#the idea that it's possible to be in the same room with him is bizarre and a little daunting

[atricksterproblem]

[innuendostudios]

regarding Measurehead

I've been watching a max-stats run of Disco Elysium's fascist political vision quest - cuz, hell no, I'm not disappointing Kim myself - and the portrait it paints of Measurehead is fascinating. in the base game, Measurehead is just a comically contradictory roadblock to meeting with Evrart: the philosophy of white supremacy spouted from a massive Black body. most players will interact with him early in the game, usually in close proximity to meeting The Cuno, and he's part of what makes the early game seem so unreprentantly edgelord. the kid said the f-slur! the Black guy is a racist! har har!

I've never loved that this is the foot Disco puts forward first, but, on deeper engagement, the game always has more on its mind.

properly speaking, Measurehead is, at his core, a genuinely good and kind man. he gives Harry good advice about not living in the past; he loves and adores his mother; he has an unhealthy respect for his hard and distant father but recognizes he learned strength and self-respect from him, while nevertheless refusing to repeat the cycle of abuse; indeed, he recognizes the balance he feels in himself, the mix of masculine and feminine, of soft and hard, was only possible because his parents lacked that balance in themselves, that his father saw the loving softness of Measurehead's mother and pivoted to its opposite, denying himself softness and embracing the rigid and cold so that Measurehead could experience both; Measurehead has chosen not to have children perhaps because he knows he could not retain this perfect balance, would have to follow his father's example and embrace only one side of himself to provide balance to a child; and he knows this self-possessedness, this full knowledge of who he is, is what makes him appealing to women, far more than his physique or philosophy; and, by all accounts, he eats pussy like it's going out of style.

what makes Measurehead such a batshit character is how he has to contort his philosophies to make room for this, how malleable fascism and race supremacy ultimately are. he can't just not want kids cuz he doesn't want to repeat daddy's patterns, he has to embrace a philosophy of "semen retention" and deny himself orgasm, and he fits that with race supremacy by insisting the real legacy is perpetuating ideas rather than flesh. he can valorize his devotion to his mother and the sexual consideration he pays his partners by insisting this makes him desirable to women and is how he outcompetes lesser men. the philosophy of "balance of soft and hard" is how he can exalt his father as a masculine ideal while still distancing himself from his father's abusive behavior.

one could argue these are all perversions of fascist rhetoric, if fascism had any coherent rhetoric to begin with. Measurehead has grasped the nonsensical nature of race science and authoritarian logic and put them to his own ends, and, being a giant specimen of a man, he can more or less get away with it.

I don't write this as a defense of Measurehead, because, of course, he is spreading a fascist rhetoric that encourages all kinds of violence and bigotry in the world, and a man who is good and kind in the privacy of his mother's office but is a champion of subjugation when in public - especially when he is, in his bizarre way, a true believer - is no kind of decent. but I see it as a look into the utter emptiness of fascist thought.

the four emissaries of fascism we meet on the vision quest - Gary, Rene, the racist lorry driver, and Measurehead - speak a lot of the same words but, at their core, have nothing in common. they have all latched on to the rhetoric and bent it to different ends - Rene yearns for the monarchy, Gary wants a pat on the head, the lorry driver is an incel, and Measurehead is trying to self-actualize within the confines of hypermasculinity. the only rhetoric that can encompass all four is one without substance, one of infinite flexibility, that offers nothing more than the promise that you will get everything you want, and that directs your rage at something other than yourself.

in that respect, despite being perhaps the most emotionally healthy person in the game, I find Measurehead pitiable.

[meo-juice]

HAII ^^ can i request some headcanons on what it would be like to be part of the bakusquad ? i luvv how u characterize characters <33

being a part of the bakusquad headcanons ✩࿐࿔

͙͘͡ ★ author's note: thank you sm for the request anon!! i hope i can do it justice. bakusquad is bakugou, kirishima, sero, denki, and minaaaaa. requests are open!

͙͘͡ ★ cw: sfw, swearing, mentions of alcohol.

͙͘͡ ★ word count: 603

͙͘͡ ★ dividers by @cafekitsune on tumblr!

being sucked into the whirlwind of a friend group that happens to be the so-called bakusquad (much to it's namesake's dismay), each day brings a new possibility.

being greeted by mina by a knock on your door at the latest hours to paint your toenails and talk the craziest shit known to man. who's hot, who's not, drowning out the low murmur of 13 going on 30 and love island from your tv. she's always ready with hot glue and sequins to make the latest craft trends on tiktok.

kirishima waits for you by the front door every morning to walk you to class and catch up on the tea that he missed the previous night from mina. he is an honorary member of the girls. when the two of you hang out it's all about watching new anime and mocking them when needed. jojo's bizarre adventure is a joint favorite to make fun of but love at the same time.

sero likes to drag you guys out for morning hikes, with many complaints from denki. bakugou will huff but it'll quickly turn into a race for him to make it to the peak first. he always offers a cooldown afterwards with fast food to keep everyone happy. the two of you like to go on long rides with all the windows down blaring everything from taylor swift to radiohead and doing your best 2000's pop punk vocal impressions.

bakugou will greet you in passing each morning, which is a lot for him. sometimes he'll stop by your room to study because, "you're the only other one who fuckin' knows what's goin' on." he secretly just thinks it's nice to work alongside another person and corroborate ideas on paper and in the field.

denki will drag you anywhere and everywhere. sneaking out at 2am to go to the nearest walmart, laser tag and arcades where he always leaves butthurt after you show him what's up. you frequently watch old spongebob episodes and see whatever new games are on steam to try out together.

every friday night is what kirishima has proudly named family game night.

family game night includes several heated (sometimes physical) arguments over mario kart. it truly brings out the worst in people.

when the twister board gets laid out across the floor of whoever's poor soul is hosting that friday, it gets even more intense.

many of the colored circles have been blown through with crispy, blackened edges from bakugou's determined attempts to claim his victory. he never wins. he is about as flexible as a butter knife.

denki tries his hardest to get a couple six-packs back into the dorms. aizawa does in fact catch him every time. they've begun to build up in his own room, he doesn't know what tat kid is trying to drink.

despite friendships almost being broken over blue shells and a right hand on red, the night always ends with a pileup on the couch and a movie that kirishima never gets to pick- he always wants the avengers.

bakugou always heads back to his room before he actually falls asleep, far before anyone else. kirishima goes next, until you one by one drop like flies. it usually ends up with you and sero quietly trying to pick up trash and fold blankets without disturbing the sleeping crowd.

he'll always let you take whatever bed there is, opting for the floor among the tangled bodies below him because he's just too nice.

yet each night you fall asleep feeling the love from your friends. whether they're the type that admits it or not.

͙͘͡ ★ disclaimer: these characters do not belong to me! all written works are my own (meo-juice). please do not repost my work on other sites or apps than tumblr. thank you!

[rosegolden13]

Tongues and Teeth

Can’t stop thinking about professional hockey player!John Price and dentist!reader who is always horrified when he comes in with a new chipped tooth so have my most bizarre ficlet yet…

Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about hockey or dentistry

~1.5k words, nothing explicit but it’s… intimate, sensual undertones

The smack of the plastic gloves against your skin as you tugged them on announced your presence in the tiny room. The small pieces of hair that have come out of your bun sway as you shake your head disapprovingly at the sight of him reclining in your chair. “Have you got any real teeth left, John? This is your third visit this season.”

His smile is lazy and amused, the chipped canine tooth on full display, when his calm blue eyes meet yours. “Nice to see ya, too, Doc.” He’s all too comfortable in the chair, work boots crossed and hands resting casually on his stomach. You’re used to tense and anxious patients, not this, but Price’s dental record was enough to make you cringe when you first saw it so you can only suppose he’s become completely desensitized to visits to the dentist. 

You inhale and exhale through your nose sharply, prepping your tools as you turn your back to him. “I wish I could say the same but I want to see you on the ice, not in my chair.”

“You a fan, love?” He asks, eyebrows raised. His smile widens a bit, eyes crinkling.

You level him with a steady stare over your shoulder as you consider your answer. It would be a terrible idea to fuel his ego. For God’s sake, he’s a professional hockey player. He doesn’t need any flattering- the press and fans do enough of that. 

“No,” you decide to answer, voice a bit flat. “But my dad is. He has the game on whenever I’m over for dinner. Now, open up. Let me see what I’m dealing with.” The rolling chair sinks gently beneath your weight as you settle into it, the wheels of your chair spinning smoothly across the flat, cheap flooring tiles when you move towards him.

Even when he complies with your orders, opening his mouth wide enough that you could fit your whole fist in his mouth, there’s something smug and self-satisfied about him that irritates you to no end. You can’t place exactly what pisses you off about him, perhaps his disregard for his dental health? Or maybe his carefree attitude? The fact that nothing seems to phase him?

Tentatively, you push his lip up slightly with the tip of your gloved finger to study his chipped tooth. The timidness in your touch must be obvious because he stiffens, almost like he’s holding back a laugh. It’s enough to embarrass you. You try to avoid meeting his eyes though you know from experience that he’s definitely staring at you. The closeness puts you on edge. He puts you on edge. 

It won’t be too difficult of a job to fill in the chip but with his profession, you need to make the filling as strong as possible. Gently, your gloved thumb grazes the chipped area, eyes flickering to meet his and gauge his reaction as you pull your hand back from his mouth. His eyes only crinkle in response. “Was tha’ supposed to hurt?” 

“You’re lucky it doesn’t. Means the puck you took to the face didn’t cause any nerve damage.” The sharp remark is just an attempt to hide the fact that you’re quickly losing control, like you always do in front of him.

He almost looks offended, scoffing as he adjusts in the chair, the cushion crinkling beneath him. “You know it wasn’ a puck to the face.”

Pleased you managed to get under his skin, you smirk as you get up to grab what you need, completely unaware of his eyes lingering on your ass in your loose blue scrubs. “The truth isn’t much better. A fight on the ice? It’s a bit childish to get violent over a sport, don’t you think?” 

His laugh is loud and rough, sounding like it comes from deep in his chest. For whatever reason, your lips tug into a bit of a genuine smile at the sound as you stand on your tip toes to get the supplies from the highest shelf. He rumbles from behind you with a few dying chuckles, “Suppose you got a point there. So, you do watch my games, doll?” 

Damn it. There’s no way to lie your way out of giving him the satisfaction that okay, yes, maybe you did watch his most recent game… and all of the others before it since he started coming in. Returning to your chair, you set the supplies down, the metal gently clinking against the tray. 

“Out of concern for a patient, yes, I did. Open up.” 

You ignore his all too pleased expression that you’ve essentially admitted to watching his games with bated breath, peeking out from behind your hands clasped over your face when he gets in a fight pressed up against the glass, always torn between wanting to know and being terrified to watch. 

“Can’t do anythin’ from that distance, Doc.” With his large palm on the back of the chair, he pulls you far too close to maintain professionalism. You’re caught off guard by the sudden movement, balancing yourself by placing your hands on his chest. Even he seems surprised by the sudden contact, not making any snide remark as your cheeks flush and you swiftly sit up properly. 

Out of sheer principle, you don’t move back, refusing to be flustered by him as you shoot him a quick glare. “I can adjust myself.” Desperate to hold onto some sort of control, you reach for his jaw, gloved fingers splaying out over his bearded cheek as you gently push down on the divot between his lips and chin to get him to open up. 

He complies but you feel no less in control. You’re grateful for the medical mask over the lower half of your face, separating you from breathing the same air as him, unable to feel the warmth when he exhales from his nose and shifts into a more comfortable position. At the very least, his teeth are perfectly clean despite all the fillings and caps preventing the chips from getting any worse.

The work is difficult to settle into when everything about him sets you off. Your arm hovers over his chest as you carefully mold the resin to his tooth, the heat practically radiating from his body. It’s the anticipation of a touch that won’t come- that’s what’s making you so tense. Some part of your body waits for contact when you’re so close to another. 

And the contact comes. His tongue sliding against your gloved thumb in what you hope is an accident but know better than to truly think so. The firm glide of his tongue is muted by the plastic guarding your finger but you freeze for a brief moment nonetheless. If he’s trying to rattle you, it’s working, a heat rushing through you in response to the stroke. He’s messing with you and you know it but.. You refuse to let your thoughts wander down that path.

It feels like an eternity before you’re done, finally able to breathe as you pull away, rolling your chair back away from him. “How’s it feel?” You ask him as you unhook the straps of the mask from around your ears.

That damn tongue of his flicks around the newly fixed tooth, licking down the long canine with far too much control and pressure to be unintentional. All the while, he maintains eye contact. He flashes you a charming grin, his legs falling over the edge of the chair as he stands. “Perfect, doll. Knew you could fix me up.” 

He gives your shoulder an appreciative squeeze, his hand heavy, large, and warm even through your scrubs. You swear you feel his thumb swipe over the strap of your bra as he lifts his hand. “See you next week, love.” All you do is nod dumbly up at him, too shocked by the touch.

It’s not until he’s out of the room checking back in at the front desk that you process his words. Next week?!

———

You’re in your dad’s kitchen, sleeves rolled up as you scrub at a particularly stubborn stain on a dish. Absently, you hum to yourself as you work. Your dad is watching the game but from what you can hear of his snores, he’s been passed out for a good ten minutes. The drone of the sports announcers drifts in from the next room over. 

“… The ref has stopped the play but that doesn’t mean Price stops. Think we’ll see his infamous temper here?”

“Oh, absolutely, Adam. He’s getting far too close to that goalie. And-…”

“That was a stellar right hook! You don’t even get this sort of action in the WWE, do you?”

“Absolutely not. This is a real fight, ladies and gents…”

Your eyes widen a bit as you process the words, walking into the living room with slow steps only to see John’s bluish image on your father’s cheap TV screen. His grin is wide as if to show off the missing tooth on the right side of his mouth. Clearly, he’s won whatever fight he got himself into but you can only stare in horror at the hole in his smile. 

Smug as ever as he takes in the wild cheers of the crowd, the bastard has the audacity to wink directly at the camera. Because he knows you're watching.

“For fuck’s sake…”

The cute lil borders are by @cafekitsune !! I'd love to hear your guys' thoughts- this longer writing is new for me!

[angel-sweets666]

Strades breeding kink problem

Strade x Afab reader

warning: smut, violence

DONT DO ANYTHING THIS GERMAN SADIST DOES, HES PURELY FOR THE FREAKY GIRLS. Also this is kinda short bc I’m bad at writing smut.

Strade always had his fair share of bizarre kinks and fetishes, many of which he had inflicted upon you on multiple occasions. You had endured having your skin sliced open, stabbed, and mutilated purely for his sick pleasures. One of his more… dulled-down kinks, however, was his intense breeding fetish. Strade seemed completely unfamiliar with the concept of pulling out, reveling in the possessive nature of it. The thought of leaving you pregnant and full, waiting for him at home after a day of harassing women and men on the streets, filled him with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Whenever he returned from his cruel escapades, there was a gleam in his eyes as he approached you. He would caress your swollen belly with a strange mix of pride and lust, whispering dark promises of a future where you were bound to him not just in the present but for eternity. The idea of claiming you in such an intimate and irrevocable way excited him beyond measure. Strade thrived on the power and control he felt, knowing that every part of you, inside and out, was his to command and conquer.

The nights were long and grueling as he took you again and again, driven by his insatiable desire to see you round with his child. Each thrust was a claim, each moan a reminder of his dominance. In those moments, you could feel the depth of his obsession, the possessiveness that went beyond mere physical control. It was a dark, consuming passion that left no room for doubt—Strade wanted to own you entirely, and he would go to any lengths to ensure that you remained bound to him in the most primal way possible.

one night, you were once again in the same position you were in most nights, with your body laid out across his old and dusty mattress and your legs spread while he was ontop of you taking you again. He used his hand above your head to hold himself up, he thrusted into you again “yeah… I’m gonna.. Scheisse! Fill you up with babies… just be a good pet and let me get you nice and pregnant… doesn’t that sound fun~” he grinned down at you as the burn from his cock inches deeper towards your cervix.

You whimpered, clutching the bedsheets tightly beneath you. The thought of being pregnant with Strade's baby sounded like an absolute nightmare. You knew that carrying his child meant subjecting both yourself and the unborn baby to his twisted way of thinking. His possessive and controlling nature would only escalate with the knowledge of fatherhood, chaining you to him.

strade grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled them up towards him, he began to go much faster with you, the tip of his large dick slammed into your cervix once again, he groaned and placed his hand on your lower tummy. Wanting to feel his length going in and out of you. “Doesn’t that feel good..?” He grins with his German accent that will forever haunt you. While being his in captivity wasn’t fun, the more intimate parts like cuddles and fucking; that was pretty nice, he could be a comfort sometimes!

his thrusts became sloppy, your moans and his grunts soon just became a mess of whining and moaning. Strade slammed his hips into your pussy one last time before he began to paint your insides white with his seed

“oh your going to be such a good mommy.”

[hotpinkboots]

~~~

~"The Purge Event." (Pt. 1)~

(Dream BBQ!Ena x Reader

A/N: Some of the things the reader says are actually my out loud reactions when I was playing the game for the first time. I thought using what I said for a blind playthrough would make it more realistic (as in someone seeing The Purge Event for the very first time). Enjoy, darlings :D

Warnings: Brief talk of veins ew!!, mention of eating people (Purge Event), the general tone is that undertone where things seem fine but you feel really weirded out because something is wrong and you can't put your finger on what it is, anxiety, not good things happen oh no !!

Notes: This story can be taken as either a close platonic friendship, or a budding romance, whichever you prefer to think of it as.

~~~

"It appears that you're weirded-out! Is this correct?" Ena leaned into your personal space, hand rubbing her chin as she observed your expression.

You were definitely weirded out.

It had been your idea to come here in the first place. Everybody seemed to be talking about it. You figured it must be some cool secret in this bizarre world, but now that you were actually standing before the strange building, you had a gnawing gut feeling that this place was something freakish.

Your silence was long enough for Ena to decide that she should just go for it.

"Yeah, that's correct. I don't think- WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" You shouted, watching in horrified confusion as Ena began to pull her literal arm off.

She recited the toll for entrance. "Pay with body!" Said Ena, as though this were a normal Sunday afternoon for you. "That was the demand for entrance. Unless you have short-term memory loss and forgot immediately, or are possibly deaf?" She looked at you with still eyes and a half smile, waiting for you to laugh at her teasing.

You didn't laugh.

She kept tugging at her shoulder.

"OKAY, STOP," you grabbed her wrist to stop her. "I don't like this, and I don't want you here," you stated firmly, "I think we should leave. This isn't safe for you." You had just met her recently, and yet, you found yourself caring for her safety immensely.

Perhaps it was because she seemed so determined to get to "The Boss" that, at times, she was subtly desperate.

Perhaps it was because she was a hard worker, and did stupidly difficult tasks that she didn't get well-rewarded for.

Perhaps it was because everybody seemed to spit her name out (or something that sounded somewhat like her name) with disgust as though she were a war criminal.

No matter the reason, you cared for her deeply.

Ena smacked your hand away. She tossed her hands up in annoyance and snapped at you- or rather, Meanie tossed her hands up in annoyance and snapped at you.

"THIS WAS YOUR IDEA, FLESH-BAG, LET'S GO!" With that, she popped her arm off.

You wailed. "WELL, DON'T GIVE HIM THAT ARM, IT'S MY FAVOURITE! PUT IT BACK-"

Too late. She tossed it up in the air as though to prove a point, and gave it to the entity, receiving some sort of green drink in return. Ena had already drank half of it. You'd have to drink the rest to go with her, unless you wanted her to go alone.

You didn't want that.

You glared at her from the corner of your eye, nose flared in disgust as you drank the gritty green liquid. The bowl shattered the moment you finished.You could now see the entrance to The Purge Event.You resentfully walked to the sliding double doors alongside Ena, who spoke up playfully.

"You have a favourite arm of mine?"

• • •

The Purge Event was hellish.

You had been exploring for awhile now, and there didn't seem to be anything special happening. No grand event at all. Every room was the same, the dance floor flashed to the same beat that never changed, even the people were the same in every room. You felt disoriented. Something was terribly wrong. What was worse was that you couldn't put your finger on what specifically was wrong. Nothing bad seemed to be happening, it was just an endless labyrinth.

Ena, on the other hand, was in bad shape. You looked over to tell her you weren't sure what to do in this place, but stopped mid-sentence, staring in disbelief. Were those branches growing from her chest like she had been impaled, or some sort of internal organ system panicking and going haywire? She looked jittery, eyes flicking about from wall to wall, entity to entity. Her pupils lagged occasionally, getting stuck on a random spot, before looking where they intended to.

"Ena? Ena!" You stopped in your tracks. She stopped, too, swaying on her feet.

"What.." Ena mumbled breathlessly. The voice she spoke with should've been the voice that screamed furiously at the sky for bleeding acidic cheese dip onto her shoulders. Instead, it was frustrated and confused.

"You look terrible!" You fretted, reaching a hand out towards her worriedly.

Ena glared at you, shrugging your hand away. "And you think you look great?"

You were momentarily stung, but decided that your companion was being crabby because she was unwell, not because she actually thought you looked less than great. You looked at her seriously. "We need to find a way out. We never should have come here-"

"IT WAS YOUR IDEA," she reminded you once again, an undertone of anxiety in her voice.

"I know-"

"AND THE TAXI'S BUSTED. WE'LL NEVER GET BACK!"

. . .Oh.

That's right. How were you going to get out of here?

You stared at her unblinkingly, wracking your brain for a solution. You suddenly began to miss that strange desert-like land that you felt so unnerved in before. You never should have gotten into that Taxi.

Ena watched your expression. Her insides felt as though they were writhing anxiously. I pushed it too far, she thought, Why are they looking at me like that? ...I don't feel well.

Ena buried her face in her remaining hand. "Let's just go," she grumbled.

20 minutes went by - if you could even call them minutes. Time felt different in this world.Then an hour. Nothing was happening. Whatever "Event" everybody spoke about either hadn't begun, or didn't exist and this was just a bizarre state of being that would perpetuate until the end of time.

You had found the doors that you entered through, but they hadn't budged. You had searched through every room again. You had even reached a point where you attempted to punch a wall in hopes that your fist would go through to the outside. Instead, you just really hurt your knuckles.

What was more unsettling was Ena's silence. She was following you like a ghost. You kept looking over your shoulder to make sure that she was still following behind, not truly seeing her, just checking that she still existed near you and wasn't lost.

Suddenly, you felt a cold, trembling hand touch your back. You flinched and turned your head quickly, finally paying attention to how she looked rather than her mere existence, only to be met with a very ill looking Ena.

She looked far worse than she had earlier. The right side of her face was a sickly pale blue. The left looked as though somebody had dipped her in tar and left her alone in an empty basement to dry, matching the inky black of the formerly clear white of her eye. Those strange branches looked like misshapen veins that had been drained of blood. They caused her chest to crack like broken porcelain, and were causing a mess of her limbs. How she managed to walk was beyond you.

You began to exclaim in protective concern, but Ena spoke before you could.

"I..." She began tensely, bracing herself to use the energy to speak,"I am f-feeling sick in this...." Her red hand tiredly gestured around, as though trying to catch a word that had floated away from her mind.

Ena started over to put her thoughts together, managing a full sentence: "I am feeling sick in this...place."

Your heart sank, and you murmured her name worriedly, brows furrowed. You felt an ache in your chest knowing that this wouldn't be happening if you hadn't suggested this in the first place.

You weren't sure what to do or say, not having seen her in such a state until now. Ena definitely didn't know what to do, either. Escape seemed hopeless.

With what little power you had over the situation, you walked forward and hesitantly hovered a hand over her shoulder, silently asking if it was alright to touch her, to offer comfort.

She didn't respond to the offer, her one visible eye looking around, unfocused. "Everything is loud," she grunted, staying completely still, something unnatural for your constantly-moving companion.

You decided to rest your hand on her shoulder like you initially planned to. Maybe getting her to focus on the only stable thing here would help. "Hey. Look at me-"

"No," Ena muttered, looking for a way out, as though she were a caged creature with the bars closing in on her. You took a step closer, so she'd hear your gentle voice over everything else.

"Please?"

Finally, her pale pupils darted up to make eye contact with you. Standing this close, you could hear her breathing raggedly. Or perhaps it was the sound of lagging, loading, or the verge of crashing.

You moved your hands from her shoulders to the sides of her head, cupping your hands over her ears.

The overwhelming sounds hadn't gone away, but they were muffled. That felt better. Ena felt momentary relief, her eye locked on you.

"I know it's loud and confusing," you murmured to her soothingly, "But-"

"I'm not helpless," Ena mumbled against your comfort. She sounded humiliated.

You continued, ignoring her weak complaints. She didn't seem to truly be upset. Just embarrassed.

"....But, we're going to get out of here. You and I. Together." You paused to let your words sink in before continuing.

"Let me break it down for you: Music is loud, people are everywhere, and the dance floor is bright. You're more than capable of making it through those," you reassured softly, breaking the situation down to make it more bearable.

Ena felt worse. "Only three things are happening and I can't even overcome those-"

"No, that's not the point," you interrupted quickly, "Ena, I'm trying to say that it's going to be okay."

She went quiet. Her eye slowly drifted to the ground.

. . ."That was cheesy," she muttered, though you saw her mouth twitch upwards into a small smile.

"You liked it," you pointed out fondly. Ena attempted to stand up straighter and prouder. It didn't work well, but she was making an effort. "In that case, let's get to wo-... What is that?"

"What? What is what?" You turned around quickly, following her gaze.

Oh. That's what.

Thick pink goop was oozing grotesquely from the mouths of the creatures mounted onto each wall. Your heart sunk deeply into your stomach. The determination of the moment faded as the liquid began to rise to your ankles.

This could only mean one thing: The Purge Event was beginning.

You instinctively turned to Ena, but you only caught a glimpse of her before the lights went out all at once, plunging you into blinding darkness. Your chest felt tight with panic- panic that amplified into a shocked scream. You felt yourself being dragged away, though you didn't feel physical hands forcing you back. A shrill cry sounded in the distance.

That whistling . . . It sounds

Hungry.

~~~

~Love, HotPinkBoots

[icantbelieveitsnotbutler]

Who is that (chapter 215)

Manga spoilers.

Required context: my Polaris identity theory.

You can find my inital thoughts about the mystery character in this post about chapter 214.

In this chapter we learn that the mystery character is a man named Modri Vladis who has what seems to be a knife identical to the ones Polaris carries. However, Sebastian has no memory of him and says that he only took his current form when Ciel contracted him, implying he would have been physically unrecognizable prior to the summoning.

I have three ideas:

One: Vladis is Polaris. He's gotten new tattoos/markings on his neck, but he has the knife and his mental instability matches with Polaris, who we've seen freak out at the thought of losing r!Ciel and whose room at the music hall was torn apart. He is someone from Sebastian's past who Sebastian has managed to forget (we've seen him forget things so it is possible) and who Undertaker resurrected.

Two: Vladis is not Polaris but is still someone from Sebastian's past. He has the knife because they both got that sort of knife from Undertaker or someone else involved in the blood business. He said that Sebastian "robbed [him] of everything that night and dragged him into the depths of hell." Robbing him of everything could be talking about consuming his soul, in which case dragging him into the depths of hell would be a metaphor for suffering, because we know the consumed souls disappear rather than go to hell. It could also mean that Sebastian only killed him, robbing him of his life (which is everything), and leaving his soul free to go to hell. It would also explain him trying to "remind" Sebastian's body of the events between them by spraying him with blood, something that could have happened when Sebastian was killing him.

If Vladis was brought back by Undertaker, Undertaker could have told him that Sebastian is the one who wronged him and given him a description or shown him a photograph of Sebastian's new appearance.

Something that's bothering me is that neither Sebastian nor Ciel have brought up the possibility that Vladis is a bizarre doll, which would explain him being there even if his soul was destroyed, like r!Ciel. He was even receiving a blood transfusion in front of them, so is there something about him that makes him seem to not be a bizarre doll, or are they keeping quiet about the dolls in public?

Sebastian says "only one contractor may exist at any given time," but during the contract negotiation scene he implies that it is possible to form contracts with multiple people, but he chooses not to because of his aesthetics, not that it's physically impossible. Maybe something is being lost in the translation.

The title page is definitely implying he's a previous contractor, or trying to make us think that to throw us off. "Dedicating his (Sebastian's) all to his one and only (contractor)-" and the chapter is called "Faded Memories."

Third: Vladis was killed (or wounded) by Polaris, who is a bizarre doll made from Sebastian's cinematic record. This would explain him (mis)recognizing Sebastian's current form. He has the knife because Polaris uses them and leaves them in the people he kills (or at least he did with Agni). He cut himself with it in front of Sebastian because he thought harming himself with the same weapon would jog his memory. The blood transfusion might be part of his recovery from Polaris's attack which didn't kill him (and would explain Sebastian and Ciel not assuming he could be a bizarre doll) or it did kill him and Undertaker brought him back because he knew he would go after Sebastian, thinking he's Polaris.

None of these explain the teeth. Polaris doesn't have them. They look like Sebastian's, but if Vladis is a demon, he is very weak/injured (requires blood, falls over, easily carried away by Rodney despite resisting). Maybe Vladis is a demon Sebastian killed or created?

[velvet-apricots]

I was encouraged to write a drabble of this idea I had here

Summary: Lucanis can tell that Rook has a thing for Emmrich. Emmrich, however, seems to be very unaware of her attraction. That is until Spite speaks up.

It was happening again.

He had been talking to Emmrich again. For as bizarre as Lucanis found the concepts of raising the dead, the man was good to talk to. It was refreshing to have another to help with Spite, to have a calm firm hand that could get the demon to behave or stop pestering with questions that Lucanis could not answer, or could not answer in a satisfactory way.

That, and Spite just seemed to refuse to believe him out of… Well, spite.

“The moment I told him how soap was made, he insisted I take a bite.”

Emmrich tutted, leaning on his staff and directing his eyes to the demon as he hovered behind Lucanis’s shoulder. “Oh that would be most unpleasant, Spite. I assure you. The saponification process completely changes the composition of the animal fat. It tastes terrible.”

“How do you know?” Spite hissed.

Emmrich shrugged. “I have gotten soap in my mouth once or twice while bathing.”

And then, almost like clock work, Rook was suddenly there, slipping into the conversation. “What is saponification?” she asked, playing with her fingers as she gave Emmrich a little sweet smile, one she never gave to any of the rest of them. 

Rook liked hearing Emmrich talk. She liked seeing him move his hands. She liked looking at him. Her voice would get higher, and she would jut her hip out as she nervously fiddled with something, be it her fingers or her hair. It was very obvious that she was attracted to the older man, looking for any excuse to speak to him. It was like watching a love sick teenager.

And Emmrich seemed oblivious. Politefully so, but still very oblivious. Either that, or he was keeping up a professional decorum.

And so Lucanis now watched them: Emmrich explaining how saponification was the process of “cleaving esters into carboxylate salts and alcohols by the action of aqueous alkali”. Rook looking at Emmrich so intensely that she might as well be trying to undress him with her eyes. Staring at him from under her lashes with a little stupid grin, clearly not actually even hearing what he was saying.

Meirda, she is practically lusting over the man. How does Emmrich not see that? Lucanis thought, giving a humored smirk.

And then Spite spoke. He spoke and Lucanis wanted nothing more than to be struck down by the Maker himself.

“They should get a room. Together.”

Rook of course heard nothing. But Lucanis watched as Emmrich’s brows went up, watched as he turned to look at Spite, his ears and cheeks ever so slightly going pink as he gave a bewildered, open mouthed stare.

“I beg your pardon?” Emmrich asked.

Lucanis closed his eyes, cringing visibly from embarrassment. “Ignore him-”

“No! Do not ignore me! Take her to the bedroom! It’s what she wants!”

Emmrich took a scolding tone, face now going from pink to red.“Take her to-? Spite that is incredibly inappropriate.”

“What is Spite saying?” Rook asked, leaning back as both Lucanis and Emmrich turned sharply to her to say the same thing.

“Nothing.”

Emmrich ran his hand through his hair, looking very uncomfortable and now no longer able to look at Rook at all. “I think I will go make sure Manfred is not getting into any trouble” He mumbled, turning and quickly walking away. Rook followed him, switching from love sick to concerned leader.

Her concern would only make Emmrich feel even more uncomfortable.

“And I will throw myself into a cup of coffee, and possibly off the side of the courtyard.” Lucanis mumbled, turning in the opposite direction and quickly speed walking away. He would have to apologize-

“Do not apologize! I helped!” Spite protested, “He knows now!”

-Apologize to Emmrich.

[schrodingers-romy]

Traces [Mitsuya Takashi x Reader]

Pairing: Mitsuya Takashi x GN!Reader Word Count: ~1300 [Ao3 Link]

Summary: You give Takashi your favorite shirt to repair, and he realizes it smells of you...

Warnings: Male masturbation, fantasizing, scent kink (smelling clothing), it is mentioned that reader wears perfume, no gendered pronouns or anatomy used for reader

Notes: *rolls up four months late with an iced tea* yeah so I've had trouble finishing any of my wips. Somehow completely forgot I wrote this and found it in my drafts so. Have it ig. Mdni banner template from @/cafekitsune

Your favorite shirt had a tear in it.

You had come to Takashi nearly in tears about it; so of course, he immediately offered to repair it for you. The bright, grateful smile you gave him made him blush even now, hours later.

The sun had set long ago, and he had to wake for work in a few hours, but he wanted to fix your shirt as soon as possible. Just because you were his friend, nothing more. He would do this for any of his friends. You didn’t receive any special treatment from him. No matter how much Draken teased him about how he hovered over you like a doting boyfriend, there was nothing deeper than friendship between the two of you.

He strokes his fingers over the neat stitches of his patch. It is nearly invisible to the naked eye, but there was a slight change in texture over that area that was nearly unavoidable. Takashi hopes you don’t notice. He knows that one of your favorite things about this shirt is its softness, and he’d feel bad if his work impacted that.

He continues to run his hands over the fabric. It is soft, a softness that spoke of repeated wash and wear. He can’t help but let his mind wander to how such fabric would feel against your body…how such material would rub against your silken skin…

In a purely practical view, you see. Takashi was thinking of making you another shirt (just in case his patch job wasn’t good enough on this one), so it makes sense that he is so focused on your clothing, and how it feels. There’s nothing more to it than that.

Well, he finished the repair, so there was nothing left except to set the shirt aside to be returned to you in the morning. That should have been the cue for him to stand up from his desk and head to bed, but he instead lingers in his chair. Should he maybe wash it before he gives it back? It might be a good idea to at least see if his sewing will hold up in the washer, even though he’s confident it will. He wonders if you washed the shirt before you gave it to him; he doubts it. Would it be strange to hand back a dirty piece of clothing, even if it was given to him that way?

Before Takashi even thinks about what he’s doing, he brings the shirt up to his nose and takes a light sniff. He realizes as soon as he does it how utterly bizarre of an action it is, even under the guise of checking its cleanliness. But by then it’s too late.

The shirt smells like detergent, and perfume, and the faintest undertone of sweat; but most importantly, it smells like you. And with that thought comes a wave of heat low in his abdomen.

It’s the same scent he would smell if he ever leaned in close to you… close enough for you to feel his breath brushing against your skin. Close to you in the way he desperately wanted to be. Because beneath his insistence that the two of you were just friends, he longed for you. Draken was right, he was a doting boyfriend, just in his dreams. Because he was too much of a fucking coward to confess his feelings to you.  

Takashi is painfully aware of how pathetic he is; instead of confessing his love (and his lust) for you, like a sane person would, he instead sat here in his room, alone, getting hard from sniffing your clothing like a fucking pervert.

And he is getting hard; his cock is swiftly turning from a half-chub into a full-blown stiffy. Just the barest lingering traces of your scent got him going faster than any porn could.

The shame he feels is muted by his arousal. God, this is such a violation, he thinks, as the hand not gripping onto your shirt drifts down to pop the button on his pants.

He has his nose fully buried in your collar now, right where the smell was most concentrated. His eyes flutter shut as he slips a hand into his pants to grip his bulge over his underwear.

As he slowly rubs himself, he lets his mind conjure up a dream scenario. He imagines you sitting in his lap. Your back is pressed against his chest, his hand around your waist clutching you tight to him and his face buried in your neck. He can smell your favorite perfume, and the barest edges of sweat beginning to glisten on your skin. He pictures himself licking it off of your throat. Takashi’s mouth opens, letting his tongue loll out slightly as if he truly could taste you.

He imagines that the two of you have your pants hiked down, just far enough for his rock-hard erection to slip between your legs. He wraps his hand around his already dripping length, letting out a soft hiss at the stimulation. Takashi begins to stroke faster, humping up into his own hand, envisioning that he was fucking up in between your thighs instead of into his own palm. God, he just knows your legs would be so soft, and perfect to fuck. He can picture it in his mind so vividly, almost to the point of feeling it; how your thighs would squeeze around him. How they would flex as he rubs his cock against your own arousal. How you would whine and moan, and how he would need to keep one arm secured over your waist before you buck off of his lap in your eagerness for more stimulation. Your sounds would echo around the room; he would muffle his own moans by biting the crook of your neck and leaving his marks there.

Takashi is nearly smothering himself in your shirt now; he feels as if he is bathing in your scent. He isn’t sure if it is a lack of oxygen from how he presses your clothes over his face or whether he is just that aroused, but either way, he’s nearly delirious with pleasure. His cock drips so much pre-come it makes every thrust into his hand it let out a wet, sloppy noise.

It only takes imagining you moaning his name and coming over your own stomach from his grinding dick for him to explode. He feels his orgasm flash across his entire body like electricity. His cock twitches in his hand, letting loose stream after stream of hot, thick cum. He continues to stroke himself, milking every last drop from his aching balls as he pictures painting your skin white with his release.

He is left empty-headed and gasping after his orgasm; it takes several minutes for him to regain basic human function, and it takes him even longer than that to notice that your shirt is now coated with his drool and come.

Well, now he definitely has to wash it before returning it to you.

-

Takashi’s guilt over what he had done hit him in full force in the morning. He honestly was tempted to just burn your shirt just so he wouldn’t have to think about what he had done with it. But he knew how much that shirt meant to you, and in the end, he didn’t have the heart to do anything except wash it. (Twice. Just in case.)

He couldn’t look you in the eye when he gave it back to you. He nearly combusted when you pulled him into a surprise hug. (And you smelled just like the shirt had, except more intense. It took all his willpower not to pop a boner right there in your arms).

You wore the shirt the next day. Any innocent enjoyment he could have experienced over your joy was tarnished by the memories of coming on the same fabric you wore so happily. (He was glad he was wearing baggy pants.)

God, he really needed to confess to you, because he couldn’t keep this up. He just hoped you returned his feelings…and he also hoped you would like to fulfill some of his fantasies…

[aishangotome]

Jagasaki Yato: Chapter 1

♡———♡

In the dreamlike palace that manifested beyond the sweet, sleep-inducing purple haze, I chose to spend a night of illusory love with Yato, the "Ice Courtesan," who was rumored to be the most popular.

Gashadokuro: Please wait a moment. Let me check Yato-san's schedule for later—

Gashadokuro: Ah, it's alright! We can guide you now.

Closing the thick ledger, Gasha-kun flashed a friendly smile.

Gashadokuro: It's rare for someone to be able to request Yato-san on their first visit.

Gashadokuro: You're lucky, Yumeka-san!

Gashadokuro: I'll take you to your room right away, so please follow me!

Gashadokuro: This way!

Yumeka: O-okay.

(I might be nervous now, even though I'm the one who chose him...)

I tried to keep up with Gasha-kun, who had started walking, but my right hand and right foot almost went out at the same time.

-

-- We went deeper and deeper down a wide corridor covered in a red carpet.

Gashadokuro: This building has a complex structure, so many people get lost.

(... Certainly, there are no windows and the same doors keep repeating, so it feels like we're walking in the same place.)

Then, there were ceilings with bizarre shapes, and suddenly, the Japanese-style walls would switch to Western-style walls, further disorienting me.

(But...)

Yumeka: I think it has a certain charm.

Gashadokuro: Oh, is that how humans think?

Gashadokuro: I think it's a strange building, all patchwork...

As Gasha-kun tilted his head, something suddenly darted across my feet––...

Yumeka: Kyaah!?

Gashadokuro: Oh, that's dangerous! Lady Butterfly, please be careful---

What was at my feet was an old, vermilion-lacquered bowl.

But it hadn't rolled there by accident––

Yumeka: ...A bowl with hands and feet!?

Gashadokuro: It's not just any bowl. It's a Tsukumogami, a spirit that dwells in a tool that's aged.

Gashadokuro: They are excellent staff members of this Mugenro!

At Gasha-kun's explanation, the Tsukumogami puffed out its chest proudly.

Tsukumogami: Kyu!

(...As expected of a dream. Things like this come up...)

I tried to make eye contact as much as possible and spoke to the Tsukumogami.

Yumeka: Sorry, I almost stepped on you. Are you hurt?

Tsukumogami: Kyuu!

The Tsukumogami waved at me and ran briskly down the hallway.

Gashadokuro: I thought humans were a little more afraid of Youma and Tsukumogami, but you're kind, Yumeka-san.

Yumeka: I don't know if I'm kind... but at least I'm not afraid of you or that little one.

Gashadokuro: Hehe, thank you. Now, this way.

––After walking for a while after reaching the upper floor, Gasha-kun stopped in front of a room.

Gashadokuro: We've arrived. This is Yato-san's room!

Gasha-kun knocked on a door that looked rather heavy and sturdy for a room door.

Gashadokuro: Yato-san, I've brought Lady Butterfly. Please open up!

(This is it... I wonder what he's like. I hope he's not scary.)

I remembered his overwhelming aura, but I was so nervous that I didn't remember his face.

I waited nervously for a while, but there wasn't even a sound, let alone a response, from the room.

Yumeka: ...It seems he's not here.

(I'm relieved, but also a little disappointed...)

Gashadokuro: This is troubling. He's always like this when he doesn't have an appointment with a butterfly.

Gashadokuro: He just wanders off somewhere...

Yumeka: O-oh, I see...

(Since he's number one, I wonder if he's selfish or difficult to deal with?)

Gashadokuro: I have a few ideas where he might be, so I'll go look! Please wait here for a moment, Lady Butterfly.

Yumeka: Ah...

Gasha-kun ran off before I could stop him, leaving me alone in the deserted hallway.

(Being left alone in an unfamiliar place is unsettling, even in a dream.)

As I stood in front of the room, something resembling a snake slithered silently toward me down the corridor.

(Is that really a snake?)

The snake, which looked like it had passed its body through a saké bottle, skillfully carried saké on a large tray on its head.

(That child is probably a Tsukumogami too. Maybe I'll meet someone if I follow him...)

Yumeka: Snake-san, wait...!

The snake deftly opened a window at the end of the corridor with its tail and went out onto a balcony.

I ran and chased after him, and there I saw---

A man in a blue haori: ........

(Ah...)

Under the faint moonlight, I gasped as I saw the man leaning languidly against the handrail.

(Is that... a person?)

His long, melancholy eyes, gazing longingly at the moon, were an untouched deep blue, like the vast ocean.

His yellowish, bright hair, translucent in the moonlight, gleamed divinely, with an ephemeral quality as if it would disappear into particles of light if touched.

(...Beautiful...)

His standing figure, so beautiful and perfect that it lacked the warmth of life, resembled a sculpture crafted by a master artisan.

(But... why?)

Despite possessing beauty that could make all beings in the world prostrate themselves, his expression looked sadder than anyone else in the world.

(Why does my heart feel so constricted?)

Unable to speak, simply captivated, I watched as the snake stretched out its tongue as if to call out to the man.

Snake Tsukumogami: Shhh.

Man in a blue haori: You're late. My saké's long gone---

The man, raising his face to receive the saké, caught sight of me.

Man in a blue haori: .........

His glossy, lapis lazuli eyes, like jewels inlaid, suddenly sharpened.

Man in a blue haori: ...Who are you?

Yumeka: Um, excuse me. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I just––

Man in a blue haori: Why are you here?

Yumeka: Huh...?

(The way he said that, it's like he knows me...)

Hesitantly, I looked closely at the man's face.

His lips remained closed, unreadable, and his cool eyes, though looking at me, seemed to reject what they saw––

Suddenly, another man's face came to mind, and the fog that had been clouding my head cleared.

Yumeka: You're...!

(A regular at "Tapir"!?)

Man in a blue haori: ............

As I lost my words in surprise, there was the sound of footsteps rushing toward us...

Gashadokuro: Ah! Yato-san, I finally found you! You have a customer!

(Huh? Did Gasha-kun just say Yato-san...?)

Gashadokuro: Oh? You've already met?

Oblivious to my confusion, Gasha-kun beamed.

Gashadokuro: This is Yato-san, the number one at Mugenro. And this is your customer for tonight.

Yumeka: ....!

(I can’t believe a regular is appearing in my dream...)

Then––I was guided to Yato-san's room, and we were alone.

Yato: ..........

Yumeka: ...........

Yumeka: ....!

(Oh, how awkward...)

In the continuing silence, Yato-san suddenly stood up and started preparing drinks.

Yumeka: Ah, I'll do that. I can't let a guest do something like that—

Yato: .........

(Oh dear, I did that instinctively...)

Yato: You're the guest here. Sit down.

Yato-san said, sounding exasperated, and turned away.

I obediently sat back down on the edge of the large bed and spoke as brightly as I could, trying to relieve the awkwardness.

Yumeka: Um... You're the one who often comes to 'Tapir', right?

Yato: .........

(...Yeah, this silence is just like that regular customer.)

While I was convincing myself, Yato-san offered me a glass of saké.

Yato: Drink this. It'll keep you from thinking unnecessary things.

Yumeka: Thank you...

After confirming that I took a sip of the glass, Yato-san sat down next to me.

Yato: It's rare for a human butterfly to come here.

Yumeka: Well, I'm not really a butterfly, I'm just...

Yato: You're here, so you must be a butterfly.

Yato: ...Well, whatever. More importantly, how did you get here?

(He means, why am I having such a dream, right... ?)

Yumeka: I got incense from an unknown man. When I lit it and slept...

Yato: An unknown man?

Yumeka: He had black hair and red eyes and was an absolute beauty. He was mysterious, but strangely easy to talk to...

Suddenly Yato-san's expression turned stern.

Yato: Kuzuha's doing, huh...

(Kuzuha... is that the beautiful person's name?)

Yumeka: I just tried using it, thinking it might help me sleep a little—

Yumeka: Thinking about it now, using incense given to me by a stranger was pretty careless, wasn't it?

Thinking about it again, I couldn't help but smile wryly at my own lack of caution.

Yato: ............

Yato-san, who had been watching me expressionlessly, suddenly reached out his hand...

Yumeka: ...!!?

Just as I thought he had lifted my chin with his fingertips, his handsome face drew close.

Yato: You—

Yumeka: ...! Yes...

Yato: I didn't notice at that shop, but you certainly look awful. You haven't been sleeping so much that you had to rely on strange incense?

Yumeka: That... is...

Contrary to his brusque words, the fingertips stroking under my eyes were gentle, making my heart flutter.

Yumeka: Actually, I work a regular job at a company during the day. So, I have trouble getting enough sleep...

Yumeka: The more I think "I have to sleep," the more my eyes widen... I want to sleep, but I can't.

Urged by his cool fingers still touching my face, words I had never spoken to anyone else spilled from my mouth.

Yato: Foolish. Why do you work to the point of sacrificing sleep? Do you have debts?

Yumeka: No, it's not that... It's a dream I desperately want to achieve.

Yumeka: That's why I want to do anything I can for my dream.

Yumeka: It's a dream I've wanted to achieve for a long time, so I intend to work at it until the very end.

I clenched my fist as if to cheer myself on and tried to smile...

Yumeka: !!?

Yato-san's arm wrapped around my waist, and his free hand stroked my cheek.

His fingertips traced down my neck, chest, and stopped in the middle of my chest.

Yumeka: Wh, what are you... doing!?

Yato-san, with his hand still on my chest, opened his mouth expressionlessly.

Yato: ? Didn't you ask what kind of place this is?

(I did, but)

The tension I thought I had forgotten resurfaced, and my heart jumped.

Yumeka: Ah...

Even through my nightwear, I could feel the coldness of his large, bony hand, as it stroked my back from my waist.

Contrary to my bewilderment, my body, sensing a premonition of pleasure, flinched slightly.

Yumeka: Um, excuse me. Is this... is this my latent desire?

Yumeka: I finally managed to sleep, and now I'm having a dream like this...

Yato: …Perhaps.

His hand came up my back, and a beautiful voice, mingled with a sigh, tickled my ear.

Yato: Surrender yourself. I will pay respect to your beliefs and daily efforts.

Something hot, similar to a tremor, was about to overwhelm me, and I twisted.

Yumeka: Eh, w-wait.

With a fluid motion, he pulled my nightwear open, and I tried to cover my chest, but...

Yumeka: Ah...

Yato-san grabbed both my wrists with one hand and pushed me down onto the bed.

My hands pinned above my head, unable to move, he leaned over me unhurriedly.

Yato: In a dream, there's no need for hesitation or guilt. Isn't that right?

Yato: Here, there's no worry that would make you hesitate.

Yato: There's no chance of pregnancy, and no one but me will know whatever shameful state you show.

Yato: It's a convenient dream, isn't it? Indulging in pleasure is a good way to relax—come on.

Yumeka: Ah––

My exposed breasts were cupped in his hands, and a sweet voice escaped unconsciously.

Yato-san's sensual voice was like a love potion, melting my reason––

Yumeka: This is... a dream... so...

Yato: That's right. This is a one-night dream.

Our eyes met, our noses almost touching.

Yato: Until the incense burns out, just surrender yourself to the pleasure I give you.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 2

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[in1-nutshell]

Tim visit the lost light

Little Timmy's going on a trip today!

Hope you enjoy!

Tim goes to the Lost Light

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Slight Angst, Human Reader

IDW/MTMTE

Fortress Maximus was trying his best.

He never had parents or anything really similar to parents, just good friends he gained later in life.

Parenthood never crossed his processor until Tim came along.

But there was so much a bot could do when a little boy gets bored doing and seeing the same things every day.

Tim wanted a change to his normal.

This caused more arguments between the two.

Red Alert walks into the main room to find Fort Max sitting in the seat sighing and putting his servos in his helm. He walks over to the taller mech and places a servo on his arm. Red Alert: “It happened again didn’t it?” Fort Max nods. Fort Max: “I don’t know what else to do Red… he hates me…” Red Alert grabs a spare chair and sits down. Red Alert: “Max, the boy doesn’t hate you. He just wants to see some things that are a bit hard to see with his condition. He wants more friends Max.” Fort Max: “You didn’t see the way his face went red. He hates me…” Red Alert: “Do I need to get Rung—Wait Rung!” Fort Max looks at him confused. Fort Max: “Rung? What does he have to do with this?” Red Alert: “Maybe he can help us out or even better help Tim too!” Fort Max: “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea…”

This works a bit and Tim gains a new friend.

He loves hearing stories about the wacky adventures the Lost Light gets into.

Tim wants to meet the orange mech in personally with everyone else… and he is going to make it possible.

Cerebros was getting a special crate of cameras ready to be teleported to the Lost Light.

Swerve had requested them after an incident in the bar that involved a pint of Nightmare Fuel, a dozen curly straws and roller blades.

Cerebros refused to ask further questions.

Tim puts his plan into action.

Slinging a bag with most of his medicines, he sneaks into the crate and gets teleported to the ship.

The crate gets open by a surprised Swerve and Bluestreaker. Tim is sitting in the box. Swerve: “…” Bluestreaker: “…” Tim: “…” Swerve: “…” Bluestreaker: “…” Tim: “… Hi—” Swerve and Bluestreaker: “AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!” Meanwhile in Ultra Magnus’s office… Magnus looks over at Rodimus with squinted optics. Magnus: “Did you do something?” Rodimus: “Huh?” Also in the medbay… Ratchet looks up from his reports. Ratchet: “Something just happened.” Drift: “Maybe we should head back to the habsuite and take a nap then?” Ratchet: “No.”

After the momentary freak out and brief explanation, Rung gets a very bizarre call from the bar.

Something about a human in the bar asking for him?

But he didn’t know any human except—

…

Rung had accidentally stepped on several mechs pedes trying to move into the bar.

There was a small crowd forming near the bar counter.

Everyone wanted to see the adorable little stowaway.

Tim’s smile went wide seeing the frazzled orange mech trying to squeeze in between mechs.

Ratchet, Mangus and the Co-Captains soon followed through.

Tim happily climbed onto Rung’s servos and started hugging his digits while telling him how much he missed him.

Rung: “While this is a pleasant surprise Tim, what about Fortress Maximus?” Tim waved his hand. Tim: “I left a note.” Whirl: “What about Fort Max?” Tim: “He’s, my dad!” Tailgate: “Cyclonus what’s a dad?” Cyclonus: “I don’t know Tailgate. I believe it is an Earth word.” Magnus: “It is a term for a parental figure.” Rodimus: “Wait did he… and a human…” Ratchet hits the back of his helm. Ratchet: “Of course not! Tim is his adopted son!” Tim blinks confused before shrugging off. Adults can be confusing.

There was an immediate rush to get in contact with Luna 1.

Too bad the ship was going through a communication dead zone.

It would take time for any calls to be made.

In the meantime, Tim was given the tour around the ship.

The little boy’s infectious joy and wonder started rubbing off the bots around him.

He had a blast on the ship.

From watching movies with the minibots.

Laughing and yelling inside the speedsters alt modes while racing down the halls.

Getting free rides on bots shoulders while they asked questions about Luna 1.

To falling asleep to Megatron reading some soft poems to him.

But there was one thing most of the bots noticed whenever it was their turn with the boy.

That Ratchet and Rung were never too far away.

Moreover, after a certain amount of time passed by, Tim had to consume something with water or Ratchet would take him away for a bit before returning.

Finally, after a bit of questioning, Ratchet told the that Tim was prone to getting sick a lot.

Much more than the average person and needed certain medications to help combat certain illnesses.

This is what most of the bots understood.

Human that’s sick = Death.

Tim is very confused why suddenly every bot on board what’s to wrap him in a blanket burrito and calls/ runs to the medbay if he sneezes.

Meanwhile, in Luna 1…

Fortress Maximus was in the middle of having his 15th mental breakdon since he went to go give Tim in his medicine and found a note instead.

It was so tiny he accidentally ripped it.

His yelling alerted Cerebros and Red Alert.

Everyone started searching around the base.

Fort Max took on the higher places and outside the base.

Red Alert was currently going through the cameras for any sign of the little boy.

Cerebros was looking in the cabinets and under tables.

Everyone was worried about where the boy had gone and their anxiety only grew as the alarms for his medicines went off.

Finally, Maximus had enough and started making calls.

Fort Max on a call. Fort Max: “C’mon… c’mon…” The call gets picked up. Prowl: “This is Prowl. Speak.” Fort Max: “We need your help on Luna 1.” Prowl: “what have you three managed to do this time? Don’t tell me you screwed with the monitors again? Or is it the spacebridge?” Fort Max: “Prowl I wouldn’t be calling you if it was about monitors and the spacebridge.” Prowl: “Then what could you possibly—” Fort Max: “Tim is missing you callous rust bucket!” Prowl: “… What?” Fort Max: “Tim has been missing since this morning and we’ve been looking around for hours! Now if you want to help—” Prowl from behind him: “Where?” Fort Max jumps at the sudden appearance of the Praxian. Fort Max: “GAH! Where did you come from!?” Prowl: “Not important, where was the last place you saw him?”

Thankfully the Lost Light was able to get out of the dead zone and start contacting the base.

Tim was starting to get worried about his dad.

He had never been away from him, Red Alert or Cerebros for this long.

Hearing that he would be home soon was welcoming news for the boy.

No one was expecting Prowl and Fort Max to answer the call together.

Tim looks at the screen to see his Uncle and Father. He waves exciteably. Tim: “Dad! Uncle Prowl!” Prowl and Fort Max: “Tim!” Several bots hearing and watching the call freeze. Rodimus: “Uncle Prowl?” Chromedome places a digit on Tim’s forehead. Chromedome: “Are you okay Timmy?” Tim playfully swats the bots digit. Tim: “Yup!” Rewind crosses his arms while looking at Prowl. Rewind: “Uncle Prowl, really? Timmy are you sure you’re not confusing him for another bot?” Prowl glared at the minibot. Prowl: “I’m—” Fort Max slightly moved Prowl to get a better look at the video. Fort Max: “Tim! Are you okay!? Are you feeling okay!?” Rung moves into the camera. Rung: “There’s no need to worry Fortress Maximus. Tim has been taking his medications on time and is safe.” The larger mech sighs in relief. Prowl: “We will be waiting for the teleportation device to work on your end.” He looks over at Tim and softens his optics a bit and waves a bit. Tim waves back happily. Tim: “Bye Dad! Bye Uncle Prowl!” The call ended. Tim hummed happily thinking about going home. Rodimus: “Are we not going to talk about ‘Uncle Prowl’?!”

When Tim gets home, Fort Max tries to scold him for sneaking out…

But the tears coming out of the corner of his optics and desperate hugs tell a different story.

He doesn’t have to worry though, Red Alert and Cerebros make sure that Tim gets his scolding and grounding.

…Right after another tearful reunion.

Prowl has a private talk with Tim about the importance of telling the adults (or him) where he goes if he wants to go outside the base again.

Tim promises to tell someone when he wants to go outside or visit someone again.

Prowl is almost satisfied with the day… until he hears Tim excitably talking to ‘Uncle Chromedome’ and ‘Uncle Rewind’.

[rei-ismyname]

Daken and Logan have a chat

Daken is self destructing and he has been for a while. From working for Norman Osborn, his disastrous stint as an LA mob boss, burning out his healing factor with drugs, and even blowing up his bizarre friendship with the Fantastic Four. He's in supervillain mode and it's time to settle his oldest debt. 'Claw clown' is amazing.

He has his father at his mercy in what is probably the closest to a therapy session Logan ever gets. Daken has a lot of anger, and many of his gotchas have a lot of merit to them. Logan's schtick is definitely undercut by his contradictions and hypocrisy, but he does try to be a better person, mostly. Better doesn't mean nice or even friendly, but he's tied up here and he really does want to help Daken if he can.

It's unsurprising that Daken and Sabertooth managed to work together - they both hate Logan for many of the same reasons. While he's ostensibly a 'good guy' and is treated as such socially, he definitely kills a lot of people and is a raging asshole most of the time. It frustrates me, so I do empathize with Daken. Being psychoanalysed and condescended to by Logan is the last thing he wants. He was calm-ish and talking. That's something.

Logan is ... not great at reaching him, frankly. A huge part of Daken's anger comes from Logan not being any kind of father to him. Drawing a line under that and trying to give fatherly advice seems like a terrible idea, but it's unclear if there was any possibility of getting a good outcome here. The tough love is 95% tough, which doesn't leave much room for love.

Focusing on Daken's agency feels almost cruel, too. So much of his life has been defined by his choices being denied to him. What he says is true, but the presentation is pretty callous. Sure, he's not good at this stuff but honestly he's had a long time to learn. It's an impossible situation made worse by future knowledge that Daken will massacre the school, but I wonder if spending some of his ludicrously long life on emotional intelligence might have led to a better result.

The 'stain' comment strikes a chord with Daken but it's something he already knows. He's got plenty of delusions ('you hate me' etc) and a pathological desire for acceptance, but that doesn't override his anger. I might be projecting my own parental trauma here, but I think he wants to be heard and understood. Logan is mouthing platitudes at him but he's not really following Daken's side of the conversation. Aside from 'I'm your goddamn father,' he hasn't directly answered a question or statement. When asked if he wonders what could have been, he looks away and says nothing. Daken is well aware he's burning shit down; he just thinks that's a good thing. Or, he hasn't been given a reason not to.

Daken pivots to what was, instead of what could have been. It's awful, and it's just a tiny sample of what he went through. Logan doesn't listen for very long before before cutting in with tepid regrets. Daken brushes them off and toasts to regret. Keep in mind Daken is like sixty years old at this point, maybe older. He's been carrying this around for a long time.

They have a lot in common - some of which Daken inherited from Logan. Enemies, powers, trauma, anger, expectations, and so on. It's possible they could have reached an understanding of those commonalities, but I'm not sure either man knows how right now. Importantly, Logan received a lot of grace and room to grow from other people. His murder factory was state sanctioned while Daken's wasn't. If Daken did want to try to be better, the ecosystem he exists in definitely wouldn't help.

Logan makes his pitch as Daken decides for sure that he is not capable of giving him what he wants. It might land better if he had reached out a little more openly. Daken says he's been considering it, and he might be lying but I don't think he is. I think a more compassionate, less individualistic Logan might have gotten through - but then it wouldn't be a tragedy. Thanks to time travel nonsense he probably thinks that a fight to the death is preordained. We'll never know, as he goes for Wolverine Kryptonite - drowning.

Obviously Logan escapes, something Daken meets with false bravado. They prepare to finish it.

Logan even puts himself at a disadvantage by choosing not to succumb to berserker rage as Daken does. Well, arguably an advantage, a commentary on their mental states if nothing else. He's not trying to save his son or reach him anymore, if he ever was. He's got many responsibilities pulling at him and Headmaster of the Jean Grey school is the only one left.

We switch to Daken's POV as Logan turns the tables and drowns him in a puddle. The 'what if?' questions and images run through his mind as his brain is starved of oxygen. He struggles but Logan is stronger.

In the ruins of a burning building, a ruined life, Daken dies pathetically by his father's hand. He did always want to torment him as much as possible, and while he didn't maximise it this is really sad. Unnecessary. Yeah, Daken has been a shithead with little regard for anyone (and he'll be back) but it's still a shame. The story frames Logan's agonising choice as whether to kill Daken or not, but the source of that was his future self - even more gruff and grizzled than this Logan. I think he may have been able to avoid that situation entirely, but then he wouldn't be Logan. It's a powerful story, but I think it contributes to their eventual good relationship feeling less earned.

[schmergo]

My bizarre real-person headcanon: Josh Groban and Ben Platt are mortal nemeses. Here's the timeline behind this theory, beginning with the known and branching off into the possible future. 2017: Josh Groban makes his Broadway debut in Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet to much critical acclaim. At the Tony Awards, Ben Platt, starring in Dear Evan Hansen, wins Best Actor and Dear Evan Hansen beats Natasha/Pierre for Best Musical. 2023: Josh Groban makes a triumphant return to Broadway, headlining a revival of Sweeney Todd. Surely this will be his year? Nope. Ben Platt's limited run production of Parade transfers to Broadway, making his own triumphant return to Broadway after a hiatus of the same length. Neither wins the Tony Award this year (J. Harrison Ghee does), but Parade wins Best Revival of a Musical over Sweeney Todd. Later in 2023: Josh Groban goes full method and immerses himself in the murderous, vengeful instincts of Sweeney Todd. Revenge against Ben Platt will be his! But he can't be too obvious about it. He's playing the long game. 2028: Surprise! There's a revival of Phantom of the Opera announced! Both Ben Platt and Josh Groban are considered as potential Phantoms. Unknown to anyone, Josh Groban has been perfecting his own Phantom-like skills of appearing and disappearing into thin air, throwing his voice, and murder. Oh yeah, and he plays the pipe organ. He gets the role! But wait, what's this? Hugh Jackman was eaten by a crocodile mere weeks before he was supposed to headline the new Broadway production of The Greatest Showman? Ben Platt heroically steps in to save the day and takes the title role! He wins the Tony Award for Best Actor in a Musical, but not Best New Musical (the critics say, "We love Ben Platt but this show is clearly just a vehicle for Hugh Jackman [RIP].") The Phantom revival wins Best Musical, but something terrible happens at the Tony Awards! There's a technical glitch when the Phantom performance is due to start and they move it to the end of the awards ceremony. But right as everyone's marveling at the artistry of the production at the delayed performance, something Totally Unpredicted happens. The chandelier crashes... INTO BEN PLATT!!! 2030: Ben Platt survives the chandelier attack but he loses his entire memory and has to relearn everything, including how to sing! He can no longer recall the moment that the chandelier crashed into him-- nor the moment that Josh Groban looked at him from the stage and mouthed 'Long live the king!' In a startling and bold act, Ben Platt returns to Broadway in a one man autobiographical show about living with amnesia and relearning to perform. He wins the Best Actor Tony Award! Josh Groban is away doing Phantom in Europe. 2040: There's a high profile immersive revival of Les Miserables on Broadway! The producers consider both Ben Platt and Josh Groban for Jean Valjean. But Josh Groban gives off such an in intense murderous energy when they find him in the same room as Ben Platt that they get a brilliant idea and offer him the role of Javert and Platt as Valjean. The production is a hit. The tension between Platt and Groban is off the charts. When it's time for the Tony Awards, both are nominated for Best Actor in a Musical (ala Colm Wilkinson and Terrence Mann in the original Broadway production). On the day of the Tony Awards, an astonishing thing happens: Platt and Groban TIE for the Best Actor in a Musical Award! The crowd goes wild! Everyone is cheering! The theatre... the cheers... it triggers something long-buried in Ben Platt's mind. Suddenly, he remembers the night the chandelier fell on him at the 2028 Tony Awards.... Josh Groban was looking right at him as it happened.... Ben Platt snaps and begins to clobber Josh Groban onstage. In his fit of rage, he doesn't see Josh Groban pull out a gun. Is this finally the end of this age old rivalry? BUT WAIT, WHAT'S THIS? IT'S J. HARRISON GHEE (SNUBBED STAR OF THE REIMAGINED REVIVAL OF LA CAGE AUX FOLLES) WITH A STEEL CHAIR!!!! At least, this is what I imagine.

[frogpols]

You talked about many AUs, but i would like to know if you have a main idea you think about how kiraboss met for the first time, is kinda hard for me to think about it without putting a lot of casuality on it

Also this is bassist kira and drummer boss!

LEL That is a brilliant gif, litcherally them, thankies for sharing this peak.

And that is a brilliant thingie to talk about. I may go on about AUs just because there are many ways (whether fairly believable and canon-compliant, or just silly and casual) that Kira and Diavolo could meet, and a bunch of various ideas in the way they'd actually interact in said meeting (or beyond). But of course, that's a given for ships involving characters that are never shown to have met. I do find that huge amount of room for creativity very intriguing.

Anyway, if I were to put something at the top of what seems believable (ie, what'd seem like a natural extension to the source material, less random), it'd be post-canon Kiraboss. In their latest depictions (I'm fairly confident DMQ is canon), they're both shown to be in a very peculiar purgatory state that no other named character from what I recall is fated to, let alone among the main antagonists (they just float to the sky (die), be entirely erased, or literally stay alive on the same existential plane forever). Given that unique inherent connection between those two major characters specifically, I thus think it wouldn't be super random/casual(?) for them to... well, be connected or perhaps form some deep kinship in a hypothetical JoJo spinoff. There'd be purpose in a story like that since there'd be the opportunity to expand upon the ghost/afterlife logic in the overall JoJoverse. (Not to mention kira and boss redemption if we may sympathize with them...)

Now, if we were to go earlier so that we can have the original Kira and Diavolo as Kiraboss, they can very well meet pre-canon, maybe even be close, and their correspondence (casual or deep) wouldn't have to interrupt their main stories. But while I don't believe anything is stopping Diavolo from going to Morioh through Doppio (since I'd reckon they can travel pretty easy with mafia swag and moola), I don't know what reason he could have to do so. A super flimsy stretch I could make is Tonio Trussardi/Antonio Volpe since he is adjacent to Passione's Massimo from PHF, but obviously PHF is not very canon and you'd still have a lot of stuff to fill out to justify Diavolo's connection to Morioh, all to potentially encounter Kira. In other words, pre-canon Kiraboss may be more random than post-canon Kiraboss, at least story-wise and not just for their given (huge) list of similarities. Buuuut at least it is possible. It's a whole other thing on whether or not they'd get along. Since they have to be alive for their story to happen, they'd have to not kill each other in the pre-canon meeting instance. This is where an old fanfiction idea I had a long while back comes in...

Uhhh, I guess briefly(?) going over that (since I reckon it's as close to what my 'main idea' for what feasible kiraboss looks like), the fic was going to be called "Yoshikage Kira and Diavolo's Bizarre Backstory" and combine both of the above ideas in this post: pre-canon and post-canon Kiraboss (with focus on pre-canon). The idea for the fic would be that they both meet, develop feelings (super slow burn style), and heavily influence each other to act the way they do in canon (so that there would be a convenient difference in their behaviors between when they initially met each other vs. when they'd meet another stand user in the future separately). Basic plot was: They meet in Morioh (Kira likes Doppio/Diavolo's hands) -> Stand battle (whole thing with Diavolo initially struggling with Kira's stupid SHA, but he learns quickly) -> They form hesitant truce (Diavolo thinks Kira could be very useful, and Kira surrenders) -> They are very stubborn (Kira doesn't want to join mob, and uhh somehow Diavolo's convinced he needs him LUL) -> Insert very ambiguous kind of tsundere/tsundere relationship here, perhaps they have sex (they wouldn't be very good at it) -> Diavolo goes back to Italy and Kira never snitches -> Ensue canon and they die -> They meet again not remembering each other at all and post-canon kiraboss begins. I know I have the ability to sit down and write a proper fanfic ....but I don't feel like it as of now, just as I am with projects. :d Hell, I started that Kosaku-Doppio swap fanfiction (idea I put some time ago on this blog), and plots completely written out, but only at barely two chaps, 4.7k words. Oh yeah, I believe that old animatic I just posted on this blog too was meant to reference the fanfic concept where Kira's just yearning after Diavolo's left.

Sooo yeaah, hehe

[anonymousdandelion]

The Ghost and the Doctor

A story featuring all six prompts for this very special celebratory round of @flashfictionfridayofficial…

There is something new in the gardens today, and the ghost knows these gardens — this place where the flowers grow tall and colorful and remind her, just a little, of home — well enough by now that the new feature catches her attention almost immediately.

It’s a box, shaped somewhat like the boxes that the realer visitors to the gardens use to relieve themselves, but not quite the same. The color vaguely resembles the sky of this planet, and when she drifts closer, the exterior material has a feeling about it that reminds her of the trees.

But when she tries to go through to look at the inside of the box, she can’t. The walls resist her, preventing passage, almost as if— almost as if she were real.

It’s a very strange sensation. She hasn’t been real in a long time.

Since the way through is apparently blocked, she goes around instead, examining the unfamiliar object. The box is mostly the same all the way around, until she gets to the last side.

On the last side, the fourth side, there is a door, and the door is cracked open.

The ghost is… curious.

She moves forward, and the narrow doorway does not resist her, and she enters the strange box.

Her first impression is that the inside is not treelike at all.

Her second impression is that the inside is bigger than the outside.

That is so baffling that she goes outside again, through the cracked doorway, and does another circuit of the box, measuring the distance as best she can. It really is small.

She goes back inside, and it really is large.

Puzzled, she wanders the periphery of the space, examining the odd shapes and patterns and lights that line the wall and cover the surfaces. She’s never seen anything like it… and the outside was so small, and the inside is so big. This shouldn’t be possible.

Then again, being a ghost shouldn’t be possible either.

She’s only just had this thought when the whole room starts to shake. She wheels around, startled, looking for a source of the movement. There’s never been an earthquake in the gardens before, at least not when she was there.

The strange glowing thing at the center of the room is moving, up and down and up and down in its container, making a strange groaning noise and sending the whole room vibrating with its rhythm. She watches the motion, the shining rise and fall of it almost hypnotic. Rise, fall. Rise, fall. Rise—

There’s a man, coming around from the other side of the centerpiece.

His hands are in front of him, rapidly tapping various things on the panels around the moving thing, humming slightly tunelessly as he does… whatever he is doing. The picture of relaxed concentration.

But as she watches, he stops suddenly, forehead wrinkling and hands stilling, and tips his head. He sniffs the air, sticks out his tongue as if tasting the air, then spins in a circle.

“TARDIS,” he says aloud at the conclusion of this rather bizarre behavior, “I think we are not alone. Did you let a stowaway in while my back was turned?”

There’s someone else here? The ghost does her own spin, looking for another person. There’s no sign of anyone other than the man.

The man, and her.

“Hello, invisible guest,” the stranger says, one hand lifting into the air in her approximate direction. “I’d appreciate it if you’d show yourself.”

She stares.

“No?” The man sighs. “This is my ship, you know. The least you could do would be to introduce yourself. And I do already know you’re there.”

He pauses, as if waiting for something. What he could be waiting for, the ghost has no idea.

Another sigh. “Fine, then, we’ll do this the hard way.”

She continues staring, too confused to speak even if she thought he could hear her, as the stranger reaches into his pocket and pulls out… something. A small object, with a light on the end, making an odd, high-pitched buzzing noise.

He looks around for a moment, object in hand, turning on his heel.

Then he points the thing straight at her.

The noise increases for a second, and something happens — or maybe nothing happens, she can’t actually tell. But something must have happened, because suddenly the stranger is looking not just in her general direction, but directly into her eyes.

No one has looked the ghost in the eyes since… well, since before she was a ghost.

That was such a long time ago.

Her thoughts are frozen with astonishment, so it’s instinct — and perhaps the echo of the alarming words we’ll do this the hard way — that sends her scrambling around towards the door she entered through.

Which is closed now, and when she starts to move towards it anyway, the stranger moves too. Stepping to the side, blocking her way, still pointing the humming thing at her.

She backs away, pressing into the wall, then shoving to get through, but it’s to no avail. The interior may look very different from the exterior, but apparently the room she is in has this much in common with the box in the garden: the walls are still treating her in the way that walls treat real people, smooth and solid and refusing to let her pass through them.

She tries again, throwing herself against the side of the room with all her ghostly might… and bounces.

“That won’t work,” the stranger says, disconcertingly mild in the face of her panic. “She’s got multidimensional walls, you see. Neat feature.”

He pats one of the walls, almost as if it’s alive. Maybe it is, the way the whole thing is thrumming around them.

“Besides,” the stranger adds, “we’re in the middle of the Time Vortex. You really wouldn’t want to go through that wall right now, even if you could.”

She gives up and sags against it, vibrations and all. It’s been a long time since she’s gotten to lean against something and have it actually bear her weight. It would be a better feeling, if the thing bearing her weight wasn’t also keeping her trapped.

“Let me go,” she says, intending the words to sound fierce, but she is not used to having to manage her tone when speaking to people and so they come out squeaking, sounding more like a terrified plea.

Which, she supposes, is really what they are.

“I didn’t take you prisoner, you know,” he says, eyebrows lifting. “You’re the one who broke into my ship.”

“I didn’t break in!” she retorts, affronted. “The door was open.”

“Yeahhh, well, that’s on me. I should be more careful.” He gives her a stern look, but the hand holding the thing lowers to his side. “That’s not an excuse, though. You shouldn’t walk into someone’s home just because they forgot to close the door.”

She knows that, really. She had a home, once, and she knows that people ask before entering someone else’s property.

It’s only… she’s spent so long not being a person, unseen and untouched and unable to ask permission if she tried. The rules don’t apply to ghosts.

Apparently she is not a ghost here. Or at least not entirely. That is strange, and wonderful, and frightening. Ghosts are invulnerable; real people are not.

She hasn’t been afraid in so very long. It’s oddly invigorating. Fear is not a pleasant feeling… but it is an unmistakably real one.

“I’m sorry,” she says at last, because apologizing is a thing that people who are not ghosts do. “I didn’t know you lived here. And I didn’t mean to trespass.”

At that, some more of the sternness on the stranger’s face relaxes. “Oh, that’s all right. Probably for the best, really.”

What does that mean?

Perhaps he reads the bewilderment in her face — and oh, what a feeling that is, having a face that someone can read — because he smiles at her. “Teaches me a lesson about locking up after myself, for one thing. You didn’t try to steal the ship or burn it down, but the next person might not be so friendly. Besides, things have been too quiet around here lately. Nice to have some company.”

He didn’t take her prisoner, he said before, but that doesn’t mean he won’t, and something shivers inside her at the thought that maybe that’s why he thinks her intrusion is for the best. She doesn’t want to stay locked up in this unnatural, wrong-sized box. She’d miss the gardens, and the trees, and all the other planetary life that reminds her of home even if it is not home; all the life that she can at least see even if she cannot be part of it.

On the other hand, if being in this box allows her to be real again, at least partially real, it might be worth even being trapped to keep a strange man company.

“And of course,” the stranger goes on, “now that you’re here, we can see about helping you get home. You’re in quite the predicament, aren’t you?”

Home, she hears, and stares again, because that’s something she gave up long ago on even hoping for.

“Who are you?” she asks, and her whole ghostly self is shaking almost as much as the walls.

“Hm?” He looks surprised. “Didn’t I say already? Sorry about that. I’m the Doctor. I’d shake your hand, but unfortunately I’m not multidimensional — or, well, only sort of — and the screwdriver can only do so much. Pleasure to meet you, though.”

Doctor. That’s not much of a name, she thinks, but at least it’s something. Does he actually think he can help? He did call this vibrating, rules-defying box a ship… though even if he could somehow find her planet and take her there, that’s only half her problem.

Is ghostliness an illness, that a doctor can cure it?

The Doctor frowns, and she flinches away, but this frown is more thoughtful than threatening. “Who are you? And what happened, anyway? How in the world did you manage to get yourself stuck between dimensions, on the wrong planet?”

That is a very long story, and she only remembers some of it and understands even less.

But she takes an imaginary breath, leaning back against the wall that still holds her weight like she is no ghost at all, and tells him.

[ryuichirou]

Dark headcanons feat. Idia

Anonymous asked:

Got any more super dark head canons for our favorite hikikomori? I’m a glutton for punishment, I know.🫠

Anonymous asked:

being normal is overrated. fuck it gimme your most messed up idia hcs nsfw and sfw

Ask and you shall receive, dear Anons, even if it happens several months later 😭

I want to thank you once again for your patience; one of the reasons why it took me this long was that I always get excited when we receive asks about darker scenarios. I got so excited that, I think, some of the hcs are kind of like short stories lol even though I didn’t want to make them too long… well, anyways.

So, dark and messed up hcs! Obviously Idia-centric; a lot of it is Mob/Idia. Starting on a lighter note, but then it gets more messed up.

(I’m not talking about the Tweels and Idia this time (I know there are asks about them too!), they’ll get another post <3 Let’s hope that I’ll finish it soon)

Sometimes he tortures himself by having internet arguments lol He doesn’t feel good when he argues with randos, even though it’s funny sometimes, but sometimes he continues to do it fully knowing that the conversation is completely useless. A couple of times he connected to his opponent’s webcam log and found footage of them masturbating. He could’ve easily used it to end the argument quickly, but for some reason no matter how heated he gets, he doesn’t do it. He thinks about it though.

Idia has seen every single cursed thing on the internet. Things that would make some people traumatised, things that are way too much even for Idia. If cursed things on the internet were an iceberg meme, to Idia Blue Waffle and One Guy One Jar would be the most basic tier. Something that everyone knows and isn’t as shocking. Sometimes he wonders how Azul-shi or Crimson Muscle would react to some of the stuff he’s used to seeing.

Same goes with porn, to be honest. Idia could go months without masturbating or watching porn, but he isn’t sure if it’s because of his low sex drive or because of how bored he is with porn. Regular porn doesn’t do it for him at all, with kinks he either gets into them or suddenly loses interest, his favourite hentai tropes are pretty messed up. He ended up watching some banned illegal stuff a couple of times just to see if he’d feel anything. The next day he was back to his favourite hentai tropes though.

Idia got groped during his entrance ceremony. He has no idea why he was picked out of every single person there, but he thinks it’s because of his hair: everyone’s silhouette is the same in the ceremonial robe, but his hair makes him stand out. Even though his butt is small… When it happened, Idia got so shocked that he just stood there still, allowing them to touch him. He was upset, but at the same time remembered all the hentai and doujins that started this way, and it resulted in him feeling a weird mix of deep disgust and arousal. He had no idea if anyone noticed him getting molested, and if anyone saw that he had a boner, but he sure felt like every single person was looking at him and judging him. He got traumatised by that, but the situation was so bizarre to him that he came without touching himself after returning to his room as quickly as possible.

Despite being shy and antisocial, Idia is very cocky, and he was especially cocky when he was a freshman. Living with 3 other people was a huge stress for him, and as we talk about living with them 24/7, his natural response to stress was to start talking shit. He felt intimidated by everything and everyone back then, and at the same time felt super annoyed because he was a genius who was much more skilled and smart than most of his senpai, and definitely smarter than the goons that he had to share a room with. Long story short, his roommates thought he was weird and bullied him every time Ortho wasn’t around for some reason (i.e. when he was charging): stole his clothes and pillows, threw stuff at him, talked shit about him, not even trying to be quiet about it. One time they dogpiled him on his own bed and made him pee himself. The other time they wrote swear words all over his body, talking about how all this were the things that people called him when he wasn’t listening. Idia got his revenge after that (yay doxing), but he is a bit scared of these guys to this day.

Idia’s second year wasn’t much better because he still had to share a room with a guy. And if the first bunch were bullies that Ortho really didn’t like (he tried to protect Idia, but couldn’t do it all the time), his roommate during his second year was more sneaky. He had good relationship with Ortho, so Ortho didn’t mind leaving these two alone in the room. He even asked Idia to try and befriend the guy because he really thought Idia needed friends. Idia hated the guy though because not only did he treat him just as badly as the previous group, he also constantly threatened that he would complain about Ortho being dangerous, just to make Idia anxious to lose his knight in shining armor. This got so bad that he made Idia cry like a baby one time because the guy convinced him that he would make everything to take Ortho away from him. And Idia isn’t an idiot; he knew that this wasn’t as simple, but something about the way the guy said it made him break down and cry pathetically.

Idia pretty much lived in fear for an entire year, and somewhere around the middle of the first semester the guy started molesting him. Ortho didn’t intervene because Idia tried his best to hide it from him, even when the guy started demanding Idia to suck him off and started sticking fingers up Idia’s ass, mostly to humiliate him. This is why Idia thought that he was either a masochist or just unstable, because while he absolutely hated it, he felt like he also didn’t mind it enough. The guy got kicked out of NRC before he actually raped (=put his penis into Idia) him, and while Idia was super happy, he also felt disappointed. As if Idia deserved bad things to happen to him… or was he actually into this dynamic and wanted to feel punished and used by someone who treats him like shit? He was never into butt stuff before, but he felt himself aching for a dick that he sucked for months while the guy was humiliating him.

Sometimes Idia fantasises about getting violated by other NRC students. It’s not like he looks at them and sighs dreamily, more of a “what if/how would he do this” type of way. He thinks it’s just his morbid curiosity, and even thinks that it’s very self-centered of him to think that Azul or Rook or Sebek or Lilia or Cater or anyone else would want to rape him, but… what if? He has pretty solid scenarios in his head for some of them, it’s surprisingly easy to come up with them based on their interactions…

Idia kind of likes it when his entire head is being hidden during sex. Well, likes the idea of it. Maybe it’s due to the fact that it keeps him anonymous, but the idea of a bag on his head or a hole-in-the-wall thing kind of tickles him. He had a bunch of dreams about getting stuck in a hole in the wall and then being used as a fuck toy. These dreams always end with someone somehow recognising him and calling him “Idia?” though, so Idia wakes up covered in sweat.

One time Idia almost became one of those people who die due to strangling themselves during masturbation. And he isn’t even into this type of stuff, he just wanted to try to see if it would work or not. He didn’t pull his pants down or anything, he tried to do it through clothes, so he was fucking lucky that Ortho woke up just in time to see him passed out with a noose around his neck. Poor Ortho got so worried and obviously came to wrong conclusions, but Idia felt way too embarrassed to confess about the actual reason why he ended up in this situation… it feels horrible knowing that he made Ortho so worried and upset and heartbroken, but he just couldn’t say that he did it to feel good when he orgasms.