#maybe in a more normal setting or premise
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thewoodshungers-if · 2 days ago
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Since it seems u like agnst asks, what about how would the RO react if MC got like, magically mind controlled and started to attack them? Bonus points if it is not a full mind control but just body control and the MC can still tell them to "please run" or "please stop me"
Warning: ANGST, suicidal thoughts, gore. Suggestive??
Your arms moved against your will, legs forcing you to strike forward like you were some flimsy doll in a street-side puppet show. The voice that came out of your mouth was hoarse, forced out of your throat. "Run, please, just go!"
Nora: All the tragedies in her life, the misfortunes that had cause her to come out changed, had built up to this. She was meant for this, to stay with you and never die - to be slashed over and over, cut open and bruised - and still be able to pull you closer instead, to still be able to hold you close.
Viel: He stayed rooted in place. He abandoned you once - or was it you that left him? No matter. He would never let that happen again. Both of you had to live for you to stay together, and he would never accept any other outcome.
Even as you swung your blade at him, he refused to draw his sword. Even as you pleaded at him to go, he refused to run.
He held you from behind against his body, keeping you in place as his arms snaked under your chin and against your neck, holding you close. His voice was breathy as he spoke into your ear, as your vision darkened and your ran out of air. "I'll take care of it, so please, trust me. Just this once."
Her chest heaved as you drove your sword into her stomach, but she only moved forward, driving the blade further into her. Both of your hands were slick with her blood. She moved hers to close around your wrist, the back of your neck, pulling you closer, closer.
Pain flickered in her eyes, but she only met your gaze and smirked. "It's ok, twist the blade. I'm close."
"You'll be okay, you'll be fine," her fingers slipped to the back of your head, lips ghosting against your ear. "Now sleep, let me take care of this."
Ylfa: She danced away, easy steps. Maybe you thought she wasn't enough to help, wasn't trustworthy enough to not kill you. She refused to dwell on the logistics, refused to dwell on why you've been so desperate to drive her away.
There wasn't much room for her to do so - not when you looked so desperate, so scared. Were you worried that she would hurt you? Or were you worried that you would hurt her? It didn't matter what the reason was, she only knew that it wasn't an expression she wanted to see on you.
Aen'frie: This was a problem they could never reason with, a problem they could never solve with their words - right? So if they had to choose between who should survive... there was only one answer. It would be over once they're dead, and you survived.
But when they looked at your face, scared and pale - and was that tears they saw, prickling the corners of your eyes? They couldn't choose the easy way out. Not when it would hurt you, not when it would break you.
Their voice was shaky as they dodged another swipe of your sword, grazing their arm and drawing blood. "I'm not going anywhere. We'll be fine. We will."
The Cook: And lose the chance to fight you? He already drew his sword the moment you came at him, parrying away your blows with ease. The two of you have done this before. He had committed to memory the way you moved, your tells. This was child's play.
Another parry, disarming you completely. They rushed at you, forcing you down, keeping you in place. They could only laugh at your face, scared, bewildered, relieved.
They pinned you to the ground, wrists on both side of your head, his head dipping down to touch your forehead with his as his voice dropped. "Why did you tell me to run? Don't you trust me?"
Caine: The thought of dying or running never crossed his mind. Why should he? He trusted you, he knew you. He never felt any threat from you, even when you swiped at him, even when your blade almost grazed him.
He could always leave, could always abandon you - but what would that make him? To leave his knight- to leave someone he... cared about to their death? He was useless Prince Caine, but he was also stubborn Prince Caine.
"No. I'm not going anywhere." He raised his hand to your protests. "We will fix this. It's an order, do you understand? I'm not- I'm not leaving you."
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alexanderwales · 2 days ago
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Pitchposting: Bookgirls
Pitchposting is when you half-bake an idea and think about the bones, then send it out into the world without actually writing it, because you have arguably better things to do.
It's personifications of books as cute girls, anime-style, probably literally for an anime, or at least a manga. That's the whole pitch, this is my short fleshing out of what I think would work well. It's Jasper Fforde meets Kantai Collection.
So first, we need to answer some questions.
What is a bookgirl?
I think there's at least some natural instinct to have a bookgirl be the protagonist in some sense: the personification of Jane Eyre is Jane herself. And I think that this is probably a mistake, missing a lot of what makes the concept interesting, plus would create all kinds of problems when you try to apply that to books that have more than one protagonist, or no protagonist.
What's the personification of 1984? It's not Winston, right? I mean, it could be, we're making this up, but I think the book "being" Winston misses a lot of what the book is. And certainly the book is not the Party, nor is it Big Brother, the book is against those things. Does she speak in Newspeak? No?
I guess the guiding principle is "whatever is good for the story/gag", and maybe there's something fruitful in switching between modalities as the situation demands. Some maybe the bookgirl character of Jane Eyre is reserved with an inner fire, like the character in the book, and has a Gothic aesthetic, but also embodies the ethos of the book as well.
For the sake of this, I'm going to say that we're only doing books, with maybe a little wiggle room for graphic novels.
(I have also decided that books with the same author are sisters, and two books within the same series are twins. This would mean that the Chronicles of Narnia would be a set of septuplets.)
What is this world like?
I think in the world of extreme anthropomorphizing, there are different ways to take the concept. In the horse girl anime/game (Uma Musume Pretty Derby), they're basically just runners with tails and ears, no jockey to ride them. I personally think that this is pretty lame, but it's a direction you can go: we're doing a very normal book/anime/gacha, but we're saying "oh, this girl is totally what the personification of Gravity's Rainbow is like" and then the fact that they "are" books is not ever really brought up.
In a different, more literal version, you could have the bookgirls sitting around a person's house, waiting to be read, whatever that means in this context, or you could have them live in a library, or you be bought at a bookstore, except that has some ethical implications that I find kind of boring.
Or you could inject some magic to explain it all away, like there's a spell that make a bookgirl out of a book, and it's bound to one specific time and place, or person, or something, not a generalized phenomenon.
I think I enjoy "sitting around in a library" and also "sitting around in the library room of a big old house", so I would probably combine those two in a way that I don't think actually happens in real life: our core cast are bookgirls in some rich guy's expansive home library, which is open to the public via a side entrance.
And then no one really comments on any of the absurdity here, that if you want to read a book, you have to sit down with a bookgirl and have her give you what's basically a personalized audiobook version or something.
(And the bookgirls can turn into book form it they want to, I've decided.)
So what's the actual story?
It's a story that's about books in some way, the things they say, their relationships to each other. Slice-of-life where these books are in conversation with each other, literally, and you come to see the author doing stupid tricks with that premise. Everything else is kind of secondary to that, and what specific tricks the author is doing is down to their personal preferences and what they have to say.
I guess I'm going through and thinking up some stuff now:
The home library belongs to an old man who is in his twilight years and has been for a while. We don't see him much. He has children that don't visit, and a grandchild in her early twenties who has taken it upon herself to understand her enigmatic grandfather before he passes. She's initially not that interested in books.
There's a nurse who lives in the house, mid-twenties, a complete bookworm who has a lot of time to read, because there's really not that much that the old man needs from her, though she's often on call.
There are patrons of the library, people who come there from time to time in order to take advantage of this community resource.
One of these people is a young man who is taking a gap year and planning to get an English degree, and has set himself to read through "the classics". There's some romance potential there, I guess.
There's a weekly book club that meets and chats at one of the large tables, formerly run by the old man, who sometimes does still come down from his room to mostly sit there and listen.
But mostly, it's going to be about the books. And who those books are going to be is super important, because these are what we have for protagonists.
We need at least one literary classic, and I would lean toward either Jane Eyre or Sense and Sensibility.
For contrast, something from the mid-90s chick lit era like Bridget Jones's Diary.
Something literary, maybe ... White Noise?
A post-WWII absurdist author, maybe Catch-22 or Slaughter-House Five? Let's go Catch-22.
Agatha Christie interwar murder mystery, I'm picking Murder on the Orient Express.
For a pulp fiction novel, I'm going to pick The Maltese Falcon, a hard-boiled detective novel, which I don't think I've read, and would need to, if I was developing this further.
More characters as needed, and many of them for one-off gags, but the basic gist of selecting characters is to get a broad swath of personality types, values, aesthetics, and then just let them run into each other.
You have a scene where the bookgirl version of Jane Eyre is having a heated disagreement with the bookgirl version of Bridget Jones's Diary about giving romantic advice to some of the humans. You have bookgirls disagreeing on the nature of literature, arguing high art and low art, arguing about whether a mystery needs to have fair play. You have a bookgirl who gets really irritated when people spoil her ending. You have two bookgirls get in fights because one is derivative of the other or (depending on who you ask) one perfected the formula and ideas of the other.
Structurally, you're using your plots to steer into conversations. You don't start with having the books talk to each other about their contents or opinions, you start with a child coming to the library and trying to find their first "adult" book to read, which is cause for great debate among the bookgirls. You have one of the bookgirls be annoyed because someone read her and didn't really "get" her, and they sympathize with each other about this common experience, but you're not supposed to just say the moral at the end. Someone comes in and tries to get some of the bookgirls put in a place where children can't reach them after a twelve-year-old took home the American Psycho bookgirl (turns out he didn't even read much of her). There's a patron who comes in and reads the same bookgirl every time, a special relationship, not as transient as it sometimes is, and is what does everyone think about rereading and the ephemeral contact that reading normally is?
Prose and Cons
Here's a thing I think you have to do: you have to have all these books be real books, with only a few exceptions. It just does not work for them to be made up titles. They need to be specific, products of a real author and a time and place, and a book that the audience might actually go and read. And of course doing this with real books means that if the audience hasn't read these books, they might feel like they're adrift, unable to understand the references or the context of the conversation that's being had.
And if you were writing this, you'd want to have read every book whose bookgirl is featured, which isn't a huge ask depending on the size of the cast (reading books does not actually take that long and is enjoyable), but you also want to find a way to do the writing such that it makes sense to those people who haven't read the book. And I think, generally, that this is a difficult line to walk.
There are also a bunch of copyright concerns. Ideally, you would only use public domain books, but that means that you're missing out on a frickin' entire century of fiction. Personally, the copyright concerns are enough to kill the project for me: writing something like this and then having Thomas Pynchon send me a C&D because there's a cute girl who's a personification of Gravity's Rainbow? Yeah, no thank you. Maybe you could fly under the radar, but I think any plan that starts with "well, I'll just do it and hope I don't get sued" seems suspect to me. You could also get permission for anything that's not in the public domain, but that seems like a complete pain the ass and unlikely to work.
And beyond that, if you're personifying books that people have read, you have the problem that people will have thoughts on who these characters should be. I would expect if you wrote this, you'd get a lot of "no, Animal Farm would not say that". Someone would get mad about a gag where Moby Dick comes in for nautical facts at inappropriate moments. You're playing with culture, and it's culture that people have thoughts on, which is the thing that makes it good, but also creates some challenges.
I was midway through writing this when someone mentioned this manga to me, which is similar to this premise, but just ... a lot less interesting to me, at least two chapters in. So that's my final warning: someone has tried something at least somewhat similar, and it didn't take the world by storm, even if I think that you can fix a lot of the problems via better execution.
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spencerreidenjoyer · 10 months ago
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let you lock me down (tonight) | spencer reid x reader
You'd never really thought about having kids, but Spencer just might change your mind.
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wc: 600, rating: explicit/18+
tags: breeding kink (this is the whole premise of the fic. oops?), talk of having kids/pregnancy, established relationship, fem!reader, set in s10-11
a/n: no reason for this other than the fact that sabrina carpenter's juno is one of my fav songs off the short n' sweet album. also i was probably ovulating when i started this drabble sorryyyy
You know Spencer had wanted kids since you first got together.
It hadn’t come up until a few dates in, where Spencer had been a little late to dinner because he was helping to watch over his colleague’s kid. He’d talked for half the night about how much he adored her kid as his godfather, with his colleague having a second one on the way, and how he wanted to be a dad someday.
You would’ve found it more creepy if you weren’t extremely endeared. Spencer was undeniably loving, caring, and impossibly sweet, and dating him was easy. Being with Spencer is easy. You get him, and he gets you.
You know Spencer wants kids, and that’s why when you mention it you’re not surprised by how he reacts.
It just happens to be in the middle of sex.
“Fuck, baby,” you giggle, Spencer being extremely eager as he pushes into you. “You’re so needy. It’s like you wanna put a baby in me.” 
Spencer chokes, his hips stuttering at your filthy words, and it just pushes him deeper into your tightness. “Oh, my God.”
“Does that sound good? You filling me up with your cum until it takes?” you moan, as Spencer rolls his hips into you. It shoves his thick cock deeper inside of you, bullying his way past your tight walls. 
“You make me sound like an animal,” Spencer complains, but his breathlessness tells you that he’s into it. He’s still fucking into you – hard, eager, desperate.
“You could fuck me like an animal,” you swoon, just a little, rather pleased with yourself and the fact that Spencer is so into this, so into you. “Wanna claim me as yours?”
Spencer laughs, shaking his head. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Not before you get me pregnant,” you tease, waggling your eyebrows. “Come on, you know you want to.”
”You are literally insane,” Spencer says, stilling his hips. They’re pressed flush against you, but he looks down at you sternly. “Are you being serious right now?”
You purse your lips, considering Spencer’s own concerned look. “Kind of?”
”Kind of?” Spencer parrots back. “Be more specific.”
”Maybe I just wanna enable your breeding kink,” you smirk, locking your legs around Spencer’s waist. The movement pushes him inside of you a little deeper, and he whines. 
Spencer rolls his eyes, half exasperated and half endeared. “I don’t have a breeding kink.”
“You do, baby,” you giggle. “And getting pregnant wouldn’t be so bad.”
Spencer’s eyes are so wide they look like they could pop out of his skull. “You– You can’t just say things like that! And we are not having a conversation about family planning while I’m inside of you.”
”Now would be the perfect time to talk about having kids,” you offer, but Spencer glares at you.
Smiling, you wriggle your hips just to get a rise out of Spencer. It works, you note, as he whimpers with the movement. ”Okay, so after you’re done with me?” 
“We’ve only been dating for three months,” Spencer says, furrowing his brows. 
“I know,” you nod. “And I mean it. You— You make me want to. Consider kids, I mean.”
Spencer sighs, but you see the way his eyes soften, hear the warmth in his voice as he tries to seem normal and calm about all of this. “Okay. I’ll make you cum and then we can talk about kids.”
“Aww. How romantic,” you say, as Spencer leans forward to kiss you again, and to fuck you again.
While you’d never seriously thought about having kids, Spencer is certainly making you reconsider.
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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months ago
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eternity float of the coral sea event synopsis + speculation
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OKAY
So “Eternity Float” refers to a wedding tradition or custom that originated from the Sea Witch’s matchmaking morays that once gave a “love trial” to the mermaid princess and her beloved human prince (from the Sunshine Lands). I assume that this “love trial” must refer to when Flotsam and Jetsam flipped over Ariel and Eric’s boat In the Twst world, the boat flipping is interpreted as an event which brought the two lovers of different races closer together. (This was a story previously established in Jade's Platinum Jacket vignettes.)
For this event, Jade and co. will be visiting an harbor/seaside town (Azure Town) in the Sunshine Lands. You can see some of its buildings on the cliffs in the background of the limited event SR cards:
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The event synopsis also mentions “[congratulating] the newly weds”, though it does not specify who they are. It doesn’t seem to be referring to w celebration of the mermaid princess in her prince (which I had previously speculated), so I wonder who the lucky pair is…?
The premise of “Eternity Float” poses a few questions to me when considered alongside other lore we know of 🤔 Like... how common is it for merpeople to have their weddings shoreside instead of entirely underwater??? Because Ruggie mentions (in his Halloween Dress vignettes) working at a wedding venue (which I assume is on land) and how the merfolk couples would specifically request a warm dessert rainbow soup with trident cookies, things which would be pretty difficult to prepare underwater. Did the mermaid princess's wedding end up influencing what is popular for merfolk weddings in general? Sort of like how Queen Victoria's white satin dress set the trend for western weddings? Or would merfolk marrying on land be something more akin to a destination wedding?
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In Floyd’s Beans Camo vignettes, he mentions it is “pretty rare” for merfolk to live on land… but maybe it’s more common to go there temporarily? I only say this because if it’s fine for merpeople to go to land temporarily, this doesn’t conflict with other lore which states that adult merfolk like to visit stores along the coast + Mr. Leech owns similar businesses. So does this imply that merfolk like to visit the land for special occasions and celebrations, including weddings and vacations???
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Also!! I know there's a lot of fandom speculation about what the Leech family "business" could be, with the most common one being they're the undersea mob. There is also a variant which suggests it would be funny if it turns out their business is actually Normal and is just related to the government, meaning things have to be kept hush-hush.
I wonder if the tourism businesses Mr. Leech runs along the shore are like... cover-ups for shadier dealings, or if these are just genuinely how he makes his money. Does he have fingers in the wedding industry as well??? This might give him a reason to be the parent present for this hometown event (though of course there's no confirmation yet).
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rafsmusicalnotes · 3 months ago
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Insecurities with Rafayel
Tags: Comfort, Fluff, Smut 
Premise: Rafayel wants to go swimming at the beach with you, but you’re insecure about the stretch marks and cellulite on your body, afraid it’ll turn him off completely. He comforts you and reassures you that he’s completely enamored by you. It’s kind of implied that it’s the earlier stages of dating Rafayel (you’ve walked along the beach with him, but haven’t gone swimming with him). 
MC is gender neutral, but does have a vagina.
MC's physical body isn't described, besides saying there's stretch marks and cellulite (implied mostly on the legs). I try to make my works as inclusive as possible. I hate to leave anyone out.
~4.5k words
MDNI 🔞
It’s the summer, the perfect season for going swimming at the beach. The weather is hot, the seagulls are out, it’s an easy sweat just standing two minutes outside, so of course he’d ask to go swimming at the beach with you. It’s right by his studio, and if not that beach, the private island that he owns. And of course, he'd tell you to prepare a week ahead, and of course, you haven’t gone swimming at the beach in years. And of course, to go swimming, you need a bathing suit. And of course, your old bathing suit doesn’t fit anymore. You’re not a teenager anymore; you're an adult. An adult with a grown body. A body with skin stretched around it. You thought you didn’t care, but now that there’s plans to go swimming at the beach with him… Suddenly, it hurts to see yourself sometimes, and staring too long at the creeping marks around your lower abdomen, thighs, hips, arms, chest, etc. just makes it worse. 
Those “marks” which you believe look more like lingering claw marks holding and curving around your body weigh heavily on your mind as you go shopping for a bathing suit. You see other adults and take notice of their smoother skin with less marks, and you try not to let it get to you. You know better than to compare yourself to other people, but it’s a horrible habit that’s been hard to break. Usually those comparisons are nothing more than a passing thought, but they’re lingering lately much longer than they should.
You try on various shapes and designs of swimwear. Whatever you can get your hands on, but something in the back of your mind keeps nit picking at yourself, so now you’re sitting in the changing room, kinda sweaty from changing so many times in a small space that isn’t well ventilated. You stand one more time, and you look behind you, and oh… Cellulite. As if you needed another reason to not go, and another reason to pick at yourself. 
You know it’s just the horrible lighting in the room, but you can't help but start grabbing at your legs and messing with the fat distribution. You’re not going to cry. No, you’re not. You’re an adult with an adult body. This is normal. You know it’s normal, but you wish you weren’t right now. You quickly put on your clothes, and hang all the swimwear on the return rack. As you walk out the store, you’re already planning various ideas on letting Rafayel down gently. 
After much thought, you decide to do it about 2 days before the date. You’re cutting it close, but a part of you wants him to be upset at you. As some sort of odd self punishment you think you deserve. Also, you do it over call, so you don’t have to see his face, hearing his disappointment is more than enough to guilt you.
“Ahh I’m so sorry Rafayel, but I accidentally picked up a shift for that day.” 
“Accidentally? And you’re sure you can’t take it back?” 
“Maybe I could? But it would feel kind of rude… look I’m really sorry.”
“I get it. We can go another day, right? The beach isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Also, don’t overwork yourself, cutie.”
Rafayel’s soft chuckles reverberate into your head and down your spine in a similar warmth, but your frigid guilt washes it away. You hate that you’re telling a half truth; you did pick up a shift, but it was never an accident. 
Now, a few weeks pass before Rafayel tries again to set up another beach date. This time, he brings it up while you’re in his studio. Whilst he’s busy opening boxes of packages he ordered a week or so ago, you’re sitting on his couch, watching him pull out random articles of clothing, gadgets, and even some strange ceramic pieces. After some time of opening boxes, he shifts the conversation to arranging another beach date.
“I’m telling you way ahead of time, so this time don’t forget and accidentally pick up a shift please. I’ll tell you about it everyday if I have to.”
He moves to sit next to you, and you tell him okay. Unfortunately, as the conversation keeps going along, a familiar heaviness of insecurity and guilt takes the forefront of your consciousness. More specifically, you’re distracted by how you don’t even have a bathing suit, the stretch marks, the cellulite, and most importantly, will he catch on if you make another excuse again? 
“Hey cutie, what’s on your mind?”
The question cuts through your trance, and you refocus your attention on him. His body is leaning towards you, and his brows are a bit furrowed as he scans your face. 
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
You barely manage to roll that response out as you lean your body away from him. Can he tell something is up? Can he tell you really don’t wanna go? Well, it’s not that you don’t, but would he even still be attracted to you? Could he see you and still want to be with you? You shift your gaze down to his blouse, and peak at the defined collarbone and sculpted chest. Another comparison that adds another weight. You’ve been adding on a lot lately.
Then you look at his face again. Perfectly smooth, free of blemishes. Another weight. 
“Yeah, thinking about what? ‘Cause you’re staring off a terrible lot.”
He leans even closer and a cheeky smile paints his face, but his eyes still show deep concern. And they’re trying to meet your eyes, but you won’t let it happen. 
“Just... thinking.”
“Thinking… Would you let me in, please?” He’s reaching over to hold your hand, kissing your knuckles. “I promise I won’t stop pestering until you tell me.” He winks at you, and your heart beats a lil faster. You’re flattered by his gesture, but scared of his response if you told him the truth. 
“I can’t go.”
“Go where?”
“The beach Rafayel.” 
“Can’t? Why?” He leans back to give you space to think, but he still holds your hand, so you can’t run away from this. There’s a long pause in the air as you reach for words to catch in your mind. What’s a good reason? You want to go. You really do, but you’re not ready to go with him. The flattering, fashionable, funny guy of your dreams. What if it all falls apart at the beach? What if he tells you some crap that ‘oh it’s all in the beauty of your soul’ or some crap. You know he likes your personality already. That’s probably what has kept him with you this long. That’s not what you want to hear, but what if he’s not even attracted to you anymore after that date. And suddenly, he’s asking less and less to go on dates, and then… he breaks up with you?
“What’s going on?” He whispers, his fingers trace the side of your face. “You’re starting to seriously worry me.” 
“I’m sorry. I wanna go, but… Oh it’s so stupid and embarrassing.” 
“Can’t be that stupid if it’s holding you back from going somewhere you wanna go.”
You make an odd noise from the back of your throat. You should tell him. You really should, but you feel so stupid. It’s such a ridiculous reason. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself now that he’s putting you in the spotlight. 
“I’m worried about something.” It took so much out of you to even say that, so you’re starting to sweat and slowly shifting away to the furthest end of the couch. 
“Yes?” He lets you shift away, but never lets go of your hand. He’s starting to get nervous too, and you can feel it in the way his hands are starting to sweat, and he holds on tighter.
“I’m worried that… That you won’t like me anymore afterwards.” You stare at the connected hands–  you’ve loosened your grip.  Because if he wants to let you go after this, then he has every right. A good, handsome guy like him deserves an equally good, beautiful person that has more self confidence than you could ever muster. 
“That.. I won’t like you anymore?” Rafayel tilts his head to the side, eyes widening for a moment, but quickly returning to normal. “Why wouldn’t I like you anymore? I’ve loved you thus far haven’t I? Why would one good date ruin that? One good date at the beach, may I add, because you’ve been fine with other dates and meetups. Even today’s meetup. What’s so different at the beach? Haven’t we walked alongside it before as well?”
You sigh and shrug your shoulders. “It’s because at those other dates, other non-beach dates, I’m dressed up. Y’know? Even when we walk alongside it, I’m still dressed up. Nice blouse, sandals, whatever. I’m not naked. Not even close. But like an actual beach date, you wear a swimsuit. I remember you told me to prepare for that, and I went shopping for it, but I just... I hate it.” 
Rafayel nods along and lets you keep going, his gaze never drifting away from you despite how yours darts from place to place. In those small milliseconds that he can catch your eyes, he takes notice of the worry and fear that plagues your mind; he’s catching onto what you’re trying to push out, but he needs to hear it from you. 
“Hate what?”, he whispers and reaches out to hold your other hand. 
You feel a pull in the back of your throat. Like it’s holding your voice back, but you push through it because you decide, if this is really something that he can't help you through, then he was never really that flattering, fashionable, funny guy of your dreams.
“My body,” you say through an exhale that barely pushes against the pull that was holding you back.
“But your body is gorgeous.” Rafayel moves to your side of the couch and lets go of one hand to cup your face, carefully maneuvering to see your face properly. “I’ve always thought so.”
“But you haven't seen me in swimwear at a beach, Rafayel. I went shopping the other day and do you know how ugly I was.” You hate to get choked up, but it can’t be helped. These things have been weighing on you the entire time, and you’re just placing it all bare at once, to the guy you want to hide it from the most. “And I don’t want to go to the beach, and you realize ‘oh that’s ugly’ and then stop liking me. And I can’t force you to like me, so I would just have to wait until you break up with me because I know I won’t do it.” You keep rambling and forcefully pull your hands away to hide behind them. “This is so stupid and embarrassing.” 
Rafayel takes the time to think about what you’ve said. As he formulates his response, he puts his arms around you to pull you as close as he can to himself, and then tucks your head under his chin as he lets you cry. Hearing you speak so poorly about the person he loves the most hurt him so deeply, yet he could only imagine the suffering you’ve been enduring with yourself. He knows this is a deeper issue than he could ever hope to solve in one day, but he hopes that at the very least, his words breach the surface and make light of what has been weighing you. “You’re not ugly at all. The opposite really. I promise. I’ve liked you for a long long time. Longer than you will ever know.” He speaks clearly into the open as he pats your head. “And I’ve been attracted to you since the beginning. I promise.”
“Only because you haven’t seen all my weird stretch marks.” You close your eyes, squeeze your legs together, and cross your arms in a poor attempt to soothe yourself and to hide, making yourself small. “And cellulite,” you mumble off, and all the weights on your soul seem to tug you down to drown you deeper towards despair as you recall the changing room mirrors. 
���So-? They’re attractive as well.” You open your eyes and move your head to look at him. “You’re just saying that.” He pinches your cheek. “Nah uh. I’m not. I promise. Where are they? I'll tell you how attracted I am to every bit of you”. He shifts you to sit on his lap, your back to his chest, and his chin now rests on your shoulder. He won't let you hide any longer. You're his precious pearl, after all. You're meant to be admired. To be loved and appreciated, especially by him. His hands glide up and down the sides of your thighs for a few strokes before settling on your hips. “Go on, ” He kisses the side of your neck, “I’ll love you no matter what, and if I don’t, you can always dump me. You deserve someone who loves you for every fiber of your being, and I am that person. I promise.” He chuckles at his last remark, giving you a gentle squeeze.  
You’re hesitant, but nod your head firmly. It’s true. You do deserve someone like that, and if he isn’t really that person, then he’s not yours. It would hurt to let him go, but you have every bit the ability to leave him as he does to you. Then, you lift up your shirt just enough, and pull down the waistband just enough to show the stretch marks on your abdomen. 
Your head is turned away, but Rafayel looks down as his hands move to rub at your lower stomach. “Attractive. Just as I said.” He whispers and slows his fingers to trace along the marks. “Like gentle streams across your body...” He mumbles “Leading me right to the most lovely parts of you.” His hands move towards the center and his fingers peak just underneath the waistband before drawing back to your hips. You twitch in response and shift in his lap, eliciting a groan from him. “Can I see more? I wanna see all of them,” his whispers gently blow into your ear.
“Okay…” You tug the waistband an inch or two lower to expose the skin of your hips. “And there’s more around my chest and arms…” Rafayel seems to perk up at the mention, kissing your shoulder. 
“You know, I invited you over because I was kinda in an art block, hence the boxes and boxes of random stuff. But I see how unnecessary that all was now.” He kisses follow the curve of your neck as one hand caresses your hips and the other creeps along your side and over your chest, lifting your shirt higher in the process. 
“In Lemuria, stretch marks are seen as a sign of growth, maturity and even vitality. They’re markings of someone strong and dedicated… These lighter ones represent new beginnings and divinity…Then, these darker ones mean finding love in creativity or creativity in love. Whichever you prefer.” He speaks quietly into your ear, these are meant for you alone. “And that represents you perfectly, doesn’t it? My beautiful muse.” 
“Now, what was it about cellulite?” The last weight that laid the heaviest on you, suddenly felt much lighter right now. “It’s just like. When my fat dimples and whatnot when I’m standing a lil bit. But especially when I’m sitting. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to show you really…” Rafayel’s heavy gaze never leaves as you stand up and fix down your shirt. He picks up on how you keep the waistband low. He wants to have his hands there again. He spreads his legs just enough so that when he pulls you towards him, you slot right between them. He lets you ponder, and he leans forward to kiss the marks on your skin, his fingers flirting with the waistband. You flinch when you feel his tongue flick out and drag along your marks. “Wait Raf..” He hums in response and stops, nuzzling into your stomach. “Yes, your majesty?” 
“Uhm..” You never thought you’d be saying this, “I have yet to show you my cellulite.” Rafayel lifts his head up to see you and nods. “Yeah that’s right. I think I know how you can show me.” Abruptly, he stands up, lifting you off the floor, and he carries you to his bedroom. “What’s your amazing idea?” You query, and in response, he puts you down on the bed, front facing down. “Just stay still.” You can feel the bed dip as he climbs on after you. “Is it okay if I take these off?” His fingers hook around your waistband. You nod, “Yes.” He pulls them off, eyes immediately going to the stretch marks he couldn’t see before. 
He swallows the saliva building in this mouth and puts his hands at the back of your knees. “Is it okay if I move my hands up cutie?” He questions, and as soon as you give the okay, he moves his hands upwards, giving a firm massage up the backs of your thighs while he works on kissing every mark on your lower back, occasionally giving small licks. He notices the dimples in your skin as he pushes his hands up towards your ass. “This is what you were worried about?” He chuckles lightly. “Oh my petite artist and your worries. These are lovely like the soft ripples of a calm ocean. Kinda reminds me of home, and the way the light barely manages to trickle through during sunset and sunrise.” The weights on your mind and soul are dissipating, and a new warm, heated feeling creeps to replace it. 
You feel a fluttering kiss right at the crease of your ass and thigh, “Rafayel–!”.
“Can’t you let me savor this a little more?” You suddenly feel his entire weight press down against you. “Please?” The sensation of his breath against the shell of your ear dances with every nerve along your body. “Every mark just keeps leading me right to…,” he rolls his hips once against you, “...your most lovely parts.” Then, just before you can look back, he turns you around himself and spreads your legs, settling them around his hips. He makes sure your hips are just high enough so his boner is nudging just right against your sex. His thumbs are gently rubbing circles at your hips, and for once since this whole ordeal, you properly meet his eyes. He’s blushing, but he’s not embarrassed or shy like he usually is. His eyes carry a stronger emotional depthness. There’s a romantic sparkle, but also this heavy lust in them. His soft lips are slightly parted to take deeper breaths, chest noticeably rising and falling. You look down, and you’re transfixed at how strained his dick is in his slacks. “Cutie, I wanna feel your beautiful body, and paint it with mine.” He leans down, holding himself up with his forearms, grinding his hips down and carefully kissing along your jaw. “Would you let me?”  He gives one final kiss to your lips and waits for your answer.  “Yes. Please.” You don't know where to place your hands, but gripping the bed feels cold, so you hold onto his shirt, one hand over his heart where it’s warmest.
“Thanks cutie.” He smirks and presses his lips against yours again. Slowly and sensually at first, but gradually deepening as he grinds his hips against you; his hands fondle at your chest, fingers grazing over your nipples. He pulls away, feeling a deep sense of pride when he picks up on how you tried to keep following. “Want more, yeah?” He takes off his shirt and works off his slacks. Then, his calloused fingers pressed against the damp spot on your underwear. “Excited aren't we, my muse?”
He leans forward to whisper in your ear, “And I am too.” He kisses down your chest and puts one nipple in his mouth as his hands tugs down your underwear. “So good for me,” He mumbles against your chest, “Just relax for me.” Carefully he pulls your hips to the edge of the bed, mouth still leaving open kisses on your chest and sucking light bruises. 
Once he was proud of the work he made of your chest, he works his kisses down against your stomach and gives a few short licks along the way before slotting his face against your pussy, letting his nose bump against your clitoral hood and tongue give long flat licks against your pussy. His thumbs help to keep you spread apart to taste every surface of you. He tries to take his time savoring you, kneeled by the bedside, but despite his best efforts, he drools and laps against you. His tongue curls up inside and then towards your clit. So engrossed in the taste and smell, he almost forgets that this was meant to please you more than himself. 
And without you realizing, the entire time, he was dancing his fingers along the stretch marks of your inner thighs. He was worshiping your body, gently massaging and soothing away the weeks worth of pain you had held up. 
He slowly changes his motion, taking shorter flat flicks against your clit, fingers sliding inside and feeling around the ribbing of your walls. He works you open to three fingers and rolls his tongue in circles around your clit. You can’t stop bucking your hips up and rubbing against his face. Your hands grapple at his head, grabbing onto whatever you can– you need him. 
As your orgasm builds up, Rafayel resists less and allows you to guide him, giving you more control of his movement. He’s losing his sensibility, so he almost needs you to move him. His cock’s achy and throbbing, tip tapping at his stomach. He reaches down to try and stop the dribbling precum from reaching the floor but it’s a useless attempt. Precum is getting all over the floor and his hand. He can barely manage a short stroke down his shaft without whimpering. He quickly realizes that he can’t do anything for himself if he doesn’t wanna cum before you, but it’s getting painful. 
He wants you to cum so bad. He’s twitching at every flutter and throb against his face. He gives up on being gentle and puts his focus on suckling on your clit. You can barely make out his meek attempts at pleading with you “please…please. Please…” With just a few more sharp tongue rolls and strokes and final harsh suckle of your clit, you cum. Quickly, he’s slurping up your orgasm, tongue taking up all you can give and gulping down as much as he can. This is his sanctuary. Where his purpose is, where he belongs, and without having realized, he came too. And it’s likely the Lemurian biology, but it doesn’t shoot out particularly far, but the semen is thick and heavy. It’s getting all over his fingers and spilling across on the floor. 
But he wants to feel just a bit more. He needs to feel more, but you pull him away. His whimpers almost sound like choked up sobs, like he’s disappointed it’s over. When you loosen your grip on him, he creeps forward to kiss you. The tip of his cock is kissing at your entrance, and you’re uncontrollably clenching. “Can I?” He looks so dazed, and lost, not completely in his right mind, and you’re not any better.
“Please.” You whine, and that’s all it takes before he’s inside you in one languid stroke. He trembles the entire time, feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated inside your pussy. 
“Thank you cutie,” you take notice of the shakiness in his voice. “But I think I’m gonna cum again soon.” His chuckle echoes through the fogginess of your mind; he sounds so distant and quiet with the ringing in your ears still there from your orgasm. “That’s okay.” You whisper back, reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck– it’s a weak attempt at grounding yourself, so he doesn’t sound so far away. “So please keep going, I love you.” Suddenly, he tenses up and shivers at your whispers, and you realize.
He came again. Right inside. Your eyes go wide. It feels like you’re slowly being filled with cum. Meanwhile, Rafayel’s still and whining into your neck. “I wasn’t ready for that… and I love you, too.” He refuses to show his face as he does shallow pumps, grinding his hips a little when he’s balls deep, like he’s trying to push it all against your cervix. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d have lasted longer.” After a few moments, when he’s finally done cumming, he leans back and watches as he slowly slides out, biting his lip at the view. His cock is completely coated in your slick, and mostly his cum. He takes a moment before pulling the tip out, wanting to really draw the last moment. But after he does, he lays down beside you, floating down from his orgasm.
“You know, I kinda knew something was up since the first time you ‘accidentally’ picked up a shift. You sounded really guilty. But I didn't think over the phone was the best time to confront you. You sounded so sad already.” He turns to hold you. “I was worried, you know? Maybe I had made you uncomfortable? I don't know, but next time don't be afraid to tell me these things. It's okay to depend on me, to ask me about these things.” You nod along, “I know, I was just worried and didn’t want to bother you.”
 “I’ve told you before, but I guess you forgot. I want every one of your bad moods.” He reaches to hold one of your hands.
“But what if I'm too moody, and it becomes a pain?” You squeeze his hand, and he does the same in kind.
“I said every. one. I truly mean it. Besides, just seeing you smile is enough to brighten my day.” 
Afterwards, there's a long pause. He breaks silence first. 
“So like… when do you wanna go shopping for swimwear? I got so many ideas of what we could wear. I bookmarked soooo many tabs.” 
You laugh at the sudden change of tone, “We?” 
“Yeah we could go matching,” he pinches your cheek before continuing, “And I'm happy that you're laughing again, but I'm serious. Don't laugh.” 
There's a light airy playfulness as the conversation continues. Giggles back and forth and light teasing. Whatever insecurities you had weighed on yourself so heavily before, feel so far away. Like it had never happened. Or like it was evaporated out of your skin, and all that’s left is a newfound appreciation for yourself.
A/N: Another week, another work done. Editing takes a lot of work btw. Rereading my own work over and over again until I'm satisfied with it. This was supposed to just be another hurt/comfort fic but it ended up having smut in the end. But it also ends on a kinda funny note, so a win in my opinion. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I did. Also, sometimes I like to include lines directly from the game into my writing if I can. That's what the bolded words at the end are for. I got them from that five star memory with fireworks with Rafayel. Sparkling Traces is what it's called, I just searched it up lol.
I think the smut is pretty soft though. I didn't mean to write Rafayel as being so sensitive... but I couldn't help it. It's been 800 years, I can only imagine how pent up that guy is.
OH! Before I forget, yeah I try not to describe the MC's body as much as possible ever. Unless it's specifically for the cause like yk stretch marks and cellulite in this one. I want my writing to be inclusive to all. 🥹🫶I know it's hard to read something while being fully aware it's completely not for someone like you. I remember I was originally gonna write it with a chubby/fat reader in mind, but yk skinny/thin people have stretch marks and cellulite as well. So I decided to cut that out.
But overall, thank y'all so much for reading, and if you have any ideas or suggestions, don't be afraid to ask (if you like my writing ofc). I don't bite. Follow for short updates or if you ever wanna drop me a chat, I'm open to speaking! Please shower this with as much love or more that you gave my first post 🥹🫶I appreciate every note I get on this. It really motivates me to keep publishing my works.
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bluejutdae · 1 year ago
Text
• best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Felix x you
Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Seungmin | Jeongin
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genre: romance, best friend to lovers
warnings: none, except that i am not satisfied at all with this but I’ve read it so many times I’m starting to hate it. I might edit heavily later
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The moment you park outside the restaurant Lixie is in, you press the call button. Faking an emergency is not too hard, you talk about a friend getting injured and at the hospital, exaggerating your tone and almost making Felix laugh.
He’s out in less than five minutes. Under his bright smile there’s something you can’t decipher. He gets in your car and just his presence makes you happy. Everyone loves Felix, and you’re not immune to his charm either. He’s always kind, generous, sweet and funny. You’re really lucky to have him in your life.
“Ice cream?”
“Yes, please.” It’s so funny to hear his deep voice in such a childish tone.
You don’t press for answers about his date during the drive to your favorite ice cream place, you put on some music and sing loudly with him. Save for that indecipherable look in his eyes, he seems pretty normal.
You take your ice creams and decide to take a walk on the riverside. The wind is pretty chill, but neither of you mind too much. It’s him who brings up the date he was on.
“The date… it was like a blind date. But I didn’t know it was a date until it was too late.”
“Uh- what?” It doesn’t make sense: how did he manage to go on a date without knowing?
“Hannie.” Yeah, maybe it makes sense. Jisung means well, but most of the time the execution is, at best, messy.
“How did he get you?”
“He begged me to go on a double date on the premise it was just because this girl he wanted to go out with was wary of going out alone with him so she’d bring a friend with, but we were supposed to be just wingmen. Or so he told me.”
He licks his ice cream and shakes his head.
“About 10 minutes before we were supposed to meet he called and told me it was a lie and it was a blind date…”
You’re not sure as to what to say. It is very on brand for Jisung, but you can also understand how frustrating it can be for Felix. He’s a sweetheart, he must have felt guilty for having unwillingly misled the girl.
“I couldn’t just leave and stand her up. She knew nothing about the lie, so it wasn't her fault.”
“Was she nice, at least?”
He nods, but he seems almost distracted. “She was nice. Pretty and funny, to be honest.”
“Why didn’t you stay, then?”
He slows down to a stop, and the moment you notice you turn around to look at him, a question on your face. He cleans his mouth with the small napkin and exhales with a small grimace.
“Lix?”
“Because I like you. And I’m not interested in other girls.”
He likes you. Felix likes you. And not in a friendly way. In a like like way. You weren’t expecting that.
“I-“ you start, but you don’t know how to continue that sentence. What do you say to your best friend who just said he likes you? Do you even like him? You’ve always been pretty good at keeping your feelings in check, so after knowing him, when it was clear you were headed towards just being friends, that’s what you set your mind -and your heart- to. He’s your friend, and you didn’t even ever consider more.
“I’m sorry. I’ve kept it from you for a while but I couldn’t anymore. That’s why Jisung insisted on this date. He was trying to distract me.” He turns slightly to watch at the river flowing fast but quietly. “Things don't have to change. If you don’t feel the same it’s okay, but I’d like to stay friends if you’re okay with that. I don’t wanna lose you.”
The idea of Felix losing you is ridiculous to you, nothing is ever gonna make you distance yourself from him. You try to tell him so by hugging him. “Lixie, we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”
You speak into his jacket, and maybe it’s easier this way.
“I thought we were only meant to be friends, so I didn’t even consider looking at you in a different way.” You can feel him tense under your hug. “Wait, wait, listen to me please.” Still hugging him you try to look at him, a smile on your lips. He’s your best friend, he’s the best person you’ve ever met. Being liked by him is an honor, and if you think about it, trying to be something more it’s not something that you hate.
“You’re my best friend, Lix. You know I love you, and I think you’re perfect. I never let myself think about you like that, but I know that if I give it a chance, it’d be so easy to fall in love with you romantically.”
“You don’t have to make yourself like me.”
“Don’t be silly. I’d be lucky to love you. Give me a chance?”
He’s smiling now, and he’s so so pretty like this. He’s always pretty, you tell him constantly, but when he smiles it’s his best look.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure Lixie. Let me take you out on a date? I promise to spoil you…”
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you out?”
“It’s okay. You can ask next time.” You kiss him on his cheek and hold his hand, making him resume your stroll.
He really is easy to love, and not even a month later you ask yourself how you ever managed not to be head over heels in love with your best friend boyfriend.
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skibasyndrome · 25 days ago
Note
Hi Simon! could you please do prompt #40 ☺️
Hiii!!! Thank you so much for sending me this smut prompt, thank you for waiting!! (and sorry for making you wait) 💜💜💜
So... ever since Roo @sobadbad posted this (not quite wilmon but in spirit) shower scene gif set I've been thinking about this. I give you: Shower scene wilmon! FWB wilmon!
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I hope you enjoy 💜
cw: nsfw
Read below or on AO3
Simon lets out an unceremonious yelp when his naked back connects with the cool shower tiles. He has half a mind to complain, but Wille is already on him, warm and broad and damp, half sweat, half wayward sputtering from the shower spray. And all hungry mouth, quickly swallowing Simon’s complaints, all hungry hands, slipping between the wall and Simon’s body, making it better, making it good. Simon can’t help but smile into the kiss, even through the moan that’s punched out of him when Wille fully slots his body against Simon’s. Even when they’re so horny they’re forgetting themselves, Wille knows just what to do. Knows how to angle them in the small stall, so they can keep making out, unhindered by water rushing down and fogging up the air they’re sucking in, in between kisses.
They're not usually reckless like this. Their moments of… this, of them crashing together, of working out the daily stresses, of channelling every bit of frustration and maybe some loneliness, at least on Simon’s part, of seeking out comfort and companionship and relief and fun; they usually happen neatly hidden away. In Wille's dorm room, curtains drawn, after classes, or Simon's bedroom, when Wille gets granted a rare Saturday off the Hillerska premises. There’s a clear distinction between the them that’s for public spaces, that’s okay for others to see, that’s look and feels a lot like comfortable acquaintanceship, timid friendship, steadily growing less and less timid as time went on, and this. This them, that’s hot tongues and fingernails digging into backs and bodies moving like it’s everything they’ve ever done, and beautiful needy sounds that Simon feels secretly possessive over.
But today is... different. Today feels decidedly out of the ordinary, feels like they’ve lost their scrips and rewritten their roles. And Simon doesn’t think he’s ever wanted Wille quite this badly.
Simon could've predicted it, has felt an unnerving kind of crackling between them all throughout their training session. Every time their fingers brushed on the barbell bar and Wille seemingly leaned into the touch, whenever Simon sat down on the rowing machine, Wille's hand burning through the thin fabric of his shirt where it was pressed against the small of his back.
An unspoken understanding between them, silently agreeing to take their time cleaning up the gym afterwards, with their teammates slowly filing out through the door. A foreboding heaviness settling deep in the pit of Simon’s stomach when they rolled the parallel bars back into the storage space, exchanging looks and smiles and inaudible promises.
Their joint relief upon walking into the locker room with deliberately slowed steps, a mischievous glance exchanged when they found it already almost deserted, their slow stripping, backs turned, while they waited out their last teammates leaving.
Simon moans against Wille’s tongue, fingers finding their way into his damp hair. It's like the tension is worse today, like even the feeling of Wille's skin, glorious and naked and warm and more and more slick with water, pressing against his isn't enough to take off the edge. The normally impermeable wall between the Simon that gets to have and gets to want Wille like this, and the version of him that nods and smiles and jokes like he doesn’t know what Wille’s body feels like under his, is gone and long forgotten. A ludicrous thought crosses Simon’s mind, unfounded and yet hard to ignore. In this very moment, Simon isn’t even sure anymore if the wall ever really existed. 
Wille breaks away and Simon scrambles to pull him in again, but Wille moves his lips down Simon’s cheek and towards his ear.
“You looked so hot out there,” he breathes, in this voice that Simon deludes himself is reserved for him alone. He only tightens his grip on Wille’s hair.
“Yeah?”
It’s half a laugh, half a breathy plea for Wille to double down. 
They don’t do this. Wille doesn’t hold back on compliments, of course not, he’s quick to compliment Simon’s singing, his song lyrics, his good essays. But that’s the other Wille, not the one that’s-
“Fuck,” Simon drops his head against Wille’s shoulder when Wille wraps a hand around his cock, sliding easily with warm water running down his arm.
The Wille who knows how to stroke Simon to full hardness in a few seconds, the one that looks so so so pretty on his knees with Simon in his mouth, is not the Wille that gives his friend compliments. They don’t do this.
“So hot,” Wille adds, and peppers a line of kisses down the side of Simon’s neck. Simon only gasps. He desperately tries to buck his hips into Wille’s touch, but remains firmly pinned against the tiles by Wille leaning his weight on Simon’s thigh. And as if Simon isn’t already losing his mind a little, as if their kissing and grinding and touching out here and the heated air of the shower isn’t already making him feel lightheaded enough, Wille goes on.
“You always look so good…,” he mumbles, quiet and dampened by Simon’s skin, but still painfully clear to his ears. A sudden rush of heat has Simon trembling.
He only hums, unsure what the fuck else he’s supposed to do. Unsure what the fuck changed and why he so desperately needs Wille to mean it, needs both Willes to mean it.
But his body has its own mind, muscle memory tiding him over the confusing rush inside of his head. His hand easily finds its way down Wille’s body, palm sliding over slick skin and the firm muscles underneath, over Wille’s soft belly, sucked in with a quiet breath. Just as he feels the coarse hair against his fingertips, Wille wraps his fingers around his wrist, moving him further down.
“Need you,” Wille whispers between kisses, and Simon lets out a desperate sound when Wille runs the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock on a downstroke.
“Me too,” he replies, too loud maybe, and takes Wille into his hand.
So badly, he thinks, allowing himself a moment to revel in the weight of Wille’s cock in his hand, the soft, soft skin, the heat, the sparks rushing through his belly at every single one of Wille’s movements. Wille’s grip on his wrist tightens when Simon starts to move.
Wille’s strokes falter, he interrupts himself with a beautiful, wonderful, moan that… Simon’s cheeks heat up, head spinning, when he recognizes his name in the sound.
At once, everything else is forgotten, everything about who they are or what they aren’t, any limits to what this can be, every silly rule he’s ever tried to put in place for himself. Simon wants to make Wille falls apart, he wants to see it, wants to hear it, wants to feel it, wants to wash him clean afterwards, wants Wille to slump his tired, exhausted body against his, he wants-
A loud clatter towards the other end of the room startles them apart. Simon freezes, gears in his head turning and, horrifyingly, identifying the sound as the door being pushed open.
Too good to be true, it was all too fucking good to be true. He shouldn’t have dared to hope they could get away with this, could get away with something as stupid, as reckless, as fucking idiotic…
He hears steps slowly approaching. Then, a loud call of Wille’s name.
Strangely enough, Wille crowds closer against Simon, doesn’t let go of him. As if he could shield Simon from whoever is going to find them. As if that wouldn’t make a difficult to explain situation even worse. There’s no use hiding, Simon wants to say. Not with the water running, not with them staying back.
“What’s taking you so long?” the voice, Simon thinks it might be Henry, calls out. “Hurry up!”
So that must mean…
Twisting his head around, Wille answers.
“Coming!” he yells.
Simon’s body is quicker than his mind, snickering at the word choice. Before he can stop himself, Wille already firmly clasps a hand over his mouth.
That’s… Something.
Pinned against the tiles, one of Wille’s hands on his mouth, the other still on his cock - Simon swallows hard against the tightness in his throat.
Wille’s eyes dart from his hand on Simon’s mouth up to Simon’s eyes and down again, seemingly equally affected.
A second passes before he seems to shake himself out of it.
“Just… you can leave without me,” he yells, without really turning his head. “I’ll join later.”
A longer stretch of silence gives Simon just enough time to panic again, rattle his brain for excuses, explanations, something to justify why they’re crammed in a stall in the community showers, hands in compromising positions, lips and cheeks pink.
At the sound of more steps, Simon’s stomach drops, but he quickly realized that it worked, that Henry is walking away.
He waits until the door closes again, equally loud and startling sound, but so, so relieving this time around. As soon as he thinks the coast is clear, Wille drops his hand, apology somewhere in the unsteady look of his eyes. And as soon as Simon’s heart has slowed, is no longer hammering pressure against his temples, he lets out a laugh, loud and unguarded.
“Coming,” Simon mocks, still incredulous that it worked and squeezes Wille’s cock just to watch Wille’s eyes roll back and falls closed.
“Leave without me,” he tries again, now fully laughing, and Wille presses closer, traps both of their arms between their bodies. He lets out a long groan that sounds like frustration and embarrassment. And it’s so, so endearing.
This is Simon’s friend Wille, the one that jokes with him during lunch breaks. Except it’s also the Wille that softly kisses Simon’s shoulder. And has never once let go of his cock.
“Sorry,” Wille mumbles, this one almost too quiet to hear over the water rushing. “I forgot they wanted to go out for pizza…” He sounds embarrassed still, and regretful as well.
Simon swallows. He’s used to this. He knows it’s what they do, the boarders, spend time together, one way or another. He knows he’s not one of them, will never be one of them, frankly, doesn’t fucking want to, not one bit. And apparently, sometimes, like just now, his being essentially invisible to them can pay off. But there’s no downplaying the tiny, miniscule sting that always comes when it’s time for Wille to put on his public self again, the one that hangs out with his peers, without Simon. It’s a stupid, ridiculous, selfish thought to have, Simon knows that. They’ve laid done these implicit rules, this barrier between Simon and Wille who make out and fuck, and Simon and Wille who talk at school, but then go their separate ways. So he clears his throat, plastering on a hopefully casual smile.
“Guess we should finish up quickly, then, huh,” he suggests when Wille’s head comes up again, when Wille takes a tiny step back, reintroducing space between them. Simon hopes his tone is as light as he intended.
But Wille looks… strange. Wistful, maybe. Nothing like his hungry, wonderful, smiley earlier self. Simon’s eyes catch on his mouth, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth.
“Don’t wanna go with them.”
Wille’s hands are gone suddenly, leaving Simon bereft for all but a moment before Wille is skating them over Simon’s sides instead, slowly moving up and down, as if to soothe Simon, or maybe himself.
“You don’t?”
Simon vaguely knows that Wille gets annoyed with the guys sometimes, but he’s been under the impression that, despite it all, they’re friends. Maybe better friends than Simon and Wille are, even if the sex is blurring the lines and making things seem more meaningful than they probably are.
But Wille is shaking his head, avoiding Simon’s eyes to instead watch his hands mover over Simon’s body. There’s something he isn’t saying, Simon can tell. And so he mirrors Wille’s movements, regretfully lets go of him to instead let his palms slide over Wille’s soft skin.
Wille has so many moles on his body, Simon would think it’s funny if he wasn’t so helplessly attracted to them, the way they look like constellations that are meant to be traced. Slowly, Simon brushed his thumb over Wille’s nipple, just because he can, because he wants to seize the opportunity of having Wille naked like this in front of him.
Wille sucks in a sharp breath. But the way he grabs Simon just the tiniest bit more tightly is reassuring.
“I, I meant to ask,” Wille clears his throat, just as Simon lifts his eyes again. There’s a charming red tint to his face and his neck. Simon wonders if that’s from earlier, or if this is new.
“Meant to ask if you wanted to stay over,” he rushes out, all in one go.
Simon only blinks up at him, waiting for the words to settle in and make sense.
“What?” he starts with. “Like… in your room?”
That sounds unlikely. Because they don’t do that. Even Wille’s trips to Bjärstad don’t end in sleepovers. They very deliberately end before that, because anything else has always felt like it would warrant more of an explanation than either of them would be willing to give.
But Wille nods, slowly, looking bashful, but with the slightest smile tugging on his lips. 
“Yeah?” Wille says, still not looking at Simon. “I thought we could, like, hang out maybe?”
Huh, Simon thinks.
“Huh,” he says out loud. And finally Wille meets his eyes.
There’s an earnestness there, a shyness that Simon isn’t used to. It’s disarming, it’s wonderful, it makes his insides tickle with a strange feeling.
When Wille doesn’t say anything else, just raises a hand to Simon’s forehead, brushing a clumped up, wet curl out of his face, Simon leans into the touch with a smile.
“Would love to,” he says and gets to watch in real time how a grin spreads out on Wille’s face.
“Cool,” Wille says, and Simon feels anything but cool. But he nods. And tilts his head back when Wille steps closer and captures his mouth in a slow kiss that feels… new… different. Promising.
When they break apart, Simon becomes aware of just how close they’re standing again. Carefully, he pushes his hips forwards, carefully presses his weight against where they’re both half hard. Because, with this new thing, he’s just not sure if this is the them that’s happening today. Wille makes a sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan. His arms move around Simon’s back again, warm and wet and comforting.
“So beautiful,” Wille mumbles, and it’s a punch to Simon’s stomach.
So… maybe…
He doesn’t get to ask, because Wille is loosening his grip and turning away.
“Can I wash you?” Wille asks instead and Simon feels another new flutter in his chest. After his nod, Wille reaches for his body wash, the one that smells stupidly expensive, the one that is intrinsically linked to Wille in Simon’s mind, cedar wood and vanilla, and starts lathering up Simon’s shoulders, his arms, his chest.
Simon isn’t used to this, to the feeling of someone else washing him, but he sighs, eventually giving in to his eyelids falling closed as he relishes the feeling of Wille’s hands on him. He sighs, lifts his arms up for Wille to lather up his pits, hums happily when Wille brushes his hands down over his thighs and the outside of his legs.
“Nice,” he says quietly, it’s out before he thinks about, but when he opens his eyes to check if it’s okay Wille is nodding, sending him a smile.
After a short moment of hesitation, Wille runs his soapy hand over Simon’s flaccid cock, a little lower to get to his balls. It’s not enough to bring him back again, not yet, but there’s a warm little flush to his lower body, especially when Simon looks down on himself, watching Wille’s hand on him.
Once he’s done, he pulls Simon closer, wraps his arms around him in a hug that has some of the body wash rubbing off on Wille. Simon is about to make a joke, something about Wille not daring to think he can get away with some flimsy second-hand soap after training with weights, but then Simon feels Wille’s hands settle on top of his ass. Wille hesitates. Simon sucks in a long breath.
“May I?” Wille asks then, and traces the curve of Simon’s ass cheek with a single finger.
Simon nods desperately. Oh god.
The Wille that has asked him to hang out is also the Wille that is asking if he can wash Simon’s ass for him.
“Yeah,” the breathes quietly, widening his stance for Wille to have better access.
When he finally feels Wille’s soapy finger slip between his cheeks, he keens. Wille is moving carefully, but he knows what he’s doing, knows because he knows Simon’s body, even if this is entirely new. He’s so gentle with it, really taking his time as he’s rubbing his finger over Simon’s hole. He’s holding him open with one hand, kissing the shoulder he’s looking over in between his movements, letting Simon claw his fingers into his back. When he breaches the rim, Simon lets out a broken little sound, but stays put, lets Wille clean him. For himself, for later, for the both of them. Simon shivers in Wille’s arms.
“Okay?”
Simon nods, unable to make another sound. He’s hard again, or most of the way there, feels like his entire back is covered in goose bumps. 
This is so far from the usual fervor and the rush of them having sex, so far from the giggling hurried hand jobs and from hidden away blow jobs he’s had to bite his hand through to stay silent. This is Wille, one of them, all of them, taking his time, touching Simon slowly and intimately, before they’re going to make their way across the premises, together, towards Wille’s room. Where he wants him to stay.
When Wille turns his head again, slowly, almost apologetically pulling out of Simon, their lips crash together once again. And it’s a promise.
Feel free to send me some prompts from that list, or just make some up <3 Or read my other ficlets here
also pls let me know what you think <3
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amamisa · 1 year ago
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SIXTY-FOUR EQUALS SIXTY-FIVE!
RANPO EDOGAWA ⋮ BUNGO STRAY DOGS
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premise. ranpo loves to give you all sorts of little riddles, but this one might have you stumped the most out of all of them.
story notes! fem!reader. fluff! reader works as part of the ADA office staff. animated dividers by @/cafekitsune!
love, misa ‹3 if you know what the title is referencing, ily! also, reblogs, comments and interactions are vrie appreciated!
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“. . . Pardon?”
Ranpo looks to you with a pointedly smug grin playing on his face, hands relaxedly folded behind his head as he leans back in the ADA office’s chair. It creaks beneath him as he plants his feet atop the mahogany desk and swivels around slowly, a sign that you should probably get the seat oiled soon.
“It’s simple, is it not?” He asks and you slowly shake your head no, mouth slightly agape when he starts to sigh, repeating his prior statement.
“Sixty-four equals sixty-five, and that’s that!”
You blink a few times, hoping that the information sinks in a little more inside of your beain just long enough that you can even begin to process whatever he means.
The words play back in your mind like an old VHS tape, abruptly coming to a halt when you can’t fall into a proper, conclusive or logical answer that would make sense in any normal situation.
“That’s . . . false,” you begin to argue, albeit a bit unsurely as you have no idea what to even say in the moment. Your mouth moves faster than your brain as you tell him the only logical thing you can think of.
“If sixty-four equalled sixty-five than it would be sixty-five and not sixty-four.”
Ranpo lets out a laugh, only telling you that “You’re wrong,” and for a second you look around the ADA office wondering if there were any cameras filming the two of you. You find that the other office clerks are merely seated at their own desks though, watching the spectacle between you and Ranpo go down, and a little amused at your bewilderment.
You’d think that for a man who is labelled as the greatest detective in all of Yokohama (and quite possibly the entire world once you took into account his inherent genius and lack of an ability), that much would make sense for someone like him.
Surely he couldn’t have said a more incorrect statement than that with such confidence in himself.
But no, of course not.
It’s Ranpo you’re dealing with, and he says a lot of odd little phrases and sayings just to mess with your head sometimes. It started since your first day with the ADA, it’s been years now and he’s still going too.
He doesn’t show any signs of stopping soon either.
(“You just look so funny with your face all scrunched up in thought!” He once told you after a particularly difficult riddle that had you stumped for hours on end until the end of the work day, afterwhich you realized the answer was unfathomably easy once he had revealed it to you.
Nobody else in the ADA could’ve gotten it though, so it saved you at least some of your dignity.)
You assume that this must be another one of those cryptic riddles he’s thrown your way, maybe a test to see if you’ve somehow managed to improve from last time. An inkling of hope swells inside your chest, hoping that today is the day you finally manage to answer correctly to one of Ranpo’s mysterious riddles.
Setting down the bowl of candies in your hands on his desk, you stand in thought for a moment, scouring your brain for anything that could relate to the riddle as Ranpo delightedly digs into the newfound treats, appearing blissful to the mental agony he loves to put you through sometimes.
The little dish clinks against his fingernails as he searches through the pile of sweets for his favourites at the bottom, the sound of the plastic unwrapping in tune with the beat of the ticking in your brain while you think over his words from earlier.
He gave no set up, no punch line, no nothing at all. There wasn’t any indistinguishable context to the riddle-like words that you could recall, it was only—
“Sixty-four equals sixty-five . . .” Ranpo hears you mutter underneath your breath, and his lips curl up in delight as he munches on a decadent chocolate truffle, filled with sticky caramel and generous bits of toffee.
The caramel sticks to his teeth, with the toffee clinging to the sides of his tongue and the roof of his mouth as he chews away at the treat, patiently watching while you continue to talk to yourself, still thinking over his words from earlier.
“Could it be a math riddle? No, that’s not possible though if we’re going by technical math terms and rules . . . Maybe something to do with physics? But how could anything simultaneously be sixty-four and sixty-five?”
Ranpo’s mischievous grin only continues to grow as you remain oblivious to his watchful eyes, and his gaze scans over your features, wordlessly taking in your appearance.
Your knitted brows, the way you subconsciously pout your lips whenever you’re in deep thought, your crossed arms, all while unknowingly talking to yourself as you piece together the clues.
Ranpo sees it all as clear as day. And he finds it unbelievably cute.
“Maybe it’s about hex codes from the colour wheel, since one colour can look different depending on the background it’s placed over. It could have less to do with the numbers themselves than the meaning or history behind them—”
“Are you done yet?” You’re brought back to reality by the sound of Ranpo’s voice interrupting your thoughts, head perking up as you’re met with the sight of his nougat stuffed cheeks. All puffed out and full of sugar as he holds back a laugh once he sees how quickly your face softened from it’s previously hardened features.
“You were taking forever to solve that one! And it’s really not that hard to begin with!”
“Speak for yourself,” you scoff, taking one of the chocolates from the bowl and unwrapping it for yourself. The plastic crinkles beneath your fingertips, you stuff the wrapper in your pocket before popping it into your mouth.
The caramel sauce encased in the hard chocolate shell explodes when you crunch down on it, a sweet little victory to make up for the quizzical hurdles you’re put through on a regular basis, courtesy of the man sitting right across from you.
“You’re Yokohama’s greatest detective, it’s obvious that these sorts of riddles come naturally to you,” you wholeheartedly confess, savouring the light cocoa and sweet, subtly coconut flavours that coat your tongue. “I’m not like you, Ranpo. Nobody in the ADA is, what takes us twelve weeks to solve you can answer in twelve seconds.”
“Awee, really?” He giggles, swiping more of the little candies from the bowl on his desk. He seems to have missed the original point entirely by now, as he motions for you to continue, “Go on, tell me more about how great I am!”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him, maybe you shouldn’t have gassed him up so much during your little acknowledgement speech. Though with the cases he’s solved in his repertoire, you really can’t argue against that title of his.
“No, you’ve had enough of that from Kunikida and Atsushi just this morning alone.”
A small pout graces Ranpo’s lips as you sigh, ignoring the kicked puppy eyes he gives you while walking back to your desk, continuing to mutter underneath your breath the same words that will probably leave you stumped for the next few days on end.
“Sixty-four equals sixty-five?”
Ranpo cranes his head as he eats away at the rest of his candy stash, watching you immediately turn to one of your co-workers from his own work space to ask them the same question Ranpo gave you, inquiring about any clues they might have as to the answer.
“No, there’s gotta be an answer,” he overhears when your colleague shrugs their shoulders, simply telling you that whatever Ranpo says is probably just a load of gibberish meant to mess with your mind.
“Just— just give me anything you can think of, okay? I’ll solve one of his riddles one day.”
The sight has Ranpo smiling behind the back of his hand, eyes crinkling at the corners with glowing cheeks when you sees you bring out one of your notepads from the desk drawer’s, clicking your pen as you begin to write down any guesses you might have to tell him later.
Truth be told, unlike the rest of the spontaneous mind games Ranpo pulls on you— this one has no actual meaningful answer. At least, not one that you’d understand at the moment if he were to tell you it’s solution.
But despite that looming factor always casting it’s dark shadow onto you, the thought of Ranpo giving you a riddle truly impossible to solve has never really crossed your mind.
Otherwise, you would very easily give up solving them after just a moment of contemplation.
Ranpo’s noticed though that you tend to wallow on them for days at a time unless he comes clean and tells you the answer in it’s entirety, letting his silly and easily misconstrued words stew inside your head during your lunch breaks and slow times at the ADA where you’ll maybe sometimes bound up to him excitedly with a guess as to what you think the answer is.
It’s charming how much thought you put into your solutions, and admittedly you’ve gotten quite close a few times to figuring them out all on your own. Ranpo’s always impressed with whatever you come up with, even if it’s outlandishly ridiculous or nowhere even close to the actual answer itself.
It’s really your explanations and logic behind them that he likes, with some of the ideas you bring up for splutions are those that he hasn’t even thought of beforehand until you ask him if they’re right.
(Sometimes he wants to cut your little game short and just give you the win for once if your guess is creative enough.
But where’s the fun in that?)
He’ll give you more of these up until the day you leave the ADA (though he hopes that’s not anytime soon) if it means he gets to see that delightful little confused but hopeful expression you make while deep in thought.
Your persistence in finding out the answer on your own until you’ve been truly worn out by him is also admirable.
Because while you’re always just a bit confused by all the different riddles, puzzles and play-on-words he hounds on you each day, he finds that you’ve yet to actually reject his proposal to solving them, never even considering walking away from his absurdity unlike with most people he knows if he asked them the same.
He prays it’ll stay that way too.
Otherwise, who else would he have to fawn over in secret?
Ranpo deduces that while you may be clever (anyone who works at the ADA is, it’s basically a requirement when working with ability users such as them), he’s always just a few steps ahead of you.
It’s not an insult towards you on his end in any way either. Your way of thinking is totally different from his own, but he reasons out that he can make arrangements to improving your logical deduction abilities once he finally figures out how to convey his feelings for you.
Properly, and not through a series of complex paradoxes and logic puzzles.
The most complex riddle of them all though that the ADA office staff asks themselves each day while witnessing the two of you has to be:
Whose logical reasoning is really being tested here again? Yours, or Ranpo’s?
The ADA believes that Ranpo should use less of his time giving you intrinsically methodical puzzles and focus more of his energy on realizing his blooming, lovesick crush.
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works © amamisa 2024. no copying or stealing, please!
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curioussubjects · 8 months ago
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How is there a throuple on prime time TV?And why are they the medical staff on a luxury cruise?
I'm still not sure how Doctor Odyssey is a real show that's airing every week and not some fever dream, but since it seems to be that it is a real show, here's why I think it's yet another medical procedural drama...and on a cruise!
While polyamory has become more widely acknowledged in the mainstream, it's hardly normalized or even common in both media and people's lives. Likewise, queer representation, especially that of bisexual men, is still far from being without controversy (if it's allowed to be represented at all, as Supernatural fans like myself well know).
So, again, how in the world is Doctor Odyssey, which very explicitly centers the developing sexual and romantic relationship between Max, Avery, and Tristan a thing that exists? Or, to put it another way: if we have a story that is unusual for most people and even uncomfortable for many of them, how can that story be told without alienating the audience?
The answer: tell it in a way that feels familiar, and maybe a little detached from reality. So, medical procedural drama on a cruise! Ok, let me explain:
Why a Medical Procedural Drama?
Not only has the the genre been a staple of American television since the 90s (thanks, ER), it's a type of story that is told in formulaic ways. It is, after all, a procedural. Both its familiarity and predictability allow the audience to sit back and enjoy the story unfold with its expected beats. This type of TV is meant to be fun and easy to watch. Such shows might give you some current issues beats to ponder as you watch, but they're not making you do a lot of work.
But why medical as opposed to law enforcement, which is a much more common type of procedural? Because, thanks to the legacy of shows like Grey's Anatomy and House MD., medical dramas have a lot more leeway to be dramatic AND unrealistic while somehow preserving the veneer of realism. It's this allowance for dramatics and breaches of realism that create a comfortable bubble of "sure this might as well happen" that prevents the audience from being alienate when faced with a wide variety of topics that can be as accurate or fantastical as the plot demands.
Polyamory, within this broader landscape, can be a Very Special Episode that just so happens to span every episode, and viewers can be carried through that plot by the familiar patterns and conventions of the genre.
Why on a Cruise?
Oh, aren't medical procedurals so cliché? How can we make it interesting?? I know, put them on a cruise! We haven't put doctors on a cruise yet! (totally 100% real conversation on ABC)
Sure, the cruise premise stinks of gimmick, but what if that's the point? Surely, most people would see a show like Doctor Odyssey and imagine that what makes it different is that it's set on a cruise. Yeah, that's not completely untrue, but the cruise serves a much more important purpose than being a differential on a pitch.
In fact, the cruise, like the medical procedural, is another liminal space that allows for multiple ways to engage in fantasy or reality as the plot demands. Mainly, and most crucially, though, the cruise is a bubble, an illusion, which is a point the show itself makes in the pilot episode. It is unmoored (heh) from the expectations of land, like accurate representations of healthcare, or say...monogamy as default. As such, the cruise makes not only for a dynamic choice of setting, but a very intentional one.
Reality Check:
The interplay between genre and setting is crucial. The audience, with all its expectations, of what a medical procedural drama is know what they're tuning in for, and they can easily imagine the dramatic (or ridiculous) nature of the cases that will be present in a luxury cruise. True enough, as I mentioned before, the pilot episode starts by being very honest that the cruise is an illusion: the captain shows and describes all the craft and skill that goes into creating a safe space for passengers to engage in fantasy. The genre savvy audience is then invited into aligning not with the cruise passengers, but with the crew.
Except Doctor Odyssey isn't really about the medicine, or the cruise, is it? It's about Max, Tristan, and Avery. So the audience is given a choice at the metanarrative level: be the passenger or be the crew. Be aware that the point of the story is the polyamory or tune in for medical staff...on a cruise! Win-win! What I think is fun and clever about all this is that no matter who you choose to align yourself with, you can't ever truly escape reality lurking in the wings. The polyamory is simply there no matter how resistant the audience, but the setting and the genre create a buffer around it.
Sure you can have a threesome on a cruise, it's like Vegas. No big. Nothing threatening to social conventions. It's not real. But reality has a way of reasserting itself: in the tragedies that befall the passengers on the ship, or their mishaps, or the cherished memories they'll look back on. And while the crew upkeeps the illusion, they aren't immune or completely separate from its effects (good and bad). No one can divest themselves from what they experience on the cruise and neither can the viewer.
Through genre convention and its setting, Doctor Odyssey (and I mean, look at this title alone lol) navigates the unfamiliar waters of accepting the richness of the human condition (to echo Captain Massey), and brings the audience safely to shore with a new understanding of what relationships can look like.
And this is how Doctor Odyssey managed to get produced and make it to air, and we get to be unhinged about Tristan, Max, Avery, and the YEARNING. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk etc.
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dreamerdeity · 10 months ago
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𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐄 ('𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄)
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*ೃ𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Il Dottore x Fem. Reader
*ೃ𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.2k
*ೃ𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Sleep deprived, overworked, a report requested by your Lord Harbinger. Just place it on his desk and leave–or take a nap on his luxurious leather couch before you do. What could go wrong? Well, a lot, apparently.
*ೃ𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: DARK CONTENT!!! Dead dove: do not eat. Somnophilia, non-con like straight up r*pe, subordinate x superior, scary delusional rationalizer-dottore, p in v, fingering (f. receiving), creampie, dottore thinks he's actually a nice guy, dottore is in fact just a creepy guy, dottore acts like a silly (like a psychopath), 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! others, please proceed at your own risk!
*ೃ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: Hi lovelies! I meant to post this yesterday but had some things to take care of so didn't get around to it. This is a request part of @ficsforgaza 's kinktober event. DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE WARNINGS!! If my shit gets flagged one more time I'm going to kms. anyway, I hope you all enjoy dottore being a literal psychopath. byee :3
KEIRA'S FUNDRAISING EVENT 🍉
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You walk through the east wing of the Sumeruan Fatui Research Facility, your eyes heavy and your senses numb from lack of sleep. The only sound that rings through your ears is the faint clicking of your shoes against the rubber flooring. 
The strong scent of antiseptic has always fared excellently in keeping you awake, and you thank the archons for its potent presence in this sterilized hallway as your eyes scan over the various signs plastered on the walls. Il Dottore, Il Dottore, Il Dottore. What turn should you take? What sign bears the arrow to his private laboratory? Frankly, if it were up to you, you would've shoved the responsibility of delivering this report to Lord Dottore onto Mikhael, but he feared the harbinger even more than you did, so here you were, left to take one for the team while sleep deprived, cranky, nervous, and somewhat afraid all at once.
It was a bit of a long walk–marked by frustrated sighs and irritated mutters of disapproval at your own dull sense of direction–to Dottore's personal lab, and you weren't even sure he would be there. He's always been the most eccentric of the harbingers, which is then, relatively, extremely eccentric, and his work hours never conformed to normal people's. You round a corner and turn one last left, before a large fortified iron door faces you ever so imposingly, a towering frame that stands a solid ten feet above you, and you sigh in relief. "Il Dottore" painted in bright white slashes across the door, and you hesitantly stretch your hand out–to knock... or maybe to open the imposing slab of metal. A second passes, and as it turns out, you don't have to choose, because the door slides open automatically, a faint mechanical whirr resounding throughout the premises.
You stride in quickly. A sickeningly sweet scent permeates the air around you, the fragrance wafting off the incense sticks burning at the harbinger's desk. You fleetingly wonder how on earth he could stand the oppressively strong smell, but that doesn't matter right now. Dottore isn't here, you have the report in your hand, tucked neatly into a blue folder (Dottore insisted all papers delivered to him must be so in blue folders only. Not green, not yellow. Blue). All you had to do was set it on your Lord Harbinger's desk and get the hell out of here before he returned. Otherwise, you'll be stuck with intense heart palpitations as he questions you about one thing or the other, or goes on a philosophical rant that you didn't ask to hear while laughing manically as his terrifyingly sharp fangs glint under the white light.  Yup, no way. So, you set the folder onto the pristine oak desk, eyes still heavy and head pounding from your lack of sleep.
A soft breath of relief furls past your lips as soon as the folder hits the desk, and then, you try to turn on your heel and get out of here. Keyword: try, because just as you resign yourself to leaving, your gaze strays to the long, plush, brown leather sofa seated at the corner of the office-meets-laboratory. Fuck, that looks comfortable–no, what in the world were you thinking?! Get out, you mentally scream at yourself. 
Yet, the more logical part of your brain has shut down, and a tired sigh leaves you as you stumble over to the couch. Just a second. You're so, so sleepy. Just a second and then you'll leave, you think, and plop onto the cushions. Your mind is blank, and your limbs feel like they're weighed down by lead. You blink slowly, your body sinks into the soft leather. This sofa must have cost your entire annual salary, what with how comfortable it is. A faint moan bubbles up your throat at the feeling of being engulfed in softness like this, and your eyelids droop. Before you can register, you're slipping away, into the inescapable depths of sleep.
Out like a light. 
It could've been 10 minutes, it could've been an hour, or it could've been all day, but at some point, your name is called, and you're too deep into the recesses of unconsciousness to process it as a word. All it manifests as is a distant voice spinning around your head.
Dottore had trudged into his lab after a rather exhausting day of fieldwork, of examining poisonous flower samples on the outskirts of Avidya Forest with the diligence of the... scientist he was. The deep velvet of his voice uttered your name, and when he received no response, he hummed to himself. He continues to stand over you now, gazing down with the eyes of a predator and the smile of a fox
"Didn't see you there," he mutters to himself more than anything, because, from the looks of it, you're in slumber. His eyes observe the scene before him. The way your chest rises and falls rhythmically, the way your rosy lips are parted just a bit, and the way the moonlight filtering in through the windows catches on the curve of your cheekbones. The inviting sight before him has him licking his lips and adjusting the collar of his coat.
"How lovely..."
The inviting sight, because yes, that's what it was, you were inviting him to indulge, weren't you? Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, asleep on his couch, in his space, blouse unbuttoned once or twice at the top. You know what you're doing, aren't you? He's not the bad guy for just... taking the hint, if you will. His hands twitch at his sides, and his smile widens. You're sleeping, and if you saw the terrifyingly sinister grin on his face right now, you would've thanked the archons for sparing you its sight by letting it stretch upon his lips now that you are asleep, unable to see it.
As though he were debating whether to go about whatever evil he was about to, he crosses his arms over his chest, gaze locked on your form and brow furrowed in thought. He wasn't thinking about the depravity of his potential actions and the psychological harm they may cause you later on. No, no. He didn't have a conscience loud enough for that kind of thought to grace his mind. He was simply thinking about the logical implications. It was... unprofessional–to say the least–to grope your subordinates in their sleep, and should word get out about it, the Second Harbinger will never hear the end of it–especially not from Pantalone. It could jeopardize his relationship with all the investors who fund his research. It could also get him in a pickle with Arlecchino, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with that crazy woman for at least the next century.
But it was dark outside. You were asleep, and he had the whole night to himself. It wasn't his fault, and if you were to awaken, well, it's not like you were going to tell. Oh, he'll make sure of that.
His decision is made, and without a single thread of doubt left in his mind, he crouches by your side, eyes locked on your slumbering face. The smile that stretches along his lips is one reserved for moments like these, for moments when he silently observes the unconscious features of those that fall into his predacious hands. There was always something about unconsciousness that stirred something in him. He was fascinated by the human brain, but he was also fascinated by the unadulterated powerlessness of an unconscious human. It gave him a power trip of sorts, knowing he was the lion and the slumbering were the deer. He chuckles to himself as his eyes fall upon the trail of drool at the corner of your lips, a sound so quiet and smooth that it could have melted butter.
"Don't worry, agent. I'll be... gentle," his words are spoken softly, yet they hold the same venom that his actions always do. They're meant for the both of you. "I won't hurt you."
He won't, will he?
Well, that was for him to know and for you to find out–should you awaken. His gloved hand, gentle but firm, snakes under your head and props it up, and his other hand is busy pushing the buttons of your blouse apart, one by one, until your raven-black bra meets his gaze. He breathes out in a soft exhale, a sound too tranquil for a man of his reputation, and his hand gently tips your face toward him. He meets your face halfway, scanning his sharp eyes over your sleeping features for a moment, his breath warm against your skin, though you can't feel it in your drowse. Slowly, almost like he was deliberately holding himself off, he lets his lips brush against yours, and then he tests the waters some more, giving them a light kiss. You subconsciously shift at the contact, but you're still asleep, and that's enough reassurance for him to go further, letting his teeth graze your lower lip. 
You taste like candy; sweet, soft, and addicting. You're an aphrodisiac, aren't you? He wonders, and his tongue prods at the seam of your lips, begging entrance, but it doesn't take. A soft, almost inaudible growl emanates from him, and the distant feel of his tongue has your breathing stuttering, a whimper bubbling up from your throat, but you don't wake, and that has his pants feeling a lot tighter than they were a few seconds ago.
"tsk," he grumbles against your lips. He's not sure if he wanted you asleep or awake right now. There was a thrill he felt in his veins when he teetered on the edge of danger like this, but there also seemed to be a thrill at the thought of having you awake for this, eyes wide in fear and lust all at once, soft implorations of "please let me go, Lord Dottore" falling from your lips like a mantra.
In the end, though, he'll have his way, and it doesn't matter what your state is. His tongue slips past your parted lips and invades the heat of your mouth, his sharpened canines grazing your tongue. His saliva, mixed with the residue of alcohol he had before heading back, drips down your chin and stains your blouse. If you were awake, you would've found the whole ordeal sloppy and wet, but since you weren't, all it felt like was warmth, and a foreign feeling, as his tongue prodded and probed your mouth. Your brows knit together, and a soft, unconscious moan escapes your lips, one that he greedily swallows. You're not so sure what's going on, still in a drowse that makes you think you're having some sort of insanely realistic wet dream. You hadn't slept in almost two days after all. Archons knew you weren't about to let anything wake you from your much-needed rest. 
Dottore retreats from your lips and pauses for a moment, eyes raking over your form as though his mind was scanning over all the choices of what to do to you next. 
"Ah," he says, like he was hit with a revolutionary idea. It wasn't so revolutionary, because the next thing that happens is the harbinger's hands finding their way to your chest, the cool leather of his gloves brushing against the bare patch of skin he revealed to himself when unbuttoning your blouse down three or four buttons. You shift again, and the movement has his fingers accidentally grazing over your bra-clad nipples. The sudden touch causes your body to arch and a low groan to rumble in the back of your throat. You were sensitive, he notes, and a grin tugs at the corner of his lips. 
But you see, Dottore was getting bored of his self-inflicted abstinence. He did tell himself he had all night earlier, but come to think of it, he actually doesn't. He wants it fast and rough, and he wants it now. So, he lets his hand trail down for a moment, shamelessly shoving it into your pants and letting his fingers play with your pussy over your panties.
"H-hnngh!" You gasp in your sleep, and if you were awake, you'd be able to almost feel the smirk he wears as he continues, a finger pressing insistently at your clit, even if the fabric of your underwear is in the way.
"Oh? Do you like this then, agent?" he asks, and the words are an almost inaudible whisper. The question is rhetorical, after all. He doesn't give a flying fuck if you do like it, and he was talking himself through it more than he was you. 
Your head lolls to the side and a shaky breath leaves you. Your panties are subconsciously growing wet, an automatic bodily reaction to being touched here, and his finger doesn't relent. It's a good thing, however, that the friction of the thin fabric has you writhing, and the stimulation has him impatient, his fingers hastily moving to roughly pull your pants down, then to grip the fabric of your blouse, ripping it apart, buttons popping off the garment and onto the ground with soft clicks. The supple flesh of your torso is now exposed and open, and so are your eyes. It takes you a second to register what's going on. 
You're... lying on the sofa.
What time was it?
What are you doing here, exactly?
"W-what..." the words barely leave you, and suddenly, sleep has left you completely, the feeling of a heavy weight against your body taking its place, and the realization that a man is on top of you.
Your eyes snap open wider, and the first thing you see is Dottore's grinning, almost psychotic-looking eyes boring through you. 
"My Lord?!" you cry, and everything comes rushing back. You went to drop a report to the Lord Harbinger. You fell asleep on the couch in his laboratory.
"What are you doing?!" you demand as assertively as you can in a situation like this, but your voice shakes in fear despite your efforts.
"I could ask you the same question, agent," he hums, and his gloved fingers move to trail over the expanse of your breasts, fondling and groping with not a sliver of shame. "You were asleep when I came in, and so, I assumed, naturally, that you wanted me to do this. Why else would you have been so conveniently sprawled out on my couch, in the privacy of my lab, half-naked and vulnerable?"
"I-I didn't–I wasn't half naked," you try to defend yourself–with such a witless refutation too–but how could you possibly defend yourself? The harbinger was right. You were asleep on the couch in his private lab. Utterly disrespectful. And he caught you. Maybe this was karma–or just your luck. 
"Hush, now," he purrs, and his fingers slither behind your back to the band of your bra. You don't have time to react as the garment is pulled off you in one swift motion, tossed away and onto the floor, and then his hands are back on your tits, kneading the supple flesh, pinching your hardened nipples.
"My Lord–stop it, please," you plead, and you can't help the gasp that escapes you, the action shooting straight between your thighs, which clamp together as best as they can with Dottore straddling your waist with all his weight.
He was a scary man, Il Dottore, and even if he wasn't physically hurting you–for now–the sheer intensity of his gaze was enough to scare the shit out of you. You were utterly, hopelessly, and vulnerably at his mercy, and the worst part is, you have a feeling that not a single person in this whole 8-story facility would stand up for you. Not a single Fatui subordinate would dare.
"Stop? Oh, darling! But we haven't even started," he laughs, like what you just suggested was utterly ridiculous, and a shudder runs down your body.
"You know," he hums, leaning closer and lowering his head to ghost his lips over the shell of your ear, the smell of alcohol strong on his breath. "You can scream–if you'd like. No one would hear." 
You have no time to retort, because Dottore's head dips to the valley of your breasts immediately, then his lips ghost over one of your nipples, swiftly taking the nub in his mouth. A sharp inhale rushes into your lungs, and a whimper threatens to spill from your throat. You're not quite sure if the feeling coursing through you is fear or lust or both, because it makes your stomach churn how good this actually feels. Your eyes are squeezed shut, and Dottore’s teeth graze the sensitive skin around your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity between your legs, then his tongue flicks over the hardening peak.
"Mmh," the moan bubbles up from the very back of your throat. 
"Oh? So... still want me to stop now, agent?" he muses, mockingly, and his free hand is back at your pussy, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the soaked fabric. Your hips buck up, so he takes that as a sign to push the garment aside, a finger sliding between your wet lips.
"No, my Lord," you gasp, and you can't believe the words that come out of your own mouth. Dottore's hand doesn't stop, and his thumb presses down on your clit, and a breathy, whiny moan escapes you.
"See? This isn't so bad, now, is it?" he doesn't give you any warning before his fingers dip into your wet pussy, the intrusion causing you to jerk. Your inner walls flutter around his fingers. His sharp canines dig into his lower lip.
"Aren't you a good little whore. So pretty and obedient for your Lord Harbinger," Dottore purrs, and his thumb begins to move against your clit, while his fingers curl and press insistently at your walls. Your legs tremble, a string of moans falls from your lips, and if anyone told you just an hour ago that the Second Lord Harbinger Il Dottore was going to finger you in his lab, you would've laughed and asked who the fuck would say something like that.
Alas, Dottore wasn't a patient man, so it's no surprise that he doesn't finger you long enough before his hands pull away from you entirely, and he "tsks" impatiently to himself. He has to have you now. He's been so, so nice. Hasn't he? Kind enough to prep you for him instead of plunging himself into you from the get-go. If anything, he thinks he deserves a pat on the back for his thoughtfulness. 
Swiftly, his hands reach under your thighs, and with an alarming amount of ease, he yanks you down and away from the cushion that sprawled beneath your head. Then, he's settling between your legs. A soft whimper is torn from your throat when the cold, metal buckle of his belt grazes the inside of your thigh. You watch, helpless, as his hands make quick work of his pants, unzipping the black uniform, and pushing them down just far enough to pull his cock out. You can't help but gulp at the sight, and the wideness of your eyes makes Dottore laugh out an almost sadistic-sounding string of giggles. 
"Don't worry, sweetheart," he hums, the term of endearment spoken so condescendingly. "You'll take it well. Won't you?"
His words aren't a question. They're a statement. An absolute, undeniable fact. An order. You'll take it well, whether you want to or not, and the knowledge has you almost making a run for the door, but the thought leaves you as fast as it came.
Dottore doesn't wait for a response that won’t come, or a plea for him not to do this, not to force his cock into your tight heat, and you're not quite sure why, but you don't find yourself objecting, or trying to kick him away. Maybe you were curious. Maybe this was a materialization of one of your own depraved fantasies. Or maybe you were just scared he'd kill you if you resisted.if you made a run for the door like you fleetingly thought just now. 
His fingers curl around the base of his thick cock, fist then sliding up and down in a few experimental pumps. The tip presses at your entrance almost desperately, and he's pushing the head into your tightness before you can process. He's a big man. The stretch burns. It has a hiss tearing from the back of your throat, and a pained grimace twisting your features.
"Shh," Dottore murmurs, his other hand reaching up to caress the side of your face almost soothingly, the action a stark contrast to the harshness of his current actions.
"Good, good," he whispers, his voice is sickeningly smooth, as though he were genuinely consoling you.
Then, just like that, his hips snap forward, not giving you time to adjust as the entirety of his cock is engulfed in the warmth of your pussy. You're clamping down around him, and it has him groaning lowly in his throat, his eyes squeezing shut, the grip of his hands that are now on your hips tightening.
"Agent," he sighs, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your sides. It'll leave a mark there. A reminder.
You're not quite sure where the burning pain had gone. All that remains is an aching desire, a desperate need, and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Your hands move, without a conscious command from your brain, and they rest on Dottore's shoulders, holding on tightly. The harbinger smiles down at you with sickening sweetness, no, not sweetness, mockery. Or maybe sweetness. God, you were a mess. Your mind was nothing but a blob of mush at this moment, and Dottore's hands shift to the underside of your knees, pushing your legs up and thrusting his cock even deeper at this new, utterly indecent angle. 
"My Lord!" the moan is punched out of you. His lips meet yours again, his sharp canines scraping over the sensitive flesh. Your hands slide to tangle into his hair, pulling and tugging at the soft blue strands. An almost whiny groan escapes the harbinger's throat at the action. His movements become more desperate. Fast and rough. So fast and rough you're scared you'll be split in two. The plush sofa under the two of you shakes and creaks. 
"So, so good," he whines, face contorted in pleasure, but as though he caught himself in his haze before it spiraled, his lips pull back into a domineering sneer. "Take it," he demands, and the words, combined with the obscene feeling of being filled to the brim, are enough to have your vision going white. You claw at Dottore's shoulders with desperate fervor. 
"L-Lord Harbinger. I think I'm going to–" 
"Do it," he commands with the struggle of a man on the brink of ecstasy, and he folds you even more. If you weren't agile–thanks to your agent training–you're sure you would've actually split into two by now. Back arching off the sofa, a string of incoherent, unintelligible moans escapes your throat. Your pussy clamps down around the thick cock stretching it, and a wave of pleasure courses through you, rendering your muscles numb.
The sight and feeling of you unraveling have Dottore following closely after, his movements becoming erratic and uncoordinated. It's a sight like never seen before; the normally ever so composed man crumbling like this, and then, he's spilling his hot cum into you, a guttural groan reverberating throughout his chest. He fills you to the brim until the warm white liquid leaks out of your aching pussy and stains the leather under you. 
A second passes, then two, then three, then a few seconds more. Dottore lets the head of his cock press against your insides one last time before pulling out. He sits back on his knees and regards you for a moment with an almost frightening calmness, and you open your mouth to try and say something, because why was he looking at you like you were nothing but the scum of the ground he walks on after literally cumming inside of you as some lover would?
"The couch will need some cleaning. I trust you can get that sorted tomorrow, agent?" He says finally with a cock of his head, voice level and calm as he climbs off of you and stands on his feet, tucking himself back into his pants as he nonchalantly hums a tune to himself, like this was just another day of fucking his subordinates in their sleep. And maybe it was; you didn’t know, but right now, you're still paralyzed in your spot, just staring at him, and so he turns to glance at you. "Get dressed. You're dismissed for today."
You can only gape, speechless, watching as Dottore turns his back to you once more and disappears into the microscopy workroom in his lab, a certain energized spring to his step.
What the fuck just happened?
The workroom's door closes behind him with a soft click, and he smiles to himself.
Ah, the thrill.
Now, it was time to get back to his research.
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horse-girl-anthy · 7 months ago
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essay on the UFO motif in RGU (and YKA) under the cut
one of the things that makes aliens so interesting is their versatility. YKA uses the classic alien invasion trope as the set up for its narrative; aliens as outsiders, infiltrating human society and sowing paranoia. as anyone who's seen the show knows, this premise is soon subverted. fear of the other is used by the invisible storm girls to justify securitization and eventual militarization, while the main characters work to break down the self-other dichotomy.
RGU doesn't feature its UFO motif so prominently; or anyway, it's not present from the beginning of the show, but instead scattered throughout. this marginality does not make the motif any less important, however. let's take a look at the text to see how the motif itself is used.
in almost all instances, UFOs and aliens are associated with the shadow girls. the first time they're mentioned is in episode 9.
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in the skit, A-Ko insists she saw a UFO, while B-Ko says it must have just been a shooting star. they argue about this for a while, until A-Ko changes the topic to disillusionment: she knows that Santa Claus, wizards, fairies, princes on white horses, and kind-hearted, true friends only exist in fantasy. but she begs to be allowed to keep her belief in UFOs.
the inclusion of UFOs in this scene may not seem particularly meaningful. the skit draws a constrast between childhood illusions and adult cynicism, notably including "true friends" on the list of fantasy creatures. with hindsight, though, this choice does seem purposeful. maybe A-Ko wants to believe in what the UFOs represent, which is more clearly spelled out as the show goes on.
in episode 12, the shadow girls list "normal things" for people to do: study normal subjects, get a normal job, fall in love normally, get married normally, have a normal family, and live a normal life. but they conclude that being normal "has nothing to do with them" and proceed to board a UFO so that they can "go back to what's normal for them."
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this is an obvious parallel to Utena's arc in the episode, where she rejects how society wants her to act and reclaims her own normal. but it's also telling us something about the shadow girls.
the shadow girls don't just "want to believe" in UFOs--it seems that they are aliens. they're "from Planet Kashira" according to Ikuhara; "Inhabitants of Planet Kashira" is the title of the shadow girls track on the first OST.
I think what this is telling us is that the shadow girls are outside observers. they're not natural citizens of Ohtori but exist at a remove from it. they can interact with the story, but they're a constant reminder that something beyond it exists--that the "rules of the rose crest" are not the laws of the universe.
from episode 13 on, the shadow girls put on their plays after returning to earth from their UFO. episode 24 ends with an encounter between Suzuki, Yamada, Tanaka and the UFO. we see the "monkey-catching-robot" again; once it successfully bags its prey, it enters the craft and flies away.
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I could probably provide a reading of this scene if I tried, but mostly, I think it's there to round out the Black Rose arc. it's rather tongue-in-cheek; the UFOs are a part of the silly side of RGU. this eccentricity is humorous, but in my view also tied to the theme of individuality, which requires unapologetic strangeness. there's also something to be said for RGU's use of the inexplicable and uncanny, which often have a far deeper impact on the audience than concrete story elements.
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in the final arc, the shadow girl plays begin with their UFO crashing into the chairman's tower. this is as clear a metaphor as one can hope for: the shadow girls and their alienness are a destabilizing force. maybe they're not revolutionaries--the crash appears to be accidental--but their randomness, their strangeness, their lack of propriety are a threat to the order, the masculine rule represented by Akio.
that's about it for the shadow girls. but as I mentioned, aliens are brought up in another context: the episode "Nanami's Egg."
the line "Nanami's some kind of space alien" is rather famous, and that part of the episode isn't hard to read. she's worried that she's seen as a freak, an other, by her peers. however, we also get a return of the motif at the end of the episode.
after abandoning her egg, Nanami is unable to put it out of her mind and runs out into the night to find it. she sings and dances with it, but after a bedtime conversation between Utena and Anthy, the show cuts back to Nanami, now bereft of her egg again.
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she finds it, grown 100 times larger, propped up in the woods. she promises never to abandon it again, but it seems not to forgive her, shooting strange beams at her in attack. then it fades and lays before her, cracked open.
I think this scene is adding a new dimension to the egg metaphor: in the final moments of the episode, the egg becomes a symbol of Nanami's self. she tried to be rid of it, as she killed the cat--but just as she did then, she found herself regretting it. but she's unable to forgive herself for it, feeling that she's betrayed herself and lost something very important for the sake of a false normality.
to finish this essay, I'd like to reflect on how the motif of alienness is reflected in the larger themes of RGU. in the episode 11 commentary, Ikuhara wrote the following:
I tried to live true to myself. “You’re just like an alien,” someone said to me one day. They must have been telling me, “You’re not normal.” In other words, apparently “living true to yourself” means “living as an alien.” And so I became “an alien all alone in this world.”
alienation, individuality, and deviance are all major themes in RGU. the shadow girls present a positive image of what it means to be an alien: they are carefree and unconstrained. however, for the other characters, being an alien--an individual--is not so easy. it sets them apart from the social order and may even put them in danger. therefore, RGU depicts the defiant joy of deviation, along with the pain that often accompanies it. individuality may be a threat to the system, but that's exactly why it's difficult to achieve.
finally, "alienness" serves as a great metaphor for self-other encounters, as I've touched on throughout this essay. if we are individuals, that means we are fundamentally separate from one another, because we cannot experience each other's experience. thus, we are each of us aliens to each other.
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Anthy asks Utena this question as if she truly does not know, as if Utena is some mysterious being encountered in a dream. they are drawing closer together, and so the fact of their alienness is only becoming more pronounced. it will take the rest of the show to find out if contact is possible.
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sparklystarrrr · 4 months ago
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Curiouser and Curiouser...
Riddle R. x Alice! Reader
𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮 ~ 𝓓𝓲𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓡𝓪𝓷𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰
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While I looked around at the crowd of boys who stared at me like I was the oddest thing in the room. I heard the soft click of shoes approaching me and when I turned around to see the culprit of the noise, it was none other than Riddle Rosehearts with his cloak's hood resting on his shoulders rather than atop his head. It was a much more matured Riddle, of course, though he still had a bit of a baby face. The last time I'd seen him was when he was the ripe age of 8 years old and had been locked inside his room after his mother caught him sneaking out with me Trey and Chenya... I looked down at the teapot held tightly to my chest that laid still as Grim had fallen asleep to the scent of lavender tea inside the teapot. Riddle crouched down in front of me and held his hands out to grab the teapot. "Give me that, (y/n)." His stern voice demanded and I looked up in hesitation. My eyes were held slightly wider than normal at his closeness, but then gained a glint of mischief. My lips parted with a slight smirk,"Why should I, Mr. Rosehearts?" I swiveled my body opposite of his direction which in turn held the teapot away from him quick. Then, he accidentally grabbed my shoulder instead of the pot. His cheeks flushed slightly and so did mine, how embarrassing was this! "Just... hand it over, Ms. Pleasance. We do not have much time." He recovered his former confidence once again and held his hand out. I rolled up to my feet and placed the teapot of Grim into his small hands.
Riddle huffed and uncapped the teapot to see a sleeping Grim who snored away not knowing what was coming to him. Riddle raised his red magical pen and inhaled deeply,"OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!" his strong voice screamed as a bright light emitted from his pen. The teapot shattered under Grim and he suddenly awoke with a heart shaped collar around his fuzzy neck. "MYAHH?! What're you doing ?!" Grim yelped and clawed at the heavy metal around him. Riddle raised his chin,"The Queen of Hearts Rule 23: "One must never bring a cat to a formal affair." Your very presence here is a violation of order. You will vacate the premises immediately." he spoke sharply with a furious gaze. This was certainly not the Riddle I knew..."Rid- Mr. Rosehearts, why are you being so mean to the small cat?" I said with a bit of frustration in my voice. He sighed "As a new member of Heartslabyul, you are to abide by the laws set in place by the Queen of Hearts. You are on the verge of dawning a collar too, be careful with your words, Ms. Pleasance." He glared as if daggers would fly from his eyes and pierce me down right then and there. I huffed and turned away. "Hey, I ain't a cat! Don't try to collar me! I'll burn it right off!" Grim said with the confidence of a thousand suns and cast a ball of fire significantly smaller than before onto the metal collar, but saw no effect.
"Huh...? Wh-what gives? My fire ain't workin'!" He panicked as Riddle's lips curled into a sinister smirk. "Until I deign to remove that collar, you won't be using any magic. You're but a pet cat now." Grim squirmed and gnawed at the metal round his neck trying his best to get it off. Part of me felt bad, but then again, he almost set every Night Raven College student aflame so maybe him having his magic detained would be a safer idea..."M-meoWHAT?!! I ain't nobody's pet NOTHING!!" the cat screamed in anger. Riddle puffed out his chest at the reaction Grim had to his restraining magic. "Oh, you've nothing to worry about there. I certainly have no interest in having you as a pet. The collar will disappear once you're removed from campus."His smirk widened as he recited the conditions his magical collar held on Grim while the pesky weasel kept angrily gnawing at the metal ineffectively. "Oh Riddle, you shouldn't punish this little cat for merely existing! Have some heart, I mean, what if someone someday decided that all boys named Riddle Rosehearts were banned from formal affairs?" I chided and laid a hand on his slim arm. He exhaled largely as if speaking to a young child,"(Y/n), If someone were to have implemented that rule I would have no choice but to follow it. Unfortunately for you, there is no rule implemented that prohibits me from entering a formal affair, but there is for this cat right here. A rule made by the Queen of Hearts, no less." With that, the red haired boy walked away from me. My brows knitted together and a small frown formed on my lips.
"Hah! Good show as always, Riddle, bravo! Your signature spell locks down any magic. It's quite handy. I've just GOT to have it-*cough cough*-- Ah, I mean, I've just got to have respect for it." Azul said with pride and clapping as if watching the final act of a theater performance. Riddle nodded at his statement with his stone cold and straight laced face. Then, Crowley broke through the thick crowd of students."(Y/N)!!!! Was I not clear that you are expected to take responsibility for your familiar? Now discipline your— ""Headmage Crowley I've also been making a few things clear during this orientation too, you will listen to me! That cat, I-I don't even know where it came from, it just appeared next to that coffin I was trapped in and tried to burn me alive! It's been chasing me ever since for a spot in here and tried to take my cloak. I don't know this thing, and I have a lovely cat of my own already! Her name is Dinah and she is a polite little lady, unlike that weasel!" I yelled at the top of my lungs before another word could come out of his incredibly idiotic mouth. He looked rather dumbfounded at this realization. He then became a bit embarrassed at me yelling at him and cleared his voice."Oh... is that so... Ahem, then I shall have him expelled from campus! I shall even spare it from being served as dinner. My, but I AM kind!...Someone take this away, please."
As he said, a few seniors I presume grabbed hold of Grim to keep him from squirming as he yelled off into the distance while the brought him through the front gates to get him out,"Noooo let me go!You fools better remember my name! Cause I'm gonna go down in the annals of magic history! Just you wait!" I audibly sighed and let my shoulders drop, though feeling just a pinch of empathy for the cat getting dragged out. That stress was finally over! But now, I'd have to deal with the stress of becoming a student at Night Raven... I was supposed to go to some Girl's Preparatory school for young high class women. My sister went there and graduated as Valedictorian and I was supposed to be the next Pleasance daughter to graduate there too; it seems life has had a change of heart i see..."Well, that was quite the unexpected fracas. I hereby declare that orientation has concluded! Housewardens, please escort your students back to the dorms." Crowley graciously shouted and ushered the Housewardens off. He looked around seemingly looking for something or someone. "...Hm? Come to think of it, I don't see Housewarden Draconia of House Diasomnia anywhere." He put a finger to his chin as if thinking, which I doubt he did much of. 
The tall lion man whom I assume had just woken up from a nap scoffed at Crowley's statement,"And that surprises you? Dude's a total recluse." The bright eyed boy with lots of gold jewelry thought for a moment too,"Wait a sec... Did anyone even invite him?" Then the beautiful boy crossed his arms and held a poised expression on his face,"If you're that worried about him missing out, maybe you should've invited him yourself." The man smirked down at the bright eyed boy who murmured"Maybe, but I don't know him too well..." The room erupted into yet another tirade of whispers along the lines of "Draconia..? Like, Malleus Draconia..? THAT Draconia?" and "So it's true? He really does go to school here?" I knew of Malleus Draconia and his family. A while ago while I was still in elementary school, my parents had done an investigation surrounding something having to do with the royal Draconia family. I was never told what they investigated or found, all they told me was that the General of their army had adopted a child and Maleanor Draconia had brought the prince into the world around the same time. I had heard many stories too by my sister who would, on occasion, feed into my love for the untrue and fictional world. Hearing the stories from Briar Valley about the Draconia family plus legends from their land had immensely piqued my interest.
All of a sudden, an incredibly deep voice broke through the whispers and gossip like a knife through melted butter. "Ah, just as i'd expected." I turned around to see a rather small man with pink and black hair, and an incredibly interesting hair cut that I doubt was intentional..."I figured I'd come down and see for myself whether Malleus had made an appearance. But once again, he was evidently not informed that his presence was required at an official ceremony." Once again? So this was a pattern of not inviting him? This was truly unkind.'They really didn't invite him?' I muttered under my breath as I tried not to take anymore attention from the situation at handas before when I made my lovely debut to the school..."You have my sincerest apologies. I assure you, this oversight was in no way intended as a snub." Azul said while placing a formal hand over his heart, as if pledging that he was telling the truth. Riddle on the other hand, deadpanned at the initial situation, "I mean, you must admit, he's not exactly the easiest person to strike up conversation with." I sighed at his bluntness... The deep voiced boy had an unchanging smile on his face and I could see two sharp fangs poking out from under his top lip, I assume he was a vampire or bat fae... "No matter. All who were assigned to House Diasomnia, follow me. I just hope he doesn't sulk about this..." The bat boy said while leading his new students to a mirror with the Diasomnia crest above it
The rest of the Housewardens were dismissed with their new first years following behind. I attempted to follow the line of Heartslabyul students to the dorm, but Crowley ushered me to him. "What now, Mr. Crowley."I said disinterestedly. " Well, (y/n), this is a most unfortunate turn of events. I'm afraid that you will not be attending Night Raven College after all." My eyes widened "B-but Headmaster Crowley, the Mirror said I belonged in Heartslabyul, surley I should be going there right now if the Mirror itself said so!" I screeched in shock and protest. "You realize I cannot very well admit a student here who is a female to my academy. But worry not, the Dark Mirror will see you safely home. Now, step into the gate. Visualize the place whence you came." He said while completely ignoring what I said. I felt tears on the brink of my eyes in frustration while standing in front of the mirror once again. I muttered my homeland, the Queendom of Roses, and braced for the Mirror to whisk me away once more. 
To my surprise, the Mirror spoke, "In the eyes of the Fairest, this young lady is an important piece in this Twisted game. It is only right in the eyes of the beholder to administer her as a student of the Night Raven College. Keep her here and drown in reward. Lose her, and bask in the curses brought up on this land." My eyes widened once more. Before I could ask any questions the Mirror became a black shining void again. I saw my reflection. I was drenched in Night Raven College attire and my face was adorned with minimal makeup that made me look dark and ominous, like a villain. I look up at Crowley who looked equally down at me with a shocked and borderline petrified look on his face. "...What does that mean, Headmaster?" He searched for the words to answer my question, but nothing happened,"I... I'm not sure, Madame Pleasance." What a rollercoaster this school would be...
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inawickedlittletown · 10 months ago
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What Do You Mean, A Plane (BuckTommy) - 8x03 coda
Read on Ao3
“I really hope those idiots get a huge fine,” Tommy said. 
Lucy bumped her shoulder against him. “I think they will.” 
“How many incidents like this is it going to take before people figure out that it isn’t a good idea to use a freaking explosive to find out the sex of their baby?” Tommy asked. 
Lucy sighed. “In premise it’s a cute concept if it’s like a cake with pink or blue frosting inside but it has gotten out of hand.” 
“And what if the kid is nonbinary? Or trans? Then what, the parents went through all this trouble just to then realize that they were wrong the whole time. I just don’t get it. And considering how dumb they and their offspring are likely to be, what if they go and have a different gender reveal and set off another fire even when they’re told that the dry climate isn’t the time or place to do something like this.” 
“You’re just a grump today, aren’t you,” Lucy said with a grin. “Lighten up, I think we should be good to go home in a bit. And hey, at least now I know I’m not expecting a gender reveal party whenever you and Buck wind up having kids.” 
Tommy decided to ignore her second statement. It was way too soon to think about kids even if Tommy could picture it. 
Lucy gave him a nudge. “Too early?” 
“We haven’t even moved in together yet. Yes, too early.” 
“Yes, but you want him to move in, don’t you.” 
She was not wrong. Evan was at his house all the time as it was, but the times when he wasn’t it felt emptier and far more quiet than Tommy preferred. 
“That’s not a denial,” Lucy said. “Come on, Kinard, this was not that bad.” 
It wasn’t. Tommy had been in the air to start dropping retardant and also helping smokejumpers get to the fire from the inside. Then, he’d been told to bring the copter down and join the ground crew. He’d found Lucy there. 
“Any idea why they brought us down?” She’d asked. 
“I guess they needed more hands down here,” Tommy said, but took note that there were no other helicopters or jets flying over the fire.
It had been a long day, but the fire was basically out, some smoke still rising into the sky. He really did think going home sounded perfect. It’d be even better if Evan was there, but Evan was on shift probably still dealing with calls related to the killer bees. Evan had said the weather had likely sent them on their way and Tommy supposed the smoke from the forest fire had calmed them too. Probably. No more bee-nados. 
When they did get cleared to go, Tommy just let out a huge yawn. Maybe it was the lack of sleep making him feel grumpy. Except that he would still be pissed at stupid people and gender reveal parties if he was fully rested. He and Lucy wound up hitching a ride with another company and they were all far too tired to talk to each other. 
Tommy checked his phone instead of making small talk. There were a few emails. Promotional garbage, a couple of bills that were on autopay and a few other random things. Nothing that required his attention. Evan hadn’t called or texted since the morning, but Tommy had seen and responded to that text. 
Evan: I don’t know what’s bothering me more today, Gerrard or the noise from the construction. 
Tommy: Tune them both out? Hang in there. 
When they got back to Harbor, he ignored the way that some of his coworkers seemed glued to the tv in the break room in favor of going to get cleaned up and out of his sweat drenched clothes. By the time he was done, they all seemed to have scattered again. The last he saw was a helicopter going up into the sky. 
He made it out to his car and found that there was way more traffic than should be normal especially when he wasn’t getting on a highway, so he put on a podcast and didn’t mind the longer drive. He made it home in one piece and then after warming up some of the leftovers went straight to his bedroom, got out of his clothes, and climbed into bed. He sent Evan a text before putting his phone on do not disturb. 
Tommy: Fire’s out. I’m home. Come over when you’re done with your shift, I’ll probably still be asleep when you do. Be safe out there. 
Then, he passed out. 
Tommy woke up when he heard his front door open, but stayed in bed until Evan made it to his room, sitting up slowly and blinking at him. 
“Shit, did I wake you?” Evan asked, voice low. 
“It’s okay. Hi, Evan.” 
“Hi,” Evan said and he crossed the room to lean over to kiss Tommy. 
“What time is it?” 
“Little after two,” Evan said as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m actually surprised we were allowed to go. They’re still working on clearing the plane. I guess if you call out half the firehouses out they had too many of us to keep all of us.”
Tommy blinked a few times. “What do you mean, a plane?” he asked. 
“The one that landed on the 110?”
“What?” Tommy asked. “A plane landed on the 110?” 
“Yeah,” Evan said, “why do you think everyone was grounded? Weren’t you? Anyway, Athena landed the plane on the 110 after Bobby and I cleared it for her. Everyone made it. Well…not the Captain I think they said she was pulled out through a hole. The co-pilot had a heart attack.”
Tommy was at a loss for words. And then, it hit him…
“Did you just say Athena landed the plane?” 
Evan nodded. “But don’t tell anyone. Bobby says she wants to remain anonymous. She’s happy to just be the passenger that saved the day.” 
“Evan, we’re going to have to backtrack to the beginning. I haven’t heard about any of this.” 
“Oh,” Evan said, eyes widening. “How? It was on every news station.” 
“I was at a fire,” Tommy said.
Evan went through it. An in air collision that wound up with Athena of all people in the pilot’s seat with a kid that was at most twelve. How the 118 had spent most of their day talking people on the plane through triage and first aid for other passengers. How Evan had been trying to reach Bobby the whole day and then just went to get him instead. Lucky decision as it turned out. 
“Who talked Athena through all of it?” Tommy asked. 
“ATC got a flight instructor on the phone,” Evan said. “It worked even when the plane couldn’t be turned.” 
“The plane had no rudder?” Tommy asked.
“The plane had at least two holes and caught on fire after landing,” Evan said. “Sure add not having a rudder.” 
“Evan,” Tommy said because it was not the time for joking. 
“Bobby, Brad, and I were on the phone with Athena trying to get to the airport when she found out it wasn’t going to turn, so we wound up clearing the highway for her to land. It all worked out.” 
Tommy let out a breath and he reached for Evan’s hand. It did work out. Tommy had clearly missed the whole thing, but it had worked out and that was very important to him especially because it meant that Evan had come home to him. Still, a small part of him did wish he’d been looped in. Tommy had never flown a commercial passenger plane or anything, but he did know how. At one point he’d even considered that a possibility after the Army. Tommy didn’t know how much help he could have offered from the ground, though, and Athena had already been connected to a flight instructor. Still, that didn’t meant that he didn’t feel a little left out maybe. 
“Wait, you said you had to clear traffic on the 110,” Tommy said. “How’d you manage that?” 
“Borrowed a motorcycle,” Evan said. 
“Borrowed a motorcycle,” Tommy repeated. 
“Needed to get there somehow,” Evan said. “Bobby and I already stole a truck from the set of the show.” 
Tommy let out a small laugh at that. “What?” 
“How do you think we were at the right place at the right time.” 
They talked a little more about it. How Bobby had taken a firetruck off the set of Hotshots and how they were joined by one of the actors. How it took a while for anyone else to arrive. How Buck had felt the windstream of the plane as it came down. 
“It was so good to see Bobby take charge. I missed him so much, Tommy.”
“I know,” Tommy said. “I know you do. Where was Gerrard during all of this?” 
At that, Evan pulled away, he turned so he could look directly at Tommy. 
“He was — probably still is — in the hospital. They never did get back to us on how he was.” 
“The hospital? What happened to him?”
Evan went stiff. “Uh…so he got in my face again. Started just ranting at me and then I heard one of the buzzsaws come loose. Well, no, I don’t know if I did. I pushed Gerrard so hard he hit his head on the ground. There was so much blood, Tommy. Hen thought he was concussed.”  
Whatever he felt about Gerrard, and whatever that man deserved, he didn’t like what this was doing to Evan. Tommy sat up a little more, letting his sheet pool at his waist. He pulled at Evan until Evan scooted next to Tommy, leaned into him. 
“The buzzsaw would have hit him?” Tommy confirmed. 
Evan gave a nod. “I just acted. Pushed him. But I was so angry so I don’t — I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know if I did it to save him. I don’t know.” 
Tommy wrapped an arm around him, brought Evan right into him and kissed the side of his head. 
“I know you, Evan, and Gerrard has been taunting you and driving you crazy for months, and while I think he can hit nerves — he’s good at it — you wouldn’t turn to violence even against him. I think you saved him.”
Evan groaned. “I’m going to get fired, aren’t I?” 
“Why?” Tommy asked. “You saved your Captain’s life even if you did injure him and you were instrumental in saving a whole bunch of people both on and off that plane. I really can’t believe I missed it.” 
“Well if not fired, then how much worse is Gerrard going to be?” 
That Tommy couldn’t predict. Gerrard was a loose cannon, a bigoted one that didn’t approve of anyone and had certainly had it out for Evan from day one. Tommy hated how powerless it made him feel, but he could be the shoulder that Evan leaned on. 
“Hey, whatever he does, I know you can handle it. Now, tell me again about you stealing a prop from a set, how does that even work?” 
“Apparently they use real trucks even if they’re not outfitted with the right tools,” Evan said. 
“And the motorcycle. And why is this the first I’m hearing about you knowing how to drive one.” 
Evan laughed, leaning into him. “Tommy, I’m so glad I could come here after all that madness.” 
“Me too, Evan. Me too.” 
The next morning, when he finally got around to watching the footage of the whole thing he figured it was probably better he hadn’t known until after the fact, when he already knew that Evan was alright and that so was everyone else. 
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pansiesandposies · 3 months ago
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✨WIP WEDNESDAY✨
Tagged by the lovely @novaschips :)
So, this is from my fic where Becca sets the toaster on fire, which is also in the running to become my most unhinged fic… which is kind of saying something. The basic premise is that Mel doesn’t like clothes, and doesn’t really agree with the fact that she should always wear clothes. Which is so fine and normal for Frank, he’s being really normal and mature about it, why do you ask? (Also he’s married) (it’s fine) (it isn’t)
Anyway, hope you enjoy, let me know what you think! (Slightly mature under the cut hehe)
Maybe it’s because Langdon always seems to get it, to get her, that she doesn’t think twice about it. He’s early and she’s late and he knocks on the door, so she lets him in. Easy as that, simple. She doesn’t even think twice about it.
Not thinking tended to get people in trouble, Mel knew that. The damage was done, though, and she still needed to get dressed.
Yeah.
So, Mel might have opened the door to her senior resident while she was in the thin tank top that she wore to bed the night before and her underwear. Honestly, she really hadn’t thought anything of it. She wasn’t trying to seduce him; she wasn’t trying to be sexy. Honestly, she thinks this was the least sexy she could possibly be. The top is almost sheer from too many times in the dryer, and it has a dubious stain on the front. The underwear (she hates the word panties, but that’s what they are, technically) are cheeky cut, pink and have a little bow on the front. She got them in a Walmart multi-pack.
The point is, Mel doesn’t really think of herself as being almost naked when she opens the door. Her mind is going a million miles per second, and she just realized that she hasn’t put a brush through her hair, let alone braided it. She has more on her mind than if Langdon is going to think her underwear are cute or if he’s going to see her nipples through her shirt.
But she opens the door, and Langdon already has his mouth open to make some joke, but no words come out of his mouth. He just sort of stands on her porch for a second with his mouth open and his eyes bulging before his neck almost snaps as he looks around the street. Then he’s stepping close to her, not quite touching, herding her back into the house and very firmly closing the door behind him. “Mel—”
His voice sounds off, gravely and a little broken, and if she wasn’t running so terribly behind, she would be concerned about it, she really would, but unfortunately, she doesn’t have time for concern at this very second. “I’m sorry, I’m running so behind and—”
The smoke detector starts going off right then, and when she looks behind her the toaster is on fire and Becca is slipping on her noise canceling headphones on and watching as their toaster lets out a truly terrifying plume of smoke. “Shit, the fire extinguisher is over there, would you mind putting that out for me please? I need to get dressed,”
Langdon’s face has gone an interesting shade of red, but he’s nodding like a bobble head and walking towards the kitchen with purpose, so it’s fine. Probably. Mel doesn’t have time to wonder about his blood pressure at this point, because she really does need to put on some pants.
And, well, she doesn’t have a good excuse for why she starts taking off her top before she’s in her bedroom, other than she genuinely isn’t thinking much of it. There’s a strange choking noise, but her door shuts with a click behind her before she can identify it, so Mel assumes that the smell is making either Becca or Langdon gag.
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fir-fireweed · 3 months ago
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Hello, Fir. I am really nervous to ask this and I hope it will be answered with care.
I love your IFs Viatica and Cantata, and I was hoping I could take some inspiration from both. It would be like a blend of Viatica and Cantata in a sense. I would love to describe it, but I was going to personally write it first (maybe a premise?) before sharing. I would probably just write the first chapter and I could share it with you? I don't normally finish my stories, but I would love to share this idea.
I wanted to ask your permission first however.
Again, love your IFs and I looked forward to seeing more! Take care, Fir, and have a great day!
Hello, anon!
First and foremost… THANK YOU for asking my permission. I very much appreciate you doing so, and the respectful and delicate way in which you did it. I might add, you don’t expressly need my permission, but I deeply appreciate that you asked for it.
Second, you said stories so I’m assuming you meant traditional stories and not an IF? If you meant making your own IF that’s a blend of mine, that makes me a little hesitant. But if you meant a different media like a linear story, then that’s fine. And if you were thinking more along the lines of fanfic, a story set in my universe, then that’s fine, too.
Third, inspiration can be a loaded word. In most cases, no, I don’t mind at all. Viatica was itself inspired by works like “Fahrenheit 451,” “Anthem,” and “1984.” I think you can take inspiration from something and make it your own.
Cantata was inspired by the video game Jade Empire. In the game, the PC is the last of a line of monks who worshipped the Water Dragon and were wiped out by a power hungry emperor. See the parallels? 😉 But I took that idea and it evolved into what Cantata is today. So drawing inspiration is fine, as long as it doesn’t venture into plagiarism.
I do have 2 requests though. One, that you credit/tag my original works in some way. Two, that you don’t make any money off of this.
I would love it if you shared with me, I really appreciate the offer. 😊 Thank you again for asking me first!
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crazysnor1ax · 2 months ago
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I can FINALLY show off my design for Callie in my Defeated AU! Meet Defeated Callie, or Titless Callie lmao
Text in first image is from this song
AU lore undercut (which you can also find on her Artfight page):
The premise is, more-or-less, exactly what it sounds like: the story follows the events of Splatoon 2 after Agent 4 is killed by Callie in Hero Mode's final boss fight, and Agent 8 is successfully blended during Octo Expansion. After successfully killing Agent 4, both sides retreat; Marie, hopeless on her own, flees to grieve Agent 4 and losing Callie again, and DJ Octavio and Callie flee to continue preparations to take back Inkopolis. Not long after this does Octavio decide he wants to make the effects of the Hypnoshades more permanent. What this results in is Callie undergoing a procedure that completely alters her memories and perception of the NSS. Her memories are tampered with to make her believe she's an octoling who fought her way to being Octavio's number two. To her, there never was an Agent 1, or a pop star in Inkopolis named Callie. Octavio also figured he could put Callie's agent skills and physical prowess to use, too; what this resulted in is, during the same procedure, Callie being turned into a living bioweapon. Her strength was increased tenfold, to the point where she can pick up and throw a car if she wants to. Her knowledge of how to wield a weapon is honed and perfected. She essentially becomes a walking Great Octoweapon. Her physical appearance and genetics are altered too: her tentacles, mask, and beak are changed to that of an Octoling's, and she's given top surgery and tattoos. For fun. Callie's personality is drastically different after this procedure. She is cruel. She's stern, wild, and dead-set on taking back Inkopolis. Fragments of her original personality remain, but they're twisted into something new and almost unrecognizable (for example, her hyper, energetic self translates into Defeated Callie being loud, boisterous, stubborn, and sometimes violent). After Agent 8's defeat, Tartar inserts itself into Agent 3, taking complete control of her body and using her as a vessel to make movement and world-destroying preparations much easier (in this AU, Tartar is the sludge on the telephone, not the telephone itself). Important information for the plot I'm going to explain right now: After her procedure, Callie and Octavio begin to get into disagreements about how preparations are going. Octavio is focused on tuning and improving the Great Octoweapons, but Callie thinks focusing on building up the army itself would save a lot of time and be more efficient. This disagreement gets so heated that eventually Callie...overthrows Octavio and makes herself leader of the Octarian Army.
Not long after this does Callie meet Tartar. Realizing they both have the same goal of messing with Inkopolis, they team up-Callie helping Tartar with its machines and weaponry, and Tartar assisting Callie with building her army. It doesn't take long for Callie to find out that Tartar has been stealing and sanitizing Octarians under her nose and wants to kill everyone in Inkopolis (she had only wanted to overtake it and "put inklings in their place"). She immediately breaks the deal they had, making Tartar vow to kill her, too. Callie is now set on stopping Tartar's plan, but realizes she can't do it without help. Not without the help of a familiar, grey-tentacled inkling. She goes to Marie, hesitantly asking for an alliance. Normally she would never stoop so low as to ask an inkling for help, but Tartar's plan threatens both of them. Marie is horrified at what the Octarians have done to Callie and how different she is, but she shoves it down and agrees to help, believing that, maybe, she can figure out how to reverse what's happened to her. From here, they work together to research, plan, and train to stop Tartar. They even enlist Pearl and Marina along the way, who have much more knowledge on the Deepsea Metro than either of them. As time progresses Callie begins to realize that Marie is having some kind of strange effect on her. She grows affectionate for her in a way that she hasn't ever been with anyone else. She starts to become familiar in a way that isn't simply recognizing her face. Thoughts seem to enter her head that aren't hers, and fake, dreamlike memories come to her of a version of herself that is so unrealistic. Perhaps most concerning is the fact that her body begins to feel so, so incorrect, and when she looks in the mirror she doesn't quite recognize herself sometimes.
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