strength. He scoffs at this information, though it does make a small sense of envy eat away at him – has any other man done this before? How often do you get visitors in the night? Are you secretly whoring yourself out to other men?

He finds himself digging through every corner of your small, modest home – every drawer is opened and searched, every cabinet thoroughly analyzed, every closet and shelf picked over in extreme detail. He’s noting each and every thing he finds, his eyes narrowing or his eyebrow cocking up because wow, there is nothing even remotely remarkable about you.

You don’t have any particular wealth, nor do you have any supply of medicine, nor do you even have any particularly enjoyable artwork or cooking materials. He’s disappointed, but as he moves towards your bedroom and slowly slides open the door, his breath catches. You’re laying on your back, the small gap in the window letting in moonlight that shines across your face, your eyes dancing rapidly behind your eyelids.

He frowns, his nails digging into the wood of the door, irritation settling deep in his gut. You aren’t supposed to have this affect on him. He isn’t supposed to lose himself momentarily just from the sight of you – you, who has absolutely nothing to offer in the face of his power, wisdom, and resourcefulness.

 And yet, here he is – staring at you like some sort of lovesick fool, his eyes unable to stop detailing the curve of your nose, or looking at the very vague outline of your chest from underneath the blanket. He leaves, that first night, finding an innocent to slaughter and only feeling marginally better. He’d hoped that one visit would be enough, trying to focus his mind on the fact that you’re so painfully average, that there’s nothing remarkable about you – but for every negative thought he has, a glimpse of your voice or the sound of your voice overpowers it.

And eventually, he convinces himself to return to your humble home, this time going directly to the bedroom. You’re asleep again, this time on your side, with strands of hair framing your face. Your soft breaths make his brows crinkle, and a sudden, fleeting thought runs through his mind – you’re so vulnerable in this moment, he could kill you with very, very little effort.

And soon his nails have grown sharp, and his elbow is cocked, adrenaline surging through his veins because if he could just kill you, perhaps this whole stupid infatuation could be done with. But the elbow stays cocked, doesn’t move, even as his eyes stay staring at you, not blinking, every nerve in his body screaming at him to end your life.

He can’t.

And that realization is the most upsetting of all – he can’t bring himself to kill you. Him - Muzan Kibutsuji, the Demon King, can’t bring himself to murder a sweet little thing like you. It’s comical, really, and although it infuriates Muzan, it represents a turning point in his feelings for you.

After that night, he no longer tries to force himself into forgetting about you or ignoring you – instead, he pushes himself to learn more about you, becoming fascinated with understanding why you of all people have caught his attention.

And really, this is where his more obsessive traits come into play. Suddenly he’s making a point to watch you sleep every night, always staring and watching your chest rise and fall, marveling at what power something as weak as you has over him. He’ll thumb through your closet, pulling each article of clothing out and appraising it, deciding if he likes it or not.

(Those that he doesn’t like are taken away with him, thrown into the trash and discarded so that only what he chooses actually adorns your figure, just as it should be. Later on into your ‘relationship’ this will still be true – he’s choosing what clothing you wear around the cabin, even what undergarments you wear. He’s particularly fond of silk and satin, liking the luxury feeling of the texture on you and the way it feels against him when he’s pressed up against you.)

He’s following you every night, walking around as your shadow and keeping a watchful eye on you, noting with disdain when you stumble or when you spend too much money on a snack or when you aren’t aware of your surroundings.

He’s especially stuck as your shadow when your period comes about – he’s on you like fucking glue, even going so far as to carefully pull back the sheets and spread your legs as you sleep, kneeling between your knees and pressing his face a few inches away from your clothed cunt, letting his eyes flutter closed as he inhales, smelling you you you.

(Masturbating feels beneath him, but the first time he smelled you while you’re menstruating, he’d decided his pride was worth sullying if it meant getting the release his body was desperate for – desperate enough to have soaked a visible portion of his slacks with precum.)

So really, while he’s an arrogant, narcissistic creature, your presence is his one weakness, his one guilty pleasure that allows himself to indulge in – if only just understand how the hell someone like you managed to snag the attention of someone as powerful and important as him.

Controlling

Muzan doesn’t see you as an equal. You’re a possession of his, something that he has full control over and can dictate every part of their life. He’s so much stronger than you, literally able to kill you with just his pinky alone, and this power dynamic is certainly not a secret to you. You’ll be very, very aware of just how liable you are to what he wants.

Even before he kidnaps you, you’ll be aware of the presence of something in your life – to you, Muzan is simply a loose acquaintance. You don’t know each other well, but he always seems to show up at the strangest of times – with excuses of just passing by, wanting to catch up, or some other innocent, plausible explanation.

And so, when he’s telling you at the fruit stand that pears really aren’t the best for your health, consider apples instead, you simply nod and thank him for his insight. (Of course you don’t know that he wants you to eat the apples instead because he can’t stand the smell of pears, and to have you reeking of the fruit would be a serious deterrent his experience of watching you for the rest of the day.)

When you decide to be bold one day and wear the pretty, colorful kimono you own, Muzan happens to run into you and comments on it, telling you that you look so lovely in more neutral colors, don’t you think? (You don’t need to know that he wants you to be wearing less flashy things so that others won’t notice you as much, so that you won’t draw too many eyes, so that you won’t be lusted after and pined after by so many men – you wouldn’t their blood on your hands, now would you?)

He’s subtle about it, never making you believe that you’re being swayed one way or another, but that changes after he’s stolen you away. Once you’re in his clutches, you’ll become very, very aware of just how much Muzan inserts himself into your daily life.

He’s obviously chosen where you’re to live, forcing you stay with him and keep you isolated from everyone else on Earth, just so that your dependence on him will grow, just so that no one else can see you, just so that he becomes your entire fucking world, just as he should be. But he chooses more subtle things, too – things that border on uncomfortable, things that really should be solely your choice.

 He instructs you on which clothing to wear each day – giving you a specific outfit, telling you to style your hair in a particular way.

He’ll tell you whether to bathe that day, and the order with which you should clean yourself – always hair first, then arms, breasts (this is part that he’s most fervent about watching, claiming that you don’t do a good enough job and he must be present to ensure that you’re truly clean), stomach, back, legs, and between your thighs.

(He’ll allow you to privately clean yourself there at first, but as time passes he stops allowing you to turn your back to him, instead standing over the washing tub and scrutinizing your technique with his eyes, insisting that you haven’t thoroughly spread yourself, that you haven’t pressed inside yourself deeply enough. And, once you’ve begun having sexual relations, he’ll insist that you aren’t capable of being fully clean unless something else helps clean out inside of you, too – something clean and meticulous and cared for like what’s between his legs, of course. So let him settle into the bathing tub and seat yourself on him, allowing him to maneuver you to really, thoroughly clean you.)

He’s even instructing you on what order to eat your meals – vegetables first, then protein, then carbs, those watchful eyes of his like a hawk’s making sure that you follow his commands to a tee. It gives him a sense of control, like a palpable sense of superiority over you – sure, you make him feel emotions that he has no control over, making his body respond in ways he despises, but at least he controls you. It’s a weak ploy at maintaining his ego, but it’s effective – because as time passes, slowly you’ll forget what it was like to live a life where your every decision wasn’t made for you, and the thought will honestly scare you – how did you survive? How were you able to stomach the thought of so many small decisions, so many unknowns, so many things that could’ve gone wrong?

And Muzan will feed these delusions – commanding you with a firm, almost bored voice and following it up with an weak women like you shouldn’t be making too many choices, you’ll always choose incorrectly. You wouldn’t have survived without me, don’t you agree?

Which connects to another key aspect of his controlling tendencies – Muzan is extremely manipulative. He’s a selfish creature motivated by his own personal gain, and he is gifted at deceiving others in order to get what he wants. He’ll never explicitly lie to you, but Muzan has no qualms with warping your world perspective a bit, feeding you delusions, forcing you into believing that you truly are nothing without him, that you truly need him in the way he claims that you do.

And it’ll work – all those comments about you being beneath him and unable to take care of yourself will eventually become a mantra for you, and while you’ll still be terrified of the demon, you’ll start slowly depending on him.

You’ll start needing him in a way that makes Muzan smug – because now, he’s not the weak one, right? You need him much more than he needs you. (This isn’t true, but Muzan convinces himself of it – it has to be true.)

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Quite honestly, it’s rare that you find yourself in a situation where another physical person is around you aside from Muzan. He’s very, very possessive over you, treating you more akin to a pet or prized possession rather than a partner. And because of this, he’s able to easily control the people who interact with you – who they are, when they see you, how long they’re permitted to be in your presence, even what words they say to you.

Generally speaking, if he’s feeling kind, you’ll be permitted to see the Upper Moons, but even then it’s in extremely sparing quantities.

He doesn’t like the way Douma touches you, clinging onto you like some sort of leech and getting his filthy hands all over you.

He doesn’t like the way Akaza bends to you as if you have some sort of power over him, as if you were equal to Muzan himself – it makes some part of him smug to think that his underlings recognize that you’re his, but it still bristles his ego to think that you’re even remotely close to his status, even if you’re objectively higher than other demons.

He doesn’t like the way Hantengu sneaks glances at you that Muzan very much notices, just the mere act alone making him scowl and slice off the demon’s neck, sending him squealing and scampering away.

He doesn’t like the way Gyokko is always complimenting your beauty – you’re gorgeous, true, but only Muzan is allowed to admire you. Only he is allowed to take in the curves of your face and body, the softness of your skin, your alluring smell, the gentle lull of your voice. Besides, only Muzan is allowed to compliment you – even that alone is a huge, huge struggle for him, if only because positive affirmations of anyone aside from himself is a foreign concept, and he simply cannot have Gyokko undoing all the hard work Muzan has undergone to break down your confidence and build it back up himself.

He doesn’t like the way Daki insults you, because although Muzan doesn’t want anyone to compliment you, it’s almost more offensive to have an underling openly mock and ignore you – can’t she tell that you’re so, so much more important than she’ll ever be?

He doesn’t like the way Gyuutaro openly stares and leers at you, licking his lips like some sort of animal – as if he’d ever let such scum touch you. Your body is his to touch and fuck, and for the other demon to even briefly entertain the notion of being intimate with you makes bile rise up the back of his throat and his nails to sharpen without his permission.

The only demon Muzan is somewhat likely (emphasis on the somewhat, because he still rarely ever lets you interact with anyone besides himself) is Kokushibo, simply because Muzan knows that the Upper Rank 1 will keep both himself and you in line. He trusts that Kokushibo, ever loyal to his leader, will not entertain any inappropriate thoughts or actions towards you. He also trusts that Kokushibo won’t allow you to step out of line, his punishing hand swift as he ties you up and forces you to await Muzan, the one who will give you your real punishment for nervously playing with your fingers.

(That’s unwomanly of you, Kokushibo will tell you, all six of his eyes glaring down at you. A woman capable of standing beside Muzan should be regal and confident, you are not worthy of him.)

And so, you effectively will have no interaction with another soul aside from Muzan – but before his obsession pushes him to the extreme of stealing you away, he was certainly no stranger to envy or jealousy.

It's an innocent thing, really – the man in the gray kimono was just trying to keep you from falling. The lantern chain you were trying to hang on the ledge of your roof wasn’t too complex, but the stepstool you were precariously balancing on was another story. Reaching high over your head to attach the chain to the wooden beam was extending your limbs to their furthest ability, leaving you wobbly and liable to fall at all any moment.

And, of course, you did – suddenly you were falling backwards, the lanterns slipping out of your hands and a yelp slipping past your lips. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for impact on the hard ground below you, but the air is knocked out of your lungs by a pair of arms slipping underneath your legs and below your back rather than the cold Earth below. The man carefully helps you stand up, laughing sheepishly as you profusely thanked him, rubbing at the back of his neck.

You’re smiling, Muzan can see from his spot at the end of the street, his gaze fixed on you even over the buzz of life at the nighttime market.

Your shop is easily one hundred feet away, but he can still smell you clear as day, your scent alluring and musky and rich, only now tinged with the slightest bit of embarrassment, appreciation, and attraction.

Muzan scowls, his dark brows drawing inward so tightly that wrinkles were sure to form. His fist curls in on itself, sharp nails already slicing into his palms and letting blood drip onto the ground below him. Every muscle in his body clenches, taut with anger, anticipation and the uncontrollable urge to do something, veins standing out against the paleness of his neck and forehead.

That man was touching you.

Helping you.

You, who was stupid enough to get on a ladder and hang up those incessant lanterns – you, who was careless enough with your own miserable, misfortunate human life as to potentially throw it away for some measly lights. Anger clouds his every thought, but he forces himself to stay still, to not immediately jump onto the man and tear him to pieces bite by bite until he was screaming and sobbing and begging –

Soon the man is on his way, leaving you behind as you disappear into the depths of your shop, the man tucking his hands into his pockets with a smile curling on his lips that makes Muzan’s self-control snap, his legs finally pushing him into action.

It’s not hard to snatch the man by the throat, his claws digging against the soft, thin skin and dragging him away to a deserted back-alley.

It’s not hard to hold him in the air, his feet not touching the ground as desperate fingers clumsily grope at Muzan’s, unable to break the inhuman grip the demon has on his neck.

It’s not hard to watch the man’s face slowly turning purple, his actions getting weaker and weaker, and it’s only once the man is right on the verge of losing consciousness that Muzan lets go, throwing him to ground and hearing a sickening crunch noise as the man wheezes. Muzan’s lips curl, his eyebrows still furrowed, his expression looking halfway between pained and exhilarated.

You worthless human. His voice is full of disdain, hatred seeping into every word as he kicks the man in the stomach, the action causing him to cough up blood, more wheezes and desperate heaves filling the back-alley.

Who gave you permission to breath? Who gave you permission to touch her? Who gave you permission to touch what’s mine? He kicks him again, the curl of his lip deepening.

The man is curled up into a fetal position, blood flowing onto the dirt below him. Muzan scoffs. Pathetic. You must think you’ve done a very heroic deed, saving her from falling.

Muzan’s smile drops. You did nothing. You are just a weak, useless human. What could you offer her?

He waits for a moment, just to see if the writhing mess of a man before him wasn’t as pitiful as he appeared, and his brows cock up ever so slightly when his wheezing, strained voice asks, then why didn’t you save her?

And with that, Muzan slices his head clean off, only the smallest of whimpers ringing in his ears, followed by the dull thud of the now decapitated head falling to the ground. Muzan’s chest is heaving, his red eyes wide, a few curls knocked out of place at the exertion, and for a moment he’s frozen.

There’s genuine rage swimming through his veins, and the sheer amount of that man’s blood staining his clothing makes him pause. Why had his words effected him so? He’d quite literally lost control of his body once he heard the question – why didn’t he bother to save you? Why had he only watched, allowing this other man to step in and keep you from cracking your head open on the ground?

Muzan’s scowl deepens, and soon he’s turning back to the body, sharp nails ripping and slicing at the man until all that remains are scraps of clothing and a face so disfigured that identifying him would be impossible.

And even then, Muzan doesn’t feel the sense of satisfaction that killing someone who insulted him would normally bring – instead, the rage is calmed ever so slightly by a strange feeling that makes his fingers tremble, his throat feel swollen, and his heart race in his chest.

And when he returns to the busy streets of the night market, inhaling over and over and over, he’s quick to catch your scent, trailing behind you with those red eyes trained on your form.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Because Muzan is in denial about his feelings for you for most of the beginning of his obsession with you, kidnapping you isn’t the first thing that comes to his mind. He tries to ignore you for as long as he can, holding out and believing that whatever it is that you’re making him feel will eventually go away if he doesn’t pay attention to it.

Except that it doesn’t, and as time passes he becomes more desperate to see you, to hear your voice and speak with you and be in your presence and – god forbid – touch you. And so, while not seriously considering stealing you away in the beginning, once Muzan comes to terms with the fact that his infatuation isn’t going to simply go away on its own he decides that keeping you by his side permanently is the only acceptable solution. It’s the only solution where he won’t lose his mind, honestly.

He grows so dependent on the idea of you that it starts affecting his daily tasks and life – he’s distracted, every moment he has to himself filled with idle thoughts of you and what you could be doing in that particular moment.

Are you eating enough? He knows humans have to eat more often than demons, and you have to be careful about balancing your nutrition and portion control – he’s sure he could a much better job at managing your dietary health than you can.

Are you sleeping enough? Demons don’t have to sleep, and as a result it’s been centuries since he’s had a full night’s rest, but he knows that you spend over a third of your day asleep – a massive waste of time, as far as he’s concerned.

(This doesn’t stop him from stopping by the measly apartment you call home, however, standing at the end of your bed with an unreadable expression on his face as he watches you sleep. Sometimes he’ll even get closer, kneeling beside you so that he can see your face better, perhaps even ghosting a few fingers over the curve of your cheek, your bedroom so silent he can hear his own breathing falling in time with yours.)

Are you with other people? Are you speaking with others? Are you wasting your time and energy on all of those ridiculous ‘hobbies’ of yours? Muzan wants to know – needs to know, and as time passes he simply can’t stand not knowing every single thing that you’re doing at all times.

And it’s not like kidnapping you would be hard – you’re practically defenseless, your reaction time not nearly fast enough to even pose the smallest fight against him. And so, it’s easy to scoop you up into his arms one night, picking you up out of your bed and taking a moment to lean down closer to your neck, his curls brushing against your jaw as he slowly, deeply inhales, the moment of vulnerability passing just as quickly as it occurred as he gulps and stares for a moment, only to immediately take off running towards the cabin he’s prepared to keep you in.

The cabin itself is in the middle of nowhere – in the countryside, at the base of a mountain, with tall trees and no trails leading anywhere. The cabin is wooden, with a fireplace and a meager dining area (only you’ll be using that dining space, of course, but Muzan grows fond of watching you eat – if only to comment on how pathetic it is that you need to sustain yourself with food so much more often than he does). A futon has been placed in the corner of the cabin – it’s big enough to fit two people, but thankfully he hasn’t tried to share it with you yet, not that you’re confident he will.

(You’ve woken to see him sitting beside you on it, however. He was still fully clothed, with an expression on his face that you’re not sure how to describe, but he’s never actually joined you in bed. Thank god.) t’s not horrible, per say, but your life within the cabin will far from idyllic.

Muzan is not a kind man. He’s not even a man – and this becomes apparent to you very quickly. It’s not unusual for him to return home from long periods of time away with blood staining his clothing, that familiar sour look on his face as he stares knowingly at you, expecting you to grovel at his feet and thank him for finally returning to you.

You’ve never seen him eat – he doesn’t touch the food he brings to you (and it’s good food, too – nutritious and surprisingly delicious, making you wonder exactly how he obtained it), and almost seems disgusted when he has to touch it.

You know there’s something wrong, but multiple things bar you from ever asking why his nails grow so long in such short intervals, or why he’s so inhumanely strong, or how he can be so silent when he moves – those things being the many silent, unspoken rules he has laid out for how you should act. He’s controlling in every sense, and although he doesn’t communicate exactly what he expects of you, you’ll quickly learn that he's picky, and he won’t settle for any behavior less than perfect.

Most of these rules revolve around the fact that you aren’t allowed to escape or disrespect him. Attempting escape is a rebellion against being his woman, and just as an owner does a dog, he will punish your ill behavior and pulling your metaphorical leash much, much further than you should.

Plus, your attempts to escape are a form of rejection in his eyes – he never makes it explicitly clear that he’s romantically interested in you, but he feels that you should just know this, and thus your insistence on getting away from him feels like a personal slight against him, like a slap in the face designed to hurt him in the most acute, intimate way possible.

Of course you don’t know this, but after each escape attempt, he’ll punish you, then promptly return to his office (a small, adjoining room in the cabin that you’re strictly forbidden from entering), sitting on his leather couch and letting his head sit in his hands, taking deep breaths and willing himself to stop letting such stupid, weak, human emotions affect him so.

The only thing that works, though, to calm his heart is to once again watch you as you sleep, allowing himself to get close to you, closing his eyes and inhaling your scent, perhaps even holding a shirt in his hands and imagining the way your skin would feel against the fabric. It’s a reminder that although you were disobedient and tried to leave him, you weren’t successful – you’re still here, with him, as you should be.

Disrespecting him is also, of course, a severe infringement of the unwritten code he expects you to follow. He has to maintain some sense of superiority over you, and the moment you disrespect him either with words or actions, this fragile hierarchy is threatened, and you come dangerously close to the uncomfortable truth – that despite all his grandiose talk about you being beneath him, he would be absolutely nothing now without you.

He would be a mess, unable to function, unable to find purpose in avoiding death and sickness, unsure of how to move forward with a life that now no longer seems worth continuing. And so, as long as you avoid those two major triggers, most of your time spent in the cabin will be passed with Muzan simply sitting in your presence, those red eyes watching you like a hawk and making you beyond nervous. He scares you – he’s a monster and you know it, he’s stolen you away from your life and forced you into some strange, pseudo-relationship of roommates, though his intentions are much more sinister than you can imagine.

The one silver lining of being stuck with Muzan is that his crippling fear of rejection bars him from making any sort of sexual advance on you. Of course, he very, very much wants to fuck you (thought the thought shames him, because you’re a human woman, and the idea of touching a human and being touched by a human makes his skin crawl), but the idea of you not being as passionately and needily engaged and eager as him is enough to stop him from attempting anything.

This has an unfortunate side effect though, which is that he channels this anger and fear of being rejected by you into meanness directly at you – comments of how you’re clumsy or loud or irritating slip past his lips. And although he doesn’t often mean them, the venom in his voice will get you shutting up, fearfully and self-consciously staring down at the floor.

He feels the smallest pang of guilt when this happens, because although he’s a sadistic creature, seeing you upset isn’t nearly as pleasing as he’d expected. But it’s a necessary evil in the larger scheme of things – he has to keep you in line, and by stealing you away so that he can keep constant surveillance on you and control your meal times (he decides when you eat, even if you’re not hungry or don’t want the meal he’s brought), how often you bathe yourself (often he’ll watch the process, those red eyes raking up and down your figure, making sure to wear loose bottoms so that you don’t see how the sight of you wet, soapy, and embarrassed effects him), and make sure you interact with no one, he’s ultimately fulfilling a self-serving goal: preserving you, and keeping you all locked up and safe for him to enjoy.

And only him.

PUNISHMENTS:

Despite Muzan’s strange fondness for you (or, more accurately, his dependence on your presence), he’s by no means a gentle lover. He’s cruel, demeaning, incredibly strict and harsh with you, with expectations that he never clearly communicates with you. It’ll leave you guessing in the dark, hoping and praying that your every action, word, and even thought won’t trigger some sort of negative response from him. He’s fickle, his mood changing quicker than you keep up with, and because of this, Muzan finds himself angry with you much more often than he’d care to admit.

He was resistant to developing feelings for you at first, embarrassed, disappointed and frustrated with himself for stooping so low as to develop an attraction with a weak human like you, but as time passes he finds himself growing less resentful and more desperate. He’s still angry with himself, ashamed that he’s allowed himself to let you become his one weakness, and because of this he’s a bit trigger-happy with punishing you.

He’s always looking for reasons to belittle you, to put you down in order to make himself feel better. He’s an egotistical, narcissistic creature, and just because you’ve managed to worm your way into his heart doesn’t mean that you are exempt from this aspect of his personality.

He’ll find ways to twist your words and actions into somehow being displeasing to him, whether by being disrespectful to him, or an attempt to escape.

You’re quiet and avoid speaking with him or looking at him? Sure, you’re scared, as you say, but this could also be an attempt lulling him into lowering his guard around you, like you’re waiting for the right opportunity to try and run or hurt him. (Just the thought along is laughable – as if you could ever do serious damage to him.)

So, he’ll force you into speaking simply by threatening any remaining family you have. That’ll get you spluttering and talking, he’s sure – your weak sensibilities and this absurd devotion to your family that you seem to possess is perfect to exploit. (Plus, it’ll get you to stop ignoring him, something that makes his heart feel like a knife is twisting inside him, making every part of him ache and bile rise in the back of his throat. But you don’t need to know that – he’ll never admit it.)

You’re refusing to eat the food he’s brought for you? You ungrateful thing – he’d gone so far as to get the best quality, fanciest food he could find for you – things that he could imagine himself stomaching back when he was a human. Things that – despite you being below him – you deserve as his pet. He’ll merely scoff, throwing the food off to the side, before returning a few hours later with something warm and wet and fresh – blood is dripping off the pretty white plate he’s dished the human heart on, his face carefully neutral aside from the smallest of smirks while he tells you to eat up, you wouldn’t want an ended life to be in vain, would you?

It’s cruel and it’s evil and it’s horrible, but pinning your compassion and disgust at him murdering innocent people because of your rebellions against you is the most successful and effective tool he could use to keep you in line. It works – every single time.

And Muzan has no qualms with using every possible resource at his disposal – sure, you may be angry at him, perhaps even hate him, but he’s confident that with time, you’ll realize that he’s all you have left. You’re weak and incapable and you’ll never, ever be rid of him, so why won’t you just obey him like you, as the inferior life form, should?

Your fingers are trembling as he nears you, that same unearthly silence to his steps that makes every muscle in your body stand at attention, your fight or flight instincts begging you to run as fast as you can away from the monster in front of you.

There’s nothing in his hands, but that doesn’t make you feel better – you know what he can do with those hands, and you curl up tighter against the corner you’ve sat yourself in.

Muzan’s got a half-smile on his face – it’s the closest he can get to a genuine smile, you think, but it still makes your skin crawl, unease and dread eating away at your gut. He stops in front of you, crouching down so that he’s at eye level with you. His curls sit around his face, the casual white dress-shirt he sports perfectly pressed and rolled up at the elbows.

Hello, how are you faring? He asks, and immediately you grow suspicious – this is unusual. He never directly asks you about yourself – he normally talks about himself, only occasionally dropping a comment or two about you that lets you know he recognizes your presence in the room.

What is he playing at? How do you respond?

I’m okay… you start, nervous that he’s looking for an answer that you don’t know. At your response, he makes no noticeable change, but instead stands once more. He’s still staring down at you, those red eyes feeling heavy and piercing.

Come with me.

And then he’s walking, and you’re scrambling behind him to keep up with his long strides. He settles down onto a leather couch in his study, and for the briefest moments you hesitate at the threshold, having never been allowed in this room.

He notices your resistance, and rolls his eyes slightly. Come here.

You do as you’re told, and carefully, tentatively sit down on the other end of the leather couch. It’s silent for a few moments, before Muzan breaks it, his voice a bit deeper than before. Come here.

Confusion settles over your features, but you slowly scoot over a bit, so that you’re an inch or so closer to him. Muzan’s still staring at you, you can see it out of the corner of your eye, and a frown sits on his lips.

You scoot over a bit more, continuing when he doesn’t say anything until there’s just the smallest sliver of space between your bodies. You can hear his breathing, having never been so close to him before. He’s still looking at you, but you focus your gaze on your hands in your lap, trying desperately to not visibly show your nerves.

Are you afraid of me?

His question startles you, and you stiffen up, peeking at him for just a moment. Unsure of how to respond, you merely nod, your voice small as you murmur yes. Muzan hums, and suddenly there’s a hand sitting on your thigh, his skin cold and dry, the weight feeling heavy. And although you try to stop yourself, knowing the consequences will be anything but pleasant, the unforeseen physical contact makes you jump, scooting away from him ever so slightly.

The room is still for a moment, before you hear his sharp inhale, literally seeing his face morph into one of rage. He’s breathing hard as he gets to his feet and practically storms out of the room, his steps still nearly silent. You’re still frozen, trying to process what you’ve just done – you rejected him.

Obviously you don’t want him, but this surely must be one of the unspoken rules you’re supposed to follow – surely such an arrogant man wouldn’t appreciate being you being so blatantly repulsed.

Unsure of what to do – does he want you to leave his study? Stay? – you stay in place, every part of your body shaking in fear and horrible anticipation at your punishment for such a grave offense.

You don’t have to wait for long – ten minutes later he’s barging through the door, dragging a woman by her hair into the space. She’s already stained with bits of blood, her hair matted with it and her pretty clothes darker than they should be.

Muzan’s staring at you, a wild look in his eye, his hair a bit messy and a few more buttons of the dress shirt undone. He throws the woman to the ground, and you notice how shallow her breathing is – she must be on the verge of death.

Muzan’s voice is deep, husky in a way that stills you to your very core as he growls out you will never, ever reject me. Do you understand? You have no place or authority to reject me. You are nothing. I am the only worthwhile thing in your life. Do you understand?

You nod, over and over, eyes flashing between his piercing gaze and the woman who’s slowly trying to get to her feet. Every time she gets close, Muzan pushes her back to the ground, the tears clouding your lashes just barely letting you make out the way her face twists up in pain.

You are nothing. You are nothing.

Muzan is repeating it to himself over and over again as he picks up the woman, forcing her to face you. Briefly, you’re shocked – you’ve never seen this woman in your life, but something about her seems oddly familiar, like you’re looking in a mirror.

Her hair is remarkably similar to yours – the same texture, the same color, just a different length.

Her nose is similar to yours, her skin color, even her eye color.

Her body is similar, too – a similar build, proportions, and suddenly you’re sick.

This woman is you.

Muzan’s still breathing hard, his face contorted into that ugly scowl, and without a word, his hands are tangled in the woman’s hair again, pulling and yanking upwards until a wet squelching noise fills the room, and suddenly her body falls backwards, limp, with her head still held in the air, his forearm flexing.

You can’t stop yourself from vomiting, the sight and sound too much for you to bear. Muzan watches with pursed lips, his eyes still wide and barely blinking. You look pitiful like this – shaking like some sort of scared mouse, staring at him like he's a monster, like he’s the Devil himself.

And as he stares down at you, something pleasant settles in his gut, because while he’d prefer your adoration, the way you’re looking at him now is good, too. Because you’re looking at him, giving him the attention he was craving earlier.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have tried to be kind in his approach at initiating physical contact with you. After all, it’s not as if you really have a choice – it’s such a strange, human desire to want to touch another, and really, isn’t it your fault that he’s feeling this urge?

(Isn’t it your influence and doing that he wants to touch you, to feel you, to be inside of you?)

He bares his teeth, an eyebrow cocking up. Do not reject my advances. Your death will not be as merciful as hers.

And to that, you simply nod.

OVERALL DANGER:

10/10

Muzan is, undoubtedly, a nightmare to have infatuated with you. He’s so deeply in denial in the beginning that he forces himself to stay away from you, only for that to make him crave you more, to realize that his feelings for you aren’t simply going to go away.

He’s possessive and controlling, seeing you as his in every sense of the word and feeling completely justified in taking over every aspect of your life.

He’s paranoid, always keeping an eye on you because being this emotionally tied to another living thing is incredibly nerve-wracking, your weak human body and disposition making him nervous that even the wind will send you knocking on death’s door.

And even then, he doesn’t express this worry in any healthy way – he’s not afraid to verbally degrade you, using harsh words as a shield so that you don’t see just how pathetically deep his obsession and attraction to you is.

It’s demoralizing, embarrassing to a degree that forces him to treat you like a pet of sorts – punishing you with threats, stealing you away to be stuck in some remote cabin in the woods where not a soul will dare near the home, smelling both him and the scent of death strongly in the air.

He’s so emotionally out of touch, and as a result your life with him will be a constant series of walking on eggshells around rules and expectations you don’t even know about. It’s difficult, and frankly you’re viable to find yourself quickly losing your sanity.

But don’t worry too much – Muzan may not act like it, but he does care about your health and safety, and you’ll be in capable hands to help reshape and remold you into the perfect little human partner.

Perhaps you’ll even become a demon – a very, very likely event, considering the fact that as a demon, you have to obey his every command.

(Just the thought of you completely obedient and submissive makes him smile, his eyes narrowing a bit and his nails tapping on the nearest surface, those slacks of his feeling a bit too tight.)

He wants you to be his, and a man as selfish as him knows no bounds. So really, get ready – you will be his, and will never escape him. Lucky you.

[musette22]

I don't know why, but I keep seeing fans who say they're stucky fans but they seem to like one guy and hate the other. Like some Bucky fans complain about how Steve abandoned Bucky and wasn't nice to him, and some Steve fans complain every time you talk about Bucky and his trauma, going 'What about Steve!?' It feels like you have to pick one or the other. It feels almost weird that I love about care about both of them. Why is that so difficult? Why can't you just enjoy the characters and how much they love each other?

Oh no, I'm so sorry to hear you'be been struggling with this! That sounds very tiring and a bit upsetting. First of all, I have to admit that I don't really share your experience, which might have something to do with the people I follow and the fandom bubble I'm in, in which most people share my own mindset and preferences. I almost exclusively know and follow people on here who, like me, love both Steve AND Bucky equally, and who either ship Stucky or at least care a lot about their relationship. So in my experience, everyone is just enjoying the characters and how much they love each other! I'm not saying this to be like "what are you talking about", by the way, but more to show you that it is possible to enjoy both characters and how much they love each other, without people coming at you from all sides <3

Having said that though, I am of course aware of the widespread Steve criticism (if not to say hate) that got a lottt of traction after Endgame (which, fuck Endgame), but I am personally of the opinion that if someone really thinks Steve would abandon Bucky like he did in Endgame, and you blame the character for that decision rather than the writers etc, then you don't know Steve at all, ergo your opinion on him is void, as far as I'm concerned. If I see people saying nonsense like that on here, I will either roll my eyes or just block them outright, to protect my peace. And that works really well, generally speaking.

As for Steve fans going "What about Steve!?" when you want to talk about Bucky - Although I'm sure there are some Steve fans who prefer Steve over Bucky or even don't really care about Bucky (which is wiiiiiiild to me, because how can you say you care about a character but not care about what that character cares about most at all??), generally speaking, I don't know that I see people asking "But what about Steve" as an inherent dismissal of Bucky, or people expecting others to choose sides? It may well be the case sometimes, but I doubt that's always what it means, you know? Perhaps that helps?

I think that in the fandom spaces we're in, Bucky is a lot more popular and loved as a character (especially these days, post EG) than Steve is, which makes sense considering Bucky's kind of the perfect blorbo, and there is still new Bucky content coming out, and, of course, he is just really fucking amazing and loveable. But yeah, there is no shortage of Bucky love or discussion in this fandom, which I am personally delighted about and will always do my best to contribute to as well because he is my forever blorbo too. But I guess I can see why people would sometimes feel like Steve is not quite getting the love he deserves, you know? Still though, if someone goes "But what about Steve!?" on a post that is about Bucky, that is just very annoying and unnecessary, I totally agree. If people feel that way, they should make their own post about it, not hinder others in their Bucky loving!

I do get hate sometimes from people who say I don't appreciate the characters enough on their own because I always discuss them as a package deal, but frankly, I don't really give a damn about that. I am a Stucky shipper first and foremost, and for me, these characters ARE just inextricably connected. A Steve without Bucky by his side, or a Bucky without Steve by his side, just doesn't feel right to me, which is one of the reasons why I choose not to watch any post-Endgame content. And if others have an issue with that, well, then that's their issue, not mine.

So perhaps you could try and apply that kind of mindset to your situation as well, anon? Focus on loving our boys, equally, and together, and don't let anyone get in your way! The block button and tag filters are your best friends, and following the right people - people who are kind and reasonable and who share your mindset - is essential. I don't know if this helps at all, and do let me know if you want to talk about this some more, but I hope this is useful in some way! Sending love and hugs, and ALLLLL of the love for both our beautiful boys ❤️

[seventeenlovesthree]

Madoka Magica Ship Analysis - KyouMado

I wanted to thank @magical-xirl-4 for requesting this ship analysis! Among the polls I've posted a few months ago ([X][X]), they got among the least amount of votes - and since I have quite a soft spot for the rare rarepairs, I'm gonna tackle them now.

Other ship analysis posts: [Homura/Madoka] [Kyouko/Sayaka] [Homura/Sayaka] [Homura/Mami]

Disclaimer: I won’t claim this to be a conclusive/definitive analysis of all of the ship’s aspects. I have watched the original 12-episode-series and movies (including Rebellion), the Magia Record anime and I’ve read several manga series (the Original, The Different Story, Wraith Arc, Rebellion Story, Oriko Magica, Another Story, Mitakihara Anti-Materials). But I’m aware that I haven’t seen/read all of what’s out there and am also not thoroughly familiar with the games. Plus, oftentimes, ship dynamics vary depending on which series/timeline you are looking at. So this is going to be my personal take on it.

Whether canon provides input on them or not.

Through the course of all Madoka Magica related content - and as far as my memory serves me right -, Madoka Kaname and Kyouko Sakura are probably the pair that shares the least amount of time together. Since both of them usually (hyper-)focus on other characters respectively (or get hyper-focused on by those characters in return), they don't interact much. In fact, I would go as far as to say that they only really get to spend time together when ALL the other girls are out of the picture and/or not available.

For example, in the main story timeline, they only really get to talk after Sayaka had turned into a Witch. It's at this point that Kyouko reaches out, asking Madoka to conduct her plan to pull Sayaka out of her Witch form together - and despite the fact that they haven't had a direct conversation before, Kyouko must still have taken enough note to realize how important Sayaka was to Madoka (and vice versa) to confide in her like that. Then there is the scene in the last volume of The Different Story, where Madoka suggests for them to become "secret friends" until they are both "able to face their true feelings" - which refers to Kyouko's difficult relationship with Mami and to Madoka's inferiority complex towards (and feeling left behind by) Sayaka and Mami. And this is basically summarizes their relationship as a whole:

Under normal circumstances, they aren't familiar with each other and struggle with their respective relationships with Mami and/or Sayaka... And yet, there is this peculiar dynamic between these two that allows them to "see through" each other with surprising ease.

Where Kyouko usually upholds the facade of being selfish, rough and ignorant, Madoka recognizes this attitude as "you seem like a person who likes to pick on others, but that's not actually true". And with basically every other character, we can assume that Kyouko would initially have reacted like a cat thrown into a bathtub, lashing out at them for calling her out like that - but not with Madoka. Madoka is actually one of the few characters she allows herself to let her guard down with almost immediately - maybe because Madoka opening up to her about her own insecurities and complexes towards Mami and Sayaka (TDS) makes Kyouko feel like the Senpai for once. Either way, her offering a "tasty bar" to Madoka in the first scene they talk face to face without anyone else around, impressed by Madoka's sudden surge of determination - is a huge deal, as sharing/offering food is one of Kyouko's greatest love languages. And even her way of criticizing Madoka, telling her not to put herself down and to not rush becoming a Magical Girl before she finds something she really wants to fight for, is a lot softer than how she bickers or argues with the others. She also confesses to Madoka how much she used to love stories of Courage and Love succeeding in the end, getting nostalgic, chatty and even a little sappy; telling her that this is why she wants to believe in them being capable of saving Sayaka together (OG). Or how she feels like she can't get back together with Mami after all the damage she has done (TDS). There is a sense of... Hopeful honesty these two share with each other that is unlike any other combination in the Holy Quintet. Whether it's because they're not as close and thus don't fear getting hurt or judged by the other - or because their personality structures may be just what they needed in the exact moment their paths crossed, is for the viewer/reader to decide.

Another factor may be how their family dynamics mirror and contrast one another (thanks to @jamesthedigidestined who pointed this out to me once!). They're both big siblings, they're both idealizing and looking up to one of their parental figures... The main difference is that Kyouko's wish - made for the sake of someone else - caused tragedy for her family, resulting in her hardening up and secretly cursing herself for her choices and idealism. And even if she may deny it if confronted directly, it's quite obvious that those experiences are exactly why she cannot allow sheltered Madoka to sacrifice her loving, peaceful life for a half-baked wish. In no way, shape or form would she want Madoka to make the same mistake she made. Plus, Madoka being open about fearing to be a hindrance isn't just hitting close to home, but is also a much more genuine attitude in comparison to how the other Magical Girls tend(ed) to mask their flaws. That is most likely why Kyouko - while still being direct and to the point - talks less aggressively to her. In a way, she is projecting the Senpai-attitude Mami used to use on her onto Madoka - while giving it her very own spin.

Unfortunately - aside from the interactions they share in the games -, there isn't much else we can work with. Neither Rebellion Story nor Magia Record are providing much about them and the same seems to go for the other spin-off mangas (at least as far as I'm aware of). However, these moments alone are enough to show that there is a foundation between them. Even if you have to blink at times to find them.

Whether I think why and how they’d work.

While their signature colours pink and red do not clash as extremely as other combinations within the Holy Quintet, their personalities are still quite a contrast - and as implied above, in a way, that may be exactly why they could be good for one another: Madoka may need someone who's direct and harsh to encourage her genuinely (while not being as cryptic as Homura and not as "knightly" as Sayaka), whereas Kyouko may need someone gentle but honest she can take care of while simultaneously allowing herself to be soft around (without feeling looked down upon like she tends to do with Mami).

If Madoka knew about Kyouko's backstory (and drawing the parallels between their family set-ups themselves), you can bet on her own mother-hen personality bursting out of her (in ways Mami couldn't be more proud of). Madoka is a family person - she may have trouble believing in her abilities (or even herself) being anything special, but she has a natural affinity for praising and admiring others. And she's not afraid to push her mother out of her bed in the most loving yet strict way possible (in her Madoka-esque way at least). Thus, her wanting Kyouko to have a peaceful, happy family life (while encouraging her not to slack off) should be seen as a given - so she'd try her best to give her that.

Kyouko on the other hand is probably the only character who doesn't put Madoka on a pedestal: Homura is completely enchanted by (and biased towards) her, Sayaka and Mami do have their vulnerable moments around her and are also able to gently scold her, but also have a tendency to play "roles" in her company ("protective best knight-friend" and "perfect Senpai"). Kyouko absolutely doesn't have a filter, speaks her mind and right from the heart - and as tough as her words can be sometimes, she may also help Madoka's soft heart to get more resilient. For her to become more confident, outgoing, daring, to believe in herself - in the same way Kyouko would, as she could most likely sense Madoka's own sense of Courage and Love buried inside of her from the start. Plus, Madoka is capable of proving to her that a happy family life can indeed exist - so Kyouko would want to protect and preserve that as well. They do have similar initial ideals (fighting for love, the good in the world, to protect their families, friends, etc.). They just "represent" and deal with them in contrasting ways to the outside world due to their different life experiences.

Granted, this means they may have conflict potential as well - because a Madoka in a very insecure state (= too passive/selfless) and a Kyouko in a very overbearing state (= too aggressive/selfish) may not be compatible in a less favourable timeline. Kyouko may get fed up with Madoka's more fidgety attitude, whereas Madoka may not be able to deal with Kyouko's mean side. A lot of sulking and angst may ensue. Plus, as mentioned at the very start of the post, they do tend to gravitate more towards the other girls instead of each other - IF they are around.

However - their dynamic in the main timeline as well as in TDS have shown me that Kyouko can soften up + Madoka can toughen up for them to be on equal/compromising grounds. That's why Madoka can accept the tasty bar as a token of Kyouko's trust easily. They can be honest without judging the other for their differing ways. The time and place just have to be right for them to notice each other.

Whether I’d prefer them as platonic or romantic ship.

Honestly speaking, prior to conducting this post - and even after @jamesthedigidestined had rambled to me about it a few times before -, I actually hadn't taken note of them too much. I was familiar with these two major scenes and of their potential somewhere at the back of my head, but I actually wasn't aware of just how well the family angle allows them to have this complementary dynamic. One that is obviously severely overlooked - mainly due to their lack of screentime. And that's a bummer considering how they may potentially have one of the healthiest bonds among all of them.

Canon does imply that they bond over their shared adoration for Sayaka - even if that may only apply when things are not well between them, which is actually a shame, since it doesn't even allow them to function as a friendly trio; as we see in Rebellion Story, when they're on good terms, Sayaka and Kyouko are too intense and Madoka doesn't really fit in anymore (which is a similar scenario with Mami, Sayaka and Madoka in TDS).

So in a way, they may actually be destined to remain "secret friends", as stated by Madoka... But I'd say that, while I usually see them as platonic, this analysis definitely helped me to appreciate their romantic potential a lot more.

[t0paz616]

Part 2- Unedited & posted on AO3

Okay, here's chapter 2's draft! Tumblr is my beta now, have at it with the constructive criticism. I think I've done pretty good with my grammar and minimizing typos, but if you see anything wrong, anything at all, TELL ME.

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

Optimus walked down the hallway, pedesteps echoing. His face was set with a troubled frown. Ratchet was right, they shouldn’t have let such an important and unknowable artifact out of its vault. He blamed himself for the lack of proper security. They knew almost nothing about the Apex Armor, least of all what it was doing now. What little he did know about the relic was information from many millennia ago, before even his time.

His youth in the Iacon Archives with Alpha Trion was spent researching anything and everything he could get his hands on. One such topic was the ancient relics of the past, which he was lucky enough to have shown to him by his mentor. Orion had gazed wonderingly at the Apex Armor on its stand, protected by a force field. Its center light had glittered at him invitingly, much like a Cybertronian optic. 

Thinking back on that moment, Optimus wondered how he hadn’t realized there was more than met the eye with the relic. There was clearly some sort of rudimentary AI within it that had developed beyond control over the course of the war, so much so that it had, for some reason, picked Miko as a favorite. The Armor’s full capabilities and motivations were known only to one mech, its creator: Solus Prime.

Optimus stepped into his berthroom and shut the door. He ignored the cold metal berth and sat on the floor, assuming a meditation position. The Prime took a deep vent in, and exhaled, closing his eyes.

He drew deep within himself, to the place in his coding where he could enter the Matrix and speak with the Primes of old. 

Optimus opened his mind’s eye to face the virtual door that led to the Matrix. It was much larger than him, and shaped just like the glowing blue core of the Matrix of Leadership. He usually kept it closed, though if he was in a situation in which he may need The Primes’ wisdom often he would leave it ajar. 

He cleared his vocalizer. “Solus Prime, I have need of your aid.” The door shuddered, but remained shut. A beat passed. So she was being obstinate today. “Solus.”

The door shuddered another time, giving off the peculiar sensation that it was… wincing. A click sounded from the door, and it creaked a few inches open. A voice trailed from within. “...Optimus, you’re gonna be so mad at me.”

The living Prime rolled his optics. “Solus, if it’s really that terrible, then it is better to get the ordeal over with now rather than later, when I am out of patience.” Fragging older siblings. Always so reluctant to get to the point. Especially Solus, she was the one who teased the most out of the whole lot. 

“Nnngh, fine.” The door swung open the rest of the way, nearly clipping Optimus in the face. The purple and yellow bot stepped out of the mindscape Matrix, giggles and cheers of good luck echoing out behind her from the other twelve. Optimus’ spark filled with a sudden, ominous dread. It felt like things were about to take a nosedive.

Solus pushed him aside so they were away from the door. “Let’s go over here for the story.” She conjured two chairs and a small table full of cute little energon treats they couldn’t actually eat. The Primes sat down. 

The younger Prime fixed the elder with a stern glare. “I need to know all about the Apex Armor, how it is able to function for organics, and how my team and I can fix the apparent glitch it is suffering.”

Solus Prime fidgeted in her seat. “...Before you can get the answers to your questions, I need to start with why I made it.” The older Prime stood up, walked a few paces away, and stopped, turning to face him again. Her chair vanished.

“As you know, the Age of Expansion was during about the latter half of my life. Seven of us Thirteen Primes, Prima, Alpha Trion, Vector, Nexus, Liege Maximo, Nova, and Zeta stayed on Cybertron to rule it, while me, Onyx, Alchemist, Quintus, Micronus, and Megatronus split up and explored the universe with all who wanted to join us. I traveled with Onyx, and we and our teams explored millions, even billions of worlds across the galaxies.

“Most of them were barren and devoid of life, but a small percentage of them did have life! Microbial, mostly, but an even smaller percentage of the life we found was intelligent. One such world that is relevant to my story was called Akode. On it lived this small, beautiful species–” Solus projected an image from her memory of several members of a bipedal organic lifeform about a quarter of the height of the average Cybertronian with long, upright ears and thick, bulky bodies, possessing a color palette consisting of various shades of gray and colorful accents. They had short muzzles, fur of varied length spread over their bodies, and long, whiplike tails with a tuft at the end.

The elder Prime vanished all of the conjured organics but one– a smaller member of the species covered in a bluish gray color with icy blue accents. They had a gentle expression on their face, and their entire demeanor seemed to be full of kindness. Solus’ eyes locked on them, and her face softened with a kind of sad, wistful affection.

“This is Apex,” the Prime murmured. Optimus jolted, realization flashing through his processor like a lightning bolt.

“You loved them,” he rumbled. His eyes moved across the frozen projection standing in between him and Solus. The ears were the same shape as the finials on the Apex Armor. The accents on the Armor mirrored the stripes on Apex’s arms, legs, and chest in size, color, and shape. Even the placement of the plating seemed to be taken directly from Apex’s fur ruffles. “What happened to them?”

Solus smiled weakly. “The Akodi’s world was torn apart in a long and bloody civil war, just like our kind is now. One side ruled by a greedy, territory seeking warlord. The other side consisted of all the people who refused to be stepped on by the conquerors. Apex was a high-ranking general on the good side. They might as well have been the leader of the entire faction with how much the higher-ups went to them for guidance. Their kindness was known throughout the entire military of their faction, and they were well protected. By both me and the armies under their command.”

The older Prime sat down on the floor of the void, still staring at Apex. She rested her head on her hands. “Any of their subordinates would have taken a blaster shot for them.” Solus laughed. “Not that any of them would have to, given that I participated in every battle Apex did and made sure they made it out the other side in one piece.” Her face fell. “Any of their subordinates but five.”

Solus moved the projection of Apex to her side with a wave of her hand, and conjured five more Akodi figures. These ones were immediately quite different from Apex. Three of them were unusually large for their species, with red, orange, and dark green markings respectively. Likely heavy hitters in battle. The last two were identical, probably twins, and shared violently bright yellow-green markings. They were small, and rather skinny. Their expressions were shrewd, with sharp eyes and toothy grins.

“Those twins were the ringleaders of the whole thing. Spies, sent from the conquerors to destabilize Apex’s faction. I had always thought they were suspicious, but I had thought it was nothing more than my own paranoia and overprotectiveness of Apex.” Here Solus paused, grinding her teeth. 

“But then there was one battle. One battle that I wasn’t at, Prima had called me to Cybertron for a meeting.

“During that one battle, the twins crept up behind Apex while they were in the midst of a brutal fight with the warlord. Together, they drove their blades into Apex’s back. The other three came forward and began beating Apex while they were down on the ground. The warlord stood and watched with glee as his greatest enemy was destroyed.

“Coward,” Solus muttered, face dark. “Couldn’t even do it himself, made his lackeys do it for him–” She broke off. A beat of silence passed.

“Anyways,” Solus continued, “They didn’t last long after that. All those under Apex were sent into a rage at what they had just seen. All of them immediately abandoned their fights to swarm the twins, the three, and the warlord. Our enemies were captured and executed at once, at the cost of my beloved. They were rushed to a hospital immediately, where their wounds were stabilized as best as they could be. I was sent a message that told me that Apex had been grievously injured in battle, and that I needed to return at once.”

Solus Prime conjured a chair again, and sat down heavily. “I made my ship go as fast as it could fly. Onyx followed me. I got into the hospital, crouched down beside their bed for hours. At last my Love awoke. They turned their head towards me, smiled and said, ‘I’m glad you’re here, Solus.’ And then they died with their eyes still open. Looking at me. Smiling.”

Optimus gaped in horror. “...Solus, I am so very sorry you had to go through such a tremendous loss.” He stood up and walked towards her. He stopped just in front of her chair and extended his arms. Solus looked up at him, trembling slightly. She stood and threw herself into his arms. The younger Prime closed his arms around his fellow Prime, encasing her in a tight, protective hug.

It lasted for several seconds before Solus began to pull away. Optimus unfolded his arms from around her. They took their seats again.

“I know organics don’t live as long as we do,” Solus wiped her optics with the back of her hand. “But I thought that if I had been there to be their shield, their armor…” She paused meaningfully, and Optimus bowed his head in understanding. “...Then maybe I would have gotten more time with them.”

“Apex is the inspiration for the Apex Armor?” Optimus questioned. Solus nodded.

“I made the Armor specifically for organics. I only added the ability to recognize Cybertronians as an afterthought. Onyx suggested it, they thought Prima might suspect something was off about all of this more than she already did, and hiding the fact that it was meant for organics was a good idea.”

Solus leaned forward, rattling her plating a few times as if shaking the sad memories off, and rested her forearms on her open thighs. “I coded the Apex Armor’s AI to activate the Armor around a Cybertronian, but nothing more. We’re already metal,” she knocked on her virtual chest, “so we don’t really need much more protection.”

The elder Prime looked to the side and made an embarrassed expression. “Now, before I continue and you inevitably get mad at me, just keep in mind that I was absolutely sick with grief and wasn’t in my right mind at all.”

Optimus nodded, sympathetic. “Go on, then.”

Solus took a deep inhale. “As you know from experience dealing with the Apex Armor, it is completely unbreakable. Unmeltable, impervious to all harm. The person inside wouldn’t break a sweat even if they were taking a bath in fresh magma. I used my Forge to ensure this would remain so for all eternity.

“How the Armor imprints onto organics is a long process. The very first time an organic individual uses the Armor, it subtly takes a sample of their DNA and saves it. This is to help identify potential candidates for bonding. If that individual returns for more uses, the Armor moves their sample up in the priority queue and prepares for the next steps. With consistent usage, one organic individual will become the only one able to use the Armor. If the organic dies outside of the armor before it’s too late, then the bond with the Armor is broken and it becomes usable to others again.”

The dead Prime fidgeted. Optimus raised a single eyebrow. “‘Before it’s too late’?”

Solus grimaced. “So you know how earlier you called what was happening to Miko a ‘glitch’?”

Optimus’ spark sank. “...Yes.”

Solus folded in half and dropped her head between her knees, placing her hands on her helm. “It’s not a glitch,” came her voice from out of view. “It’s the next step. The Apex Armor is physically bonding with her. She can’t leave now.”

Optimus stared, mouth ajar, at Solus. He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“...Why,” he began, “Would you ever add such a feature?!” He stood and began to pace, a panicked expression on his normally stoic face. “What am I going to tell her? Is she ever going to be able to go into public again? What about when she needs to expel waste products? Or eat?! How long will she be able to open the visor? This is the worst thing that could possibly happen to her!”

“Incorrect,” Came Solus’ stern voice. Optimus abruptly stopped moving and turned to face her. Solus’ expression was angry. “I told you that I wasn’t in my right mind! The twisted logic my grief-stricken processor was using said that with this Armor, with this bonding process, any organic warrior I or any other Cybertronian befriended in the future would be protected! No harm would come to them ever again!”

Her expression changed to one of pleading desperation. “All isn’t lost, Optimus! Miko’s not going to die in the Armor. She won’t die at all.” 

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

Ooh, cliffhanger! Let me know what you think! Oh, by the way, I'm just pulling lore out of my ass with this, I haven't read the books associated with TFP.

Also! I have genderbent eight out of the thirteen Primes! I found it irritating that Solus is the only lady in the Primes, so I added some more girls and non-binary Primes.

Here is the list of pronouns:

Prima- she/her

Alpha Trion- he/him

Vector- they/them

Nova- she/her

Nexus- he/him

Liege Maximo- they/them

Solus- she/her

Zeta- he/him

Onyx- they/them

Micronus- she/her

Megatronus- he/him

Quintus- they/them

Alchemist- they/them

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

Masterpost

Part 1 <- -> Part 3

[cameronspecial]

HIII I love your Dad!Drew Starkey x reader and I seen this video and I was wondering if you can write something about is with Dad!Drew Starkey x Black!reader? https://www.instagram.com/reel/C5v1u4kp62A/?igsh=MW1pZTBxOXJ1NnM3MQ==

If not just ignore this and please tag me in it💛

Save Me, Daddy

Pairing: Dad!Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.4K

A/N: This isn't Black!Reader exactly because I try to write the reader as neutral as possible. I hope that it is okay. Also, I am sorry I can't tag you because you are in anonymous mode. If you are off of it, then it will automatically inform you when I post the requests. If you want to join my taglist, then feel free to contact me in anyway.

Masterlist

Being a parent is never easy, Y/N knew that coming into it. Nevertheless, Wilson always finds a new way to make it not simple for his mother. She leaves the three-year-old on the couch, watching TV, to go to the bathroom. When she returns, she finds the lotion that was on the side table is now on the floor with her son. His small hand repeatedly pressing the pump makes it worse. Globs of white shoot out of the hole and onto the carpet, releasing the eucalyptus scent into the air. “WILSON XAVIER STARKEY, what are you doing?” she exclaims. The little boy freezes and turns to his mother with wide eyes. “Hi, Mommy,” he tries to play off. He hasn’t grown into his father’s acting skills because his guilt is written all over his face. If he becomes a criminal when he grows up, she really hopes he gets better at acting or else she might have to spend his teenage years picking him up from jail. She shakes her head, “Don’t hi, Mommy me,” she criticizes. Their head turns to the sound of the front door opening and at the appearance of his father in the doorway, Wilson goes dashing towards the male with the grocery bags. 

“Hey there, Slugger. What’s with the running?” Drew comments, laughing as Wilson wraps around his legs. Y/N points toward the dry lotion, “Look at what your son did. It’s my new expensive lotion too.” His eyes flick to the scene of the crime, stifling a laugh at the scene in front of him. “This isn’t funny, Drew. It’s a mess,” she lectures him, almost as if he is the one to make it. He throws on a neutral expression and nods. “You’re are right and Wils is going to clean it up. Then we’ll go to the store to buy you a new lotion for when that one runs out,” he offers. She looks between him and her son, “Yes, you will. Wilson, go get some paper towels from the kitchen.

The small boy runs off and they can hear his stool being moved a little so he can grab the roll. He rushes back, getting to work immediately. A sheet of paper falls on the lotion puddle and he begins to scrub. Satisfied that he is working, she turns to her husband. “Watch him, please. I’m going to go take a bath.” Without another word, she begins to make her way upstairs. Wilson looks behind him to see his mom out of sight and turns his attention to his dad. “Save me, Daddy, please,” he whispers. Except, Y/N isn’t far enough and she hears his pleas, “Nope, you made the mess, Wilson. You clean it.” The young boy’s head whips back to his cleaning, but he looks up at Drew with big eyes. Drew gives him a tight-lipped smile, “Sorry, Slugger. This is Mommy’s world and we are just living in it.” 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[rebeccathenaturalist]

An App Does Not a Master Naturalist Make

Originally posted on my website at https://rebeccalexa.com/app-not-master-naturalist/ - I had written this as an op-ed and sent it to WaPo, but they had no interest, so you get to read it here instead!

I have mixed feelings about Michael Coren’s April 25 Washington Post article, “These 4 free apps can help you identify every flower, plant and tree around you.” His ebullience at exploring some of the diverse ecological community around him made me grin, because I know exactly what it feels like. There’s nothing like that sense of wonder and belonging when you go outside and are surrounded by neighbors of many species, instead of a monotonous wall of green, and that is a big part of what led me to become a Master Naturalist.

When I moved from the Midwest to the Pacific Northwest in 2006, I felt lost because I didn’t recognize many of the animals or plants in my new home. So I set about systematically learning every species that crossed my path. Later, I began teaching community-level classes on nature identification to help other people learn skills and tools for exploring their local flora, fauna, and fungi.

Threeleaf foamflower (Tiarella trifoliata)

Let me be clear: I love apps. I use Merlin routinely to identify unknown bird songs, and iNaturalist is my absolute favorite ID app, period. But these tools are not 100% flawless.

For one thing, they’re only as good as the data you provide them. iNaturalist’s algorithms, for example, rely on a combination of photos (visual data), date and time (seasonal data), and GPS coordinates (location data) to make initial identification suggestions. These algorithms sift through the 135-million-plus observations uploaded to date, finding observations that have similar visual, seasonal, and location data to yours.

There have been many times over the years where iNaturalist isn’t so sure. Take this photo of a rather nondescript clump of grass. Without seed heads to provide extra clues, the algorithms offer an unrelated assortment of species, with only one grass. I’ve gotten that “We’re not confident enough to make a recommendation” message countless times over my years of using the app, often suggesting species that are clearly not what I’m looking at in real life.

Because iNaturalist usually offers up multiple options, you have to decide which one is the best fit. Sometimes it’s the first species listed, but sometimes it’s not. This becomes trickier if all the species that are suggested look alike. Tree-of-Heaven (Ailanthus altissima), smooth sumac (Rhus glabra) and eastern black walnut (Juglans nigra) all have pinnately compound, lanceolate leaves, and young plants of these three species can appear quite similar. If all you know how to do is point and click your phone’s camera, you aren’t going to be able to confidently choose which of the three plants is the right one.

Coren correctly points out that both iNaturalist and Pl@ntNet do offer more information on suggested species—if people are willing to take the time to look. Too many assume ID apps will give an easy, instant answer. In watching my students use the app in person almost everyone just picks the first species in the list. It’s not until I demonstrate how to access the additional content for each species offered that anyone thinks to question the algorithms’ suggestions.

While iNaturalist is one of the tools I incorporate into my classes, I emphasize that apps in general are not to be used alone, but in conjunction with field guides, websites, and other resources. Nature identification, even on a casual level, requires critical thinking and observation skills if you want to make sure you’re correct. Coren’s assertion that you only need a few apps demonstrates a misunderstanding of a skill that takes time and practice to develop properly—and accurately.

Speaking of oversimplification, apps are not a Master Naturalist in your pocket, and that statement —while meant as a compliment–does a disservice to the thousands of Master Naturalists across the country. While the training curricula vary from state to state, they are generally based in learning how organisms interact within habitats and ecosystems, often drawing on a synthesis of biology, geology, hydrology, climatology, and other natural sciences. A Master Naturalist could tell you not only what species you’re looking at, but how it fits into this ecosystem, how its adaptations are different from a related species in another ecoregion, and so forth.

Map showing Level III and IV ecoregions of Oregon, the basis of my training as an Oregon Master Naturalist.

In spite of my criticisms, I do think that Coren was absolutely onto something when he described the effects of using the apps. Seeing the landscape around you turn from a green background to a vibrant community of living beings makes going outside a more exciting, personal experience. I and my fellow nature nerds share an intense curiosity about the world around us. And that passion, more than any app or other tool, is fundamental to becoming a citizen naturalist, Master or otherwise.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

[futbolfatale]

Social media AKA Hell on Earth

Pairings: Rachel Daly X Reader, Millie Bright X Reader, Alessia Russo X Reader, Ella Toone X Reader,

Tags: Pre-Established Poly Relationship, Minor Cyber Bullying, Minor Angst to Fluff

WordCount: 0.6k

Instagram could be a cruel place if you knew that and still, it hurts to see people saying negative things about you. You had attended the Germany game the night before like you always did. You would never miss one of your girl's games. But There had been multiple times Less and Toone had gotten mildly distracted by you while they were supposed to be playing.

These trolls posted pictures of you they had deemed attention-seeking and tore you apart in the comments about how you wanted them to lose and that it was all your fault. It's frustrating to see people who have never even played professional football criticize you and your family. “Whatcha Looking at” Rachel startles you out of your phone-induced haze. ‘ just looking at Instagram” you force a smile as Rachel sits down on the couch next to you. “Mills and I were thinking of going out for ice cream if you wanted to join us?” you gladly accept Rachel’s offer and you head out to the car where Mills is already Waiting.

“There are my favorite girls”  She teases as you both load into the car. “Do you know what you are going to get?” Mill Questions as you pull out of the drive. “I Dunno, Maybe Cookie dough ohh or cotton candy. What about you?” It’s Easy For you to settle back into this calm space they've provided for you. “Raspberry I think”-” This is my song Mills turn it up” You laugh as Rachel starts singing along to River Deep, Mountain High “ Sing It with me baby” You roll your eyes but join in on the fun.

After The Ice cream is acquired you decide to walk around the park. It’s just dark enough to be comforting and Weirdly quiet. “Do you guys think It is my fault We lost?” You ask barely loud enough for them to hear. “No one is saying that I will beat them up for you.”Mills stops walking and holds your shoulder in her free hand. “Millie You Can’t Beat up our Fans you would cause an uproar.” Rachel jokes wrapping her free arm around your waist. “Well, the fans Don’t know Anything. It was a hard game and you not Being there would have only made us play worse. We always do better When our lucky charm is in the stands.” You smile softly holding in a couple of tears. “How about We head home and we can watch a movie and have some pasta,” Rach Suggests with a slight smirk on her face. She already knows you will agree it is your favorite way to spend a night in. “Let's do it” You laugh as Mills shoves the last of her ice cream cone in her mouth before picking you up and spinning you in a little circle, almost forcing you to drop your ice cream. “Come on Ladies, we should get home before Toone and Less burn the house to the ground. Rach takes off running towards the car and you can’t hide the smile that takes control of your face as you chase after her.

By the time you get home you're buzzin you've decided on watching Man on Fire. You bounce into the house ready to stealth attack toone and less. Knowing them they are sat on the couch playing FIFA. You slip your shoes off and creep in behind the couch where they are both sat. They don’t even break away from their game as you creep up behind them. “Who is winning?” You ask, throwing your body over the couch and landing on top of them. “Baby girl you scared the piss out me my god” You laugh as they return to their game. Life is good even if the Fans Will never truly understand your world it doesn't matter because you have the people you love.