#though it does not have a writing scheme lol

[hypothermiatapes]

Scorched Finger Tips

As I flew I heard my father yell after me

He had told me not to fly too high

However, I do not heed his warnings

I do not care if I fall

I had lived a life in a cage

All for naught as now I’m in the open air

The wind singing in my ears

The waves below cheering me on

I fly higher and higher

I wish to go farther than any soul before me

To run my fingers along the bottom of Helios’ chariot

And soak in the warmth of the spring sun

What is life if you live it in fear, dear father?

You tell me to be careful

Not to fly too low or too high

But I, father, have never been free

So, I will climb higher

So high it will become a challenge to breathe

So high, that when I reach the realm of Hades

I can brag to him that I touched the sun

The wax begins to melt

It runs down my back and thighs

It leaves tracks of pain in its wake

But all it does is urge me farther

Only a little closer

And I’d succeed

Feathers trailing behind me

My father watching as I fly to my demise

Finally, I run my fingers along the chariot

Just as I’ve touched it I fall

I grin, the smile full of teeth

I had touched a god

As I fall the god comes to look upon me

I meet Helios’ eyes and laugh

The gods eyes going wide

As mine sparkle with insanity

I laugh to the heavens above

I am the first mortal to climb to such heights

And I want the gods to know my name

For I’m Icarus, the boy who touched the sun

Falling feels the same as flying, you know

That is, till you hit the earth below

So, I spread my arms

And I shall continue to soar

My flight ends with the waves embracing me

The impact breaking my body

Water fills my lungs where oxygen once resided

And I drown filled with ecstasy

My world goes black

And when I wake I’m before Hades

Feathers in my hair, wings on my back

And finger tips scorched

I look up at the god of death

Triumph and spirit etched into every line of my soul

“I’m Icarus,” I say

“And I touched the sun”

Little poem about my favorite Greek character (don’t post elsewhere or I take fingers)

[hyukascampfire]

𝓖INGER & 𝓢NAP ` ꕀ. k.th

you were the last person taehyun expected to appear on his doorstep. sweet and fluffy and oh-so-proper; he never thought he’d see you again. but... there you stand. and, much to his own chagrin, he fears that nobody else could get him more bothered. ׄ ⋆ ִ

་༘ ՚՚ ꒰ 🪵 ꒱ ･ 7.9k

ρairings gingerbread!taehyun x frosty puff!reader

𝒢 ‧̥ smut, fantasy, strawberry shortcake au

⍵arnings brat taming, brat tamer!taehyun & brat!reader, his cum is frosting, creampie, ofc no sex ed in strawberryland, thigh riding, oral m!receiving, cumming into mouth, cum eating, corruption of innocence & innocent!reader, banter, chubby!reader and buff!taehyun, manhandling, he throws her around a bit and she's so into it, they don't like each other but also def do, he likes to teach her manners, reader is also spoiled & rich and taehyun is not, hair pulling, he gets mean, no protectiom, let me know if i missed some!

✎୭ ashlynn's note this collab has been seriously so fun. writing fics is fun, but there's something about talking your friends and scheming all the yummy ways you can incorporate certain things into your fic. @thetxtdevil mae baby, thank you so much for being the best and even coming up with this idea. your mind amazes me... like actually. everybody did so unbelievably good, and i'm blessed to have been a part of it. now... let's get foody and smutty lol. some of this was written in a benadryl haze, but that's the fun part. i'm sorry mine came out a lil later than everybody else's, but hopefully it's still fun!

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

Raising your fist to the door, your knuckles rap against it with a few thick knocks. The door is frosted around the edges in little swirling white puffs of icing, framing the gingerbread door. It’s the same all around his house: gumdrops and candy canes and the like, all twinkling with sugar crystals.

It’s all so sweet—unbelievably so. The man that calls it home is the very antithesis of sweet. He does not take after the gumdrop, nor the sweetness of the icing, and most definitely not the brown sugar and molasses of the gingerbread. Taehyun is the quick snapping of a leg, or the sharpness on your tongue when you get to the cinnamon and nutmeg. 

You loathe it. Even being stood here, knocking at his door, you hate. He is everything uncouth and abrasive—he is everything you should not entertain. 

Here you are, entertaining it. The door swings open. Your fingers and toes have begun to slow with the cold, like frosty-whip in the fridge. Through the forest, stepping over sugar bushes and cocoa streams, you had fought the bite. Why did he have to live all the way out here? Secluded, as though the rest of Strawberryland were beneath his meddling. You know why: it’s that he believes it. He is exactly as your parents told you he’d be, all those years ago. Of course, they were right. They always are.

When he catches sight of you at his door, his distant eyes morph, and his lip tugs into a scowl. The rise of his brows ruffles your feathers with an infuriating ease. “Is there something you want?” he asks. His tone is infuriating, too. It’s the kind of question that means much more beyond the words said. You catch exactly what he means—how he intends to get under your skin.

Hidden behind the door, he has one hand on the handle. It's an unspoken thing, too. He wants you to remember that he could close it. You can’t let him, or else you’ll have drug your pretty new furry winter boots through the powdered snow for him to slam a door in your face. “Yeah, actually. There is.” You run preening fingers through the ends of your hair. “We’re partners for the bake-off.”

“I don’t do the bake-off,” he says. His eyes would be chocolate and smooth if it weren’t for the way he wields them sharp. “Sorry. You’re gonna have to find somebody more your speed for that.”

Barking an incredulous, perhaps even snobby, laugh, you look around. Snow comes down on the ground, sweet and creamy. It’d been enough of a battle to come here. If you were going to give up so easily, you would’ve turned your little bottom around perhaps two hours ago. Does he think you hadn’t considered that? It was a long walk; you had plenty of time to mull over the many things he might do. Sometimes, you imagined him diplomatic and affable. You stomped those wispy thoughts out. Perhaps it’s been years since you’ve spoken with him, and perhaps what happened between the two of you is dusted over, but you know better. Here he stands in front of you: bitter as ever. 

“You’re just gonna leave me without a partner?” you say. Your jaw trembles, seized finally by the cold. “Everybody is already paired up. Literally everybody.”

Shrugging, he says, “I don’t see how that’s my problem. I didn’t sign up for it.”

Your brows knit. That means somebody else had signed him up. You have a sneaking suspicion who might’ve—Blueberry Kai always tells you that he just feels excluded. It’s hard not to laugh when he does. Taehyun? Excluded?  He is exactly where he wants to be. Where most are sweet in Strawberryland, the snappy gingerbread finds it easier to justify his bitterness when he lives off in his little gingerbread home, out and away in his own neck of the forest only to be found by a winding gumdrop road, where he can pretend he’s above it all.

It’s entirely ironic. Him, better than you? Gingerbread, and all his ruggedness? His unpolished edges? Once, you’d believed that the two of you weren’t so different. That you could be friends, even. Seeing what he’s grown to be, you think you understand why your parents stepped in. Back then, though, as just that soft little girl who followed the charismatic boy around with crystal stars in your eyes, it had been the worst thing to ever happen to you. He had been so gravity-defying, moving through the soft, marshmallow edges and the sugar-whipped reality of Strawberryland as something different.

No. Not gravity-defying. Rather, in the powdery and sweet sweet Strawberryland, you think that he is the only thing with gravity.

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” he echoes, letting a little patronizing laugh out along with it. “That’s sweet.”

It’s hard not to shift or cross your arms over your chest, abraded by the dripping sneer.

“What? It’s not. It’s not fair that, just because you don’t want to at least give it a try, I can’t participate,” you say. Really, you should just crawl back home and beg to join somebody’s duo, but you can’t lose like that. You can’t lose to him. If you leave it like this, then he’ll have gotten the better of you. 

“Can’t get everything we want, huh?” he says, straightening up and taking the door in his hand once more. “Just because everybody else has bent backward to give you what you want doesn’t mean that I will.”

“Wait,” you say, sighing in a white swirl. “Don’t close the door. Don’t you know your manners? It’s rude. You’re just going to let me freeze out here? I walked all the way out here, and even got snow all over my new boots, just for this, just for you to slam a door in my face? I mean, a gentleman would at least invite me in to warm me up.”

Lips twitching into a laugh and his eyes suddenly alight, he says, “A gentleman, huh?” He pulls the door open a little further. The warmth from his home, warm and spiced and oh-so-inviting like oven-warmed gingerbread, brushes over your twinkling skin. “Sure. Show me your manners, then. I want you to ask me nicely.”

Your jaw tightens. Sending him a once over, sharpening your eyes, you decide to just do it. His tone is nasty, but you don’t want to be disqualified for not having a partner. Even if he’s the worst you could’ve been paired with in all of Strawberryland. Or maybe the best, because it’s a gingerbread house competition this year. “Will you just do it?”

“I said ask nicely. Say please.” 

He wears a mean smile—he’s having fun watching you squirm. So, you make a conscious effort to straighten up. “Will you please be my partner for the competition?” you say, making your voice sugary and batting your eyelashes in an overdone way. He thinks he’s funny.

Stepping out of the doorway, he motions you inside. It might look gentlemanly if it weren't for the sting in his eyes. You swallow down petty words and push through, your arms full with supplies. Arms aching, you finally let them clatter down over the countertop. The inside of his home is fresh-baked and spiced, aromatic like a true gingerbread cookie straight from the oven. You’re sure the glowing fire helps carry the smell in warm air. It wraps your cold bones up and smooths over some of the frayed edges. You’d been out there for so long… Nobody else had to walk that far for their partner.

Better just to get this done as quickly as you can. You just have to put up with him today, and you’ll be done, and then you can have fun with the competition. He won’t even show up for it; you’re sure. 

“I’ll do it all if it’s that big of a deal,” you tell him, laying out the walls and warming the icing between your palms. “You can put the peppermint on, I guess. So then we can say we both worked on it.”

Hair the fluffy brown of true gingerbread and dusted with snowflakes like powdered sugar. Taehyun shakes his head, and it moves with him. “No,” he says, the corners of his lips still turned up as though he knows something you don’t. He rolls the sleeves of his gaudy, knitted Christmas sweater up to his elbows. The corded muscle there, flickering with movement, catches you off guard. Gingerbread, built like that? Tearing your eyes off him with the effort of metal tearing itself from a magnet, you watch him approach the kitchen counters. “I’ll help. We’re partners, right?”

No matter what he says, there’s a twist of something sparkling in those sharp eyes that has you watching him closer—has you trying to gauge exactly what he’s playing at. “Uh… Yeah. Sure. If you want to, I guess.” You gesture at the walls. “Two for us, and ten for display. Can you start the walls?”

“Ten?” he says. “We’re making twelve gingerbread houses?”

With your lips pulled taut, you say, “Yeah… Twelve. Is that too much? I didn’t think any amount of gingerbread houses would be too much for you. That’s a little ironic.” Everything is warm in his home—even when you look down at your own hands to tug off your white woolen gloves, your skin that usually sparkles like frost rests just beneath the surface is tinged with the warmth.

“I can handle it just fine,” he says, taking the wall and base sections of one. “Just wouldn’t want you to ruin your pretty outfit. Twelve is a lot of icing.” He spits the word pretty out like it tastes bad. On his tongue, you’re sure it does. He never cared for pretty things the way you do. Your mommy always said that he was just jealous, but when the both of you were little, before your parents’ meddling, you learned that it was just a different lifestyle. One that you don’t understand, perhaps. Who doesn’t enjoy dressing themselves in lush furs and sugar crystals over their necks? 

“I’ll be fine,” you say, snipping the tip of the piping bag open. “I wore these knowing they’d get dirty. They’re my baking clothes. My boots already got all messed up…” 

“Oh,” he says. “You put on cashmere knowing you’ll get it dirty. Mommy and daddy paid a pretty penny for that, huh? And it’s your throwaway outfit?”

“Look. If you like it so much, I’ll let you have it when we’re done, yeah? Maybe you’ll make a pretty penny off selling it.” You ice a warm white line down the length of a wall. “Can you hurry? I’m already icing. I don’t want to be here all day.”

There’s  a few long, thrumming moments of quiet, where only the sound of your piping back crackling fills his home. Finishing a wall, you tear yourself away from your work to spare a glance his way.

Taehyun’s jaw is tight, a muscle flickering where he grits his jaw in the low light that washes over him. There’s a fire blazing in his eyes, and though he doesn’t turn them on you, the smoke rolling from them is enough to make your skin warm. You’d successfully gotten under his skin. Why stop here, when seeing that look on his face is so fun? He looks as sour as an apple; as spiced as cinnamon. “Wall?” you say, sharp and haughty as you offer your hand out to him in an impatient demand.

Snapping his head up, he hands you a wall with the heat of a thousand ovens in his face. You feel the scald he intends for you with it, and you revel in it.

You bark commands at him, watching his shoulders grow tense and his lips twitch with each. Crush the candy canes, you tell him. Melt the icing. Sprinkle these over that. Soon enough, you’re sitting back and watching him work more than anything.

He doesn’t say a word. You see them brimming in his eyes, but he doesn’t let them burst out all venomous like you know he wants to. It’s quite the show. 

“Would you at least help me hold this up?” he says, holding the walls of a house together with one hand. His hands are a mess of runny sugar and powdered sugar for snow, and yours are perfectly clean. You can at least help a little bit if you want to claim any part in the competition. 

You reach for the piping bag, fat with the sweet sweet icing, and straighten a wall up. You trace the seams with it, thick and like glue. With a bit too much pressure, the side of the bag bursts. White rivulets of slow icing run down your fingers and over the table. You curse, dropping it to the counter. That’s all of your icing, flopped down and deflating over the surface all sad-like. It’d been so much, that you thought it would last you each house and then some. Of course, you hadn’t brought extra.

Bringing your sticky fingers up to your mouth, you suckle the mess off. It’s so very sweet—warm and weeping, nutty and spiced with something like nutmeg. It’s Taehyun: the smell of it, the way it spreads over your tongue… You stick your tongue out to catch it where some drips down your forearm. “Mmm,” you say, sticky-armed. “Tastes good.” That’ll be good on the gingerbread houses; maybe the two of you do have a chance at winning. 

When you look up to Taehyun, he stands frozen in place, his hands still holding up a half-constructed gingerbread house. His eyes are different. It’s a look you don’t recognize—a look you’ve never seen before. Rather than deep and warm, his eyes are blackish and heavy. A swallow goes down his throat; a tense, barely contained thing.

 You frown, your lips still a sugary mess. “I didn’t mean to make a mess. Sorry. I’ll clean it up…”

Clearing his throat, Taehyun says, “Yeah…”

He watches you clean the counters, where the icing had pooled, and now the bag is empty, with the same intensity. You can feel it on your skin in a foreign, itching way. You swipe and scoop and work at the spill, and still, he watches. He does not speak. 

You survey the houses you’ve managed to finish. They’re pretty, and absolutely competition ready: looping swirls of icing like shingles on the roofs, peppermint chunks all red and white catching light where you’d sprinkled them into the frosting, gumdrops lining the paths true to Taehyun’s own home, and powdered sugar sifted over the entirety of it like snowfall. It’s all great, but there are only four.  “What are we supposed to do now?” you say, lips pouty. “That’s all the icing I brought. We literally can’t make any more.” You wipe at a smear on your cheek. How’d that get there? “I think I’m gonna have to come back tomorrow… Can you hold on to the houses for me?”

“Yeah—yeah, sure. Tomorrow,” he says, blinking something away. He straightens. “It’s a long walk. I think you should get going.”

You want to say something snarky or ask him why he wants you out of the house so fast, but it’s true. Night’s creeping over Strawberryland, and you have no icing, and tomorrow’s the last day before the bake-off. If the two of you don’t work harder tomorrow than you did today, then you won’t even make qualifications. You’ll lose before even starting.

You never lose. Not like this, and certainly not to the man standing before you. 

ꕀ

“C’mon. You can do better than that, can’t you?” Taehyun says, drooping icing from rooftops like icicles as you sprinkle crushed candies over the top. 

You grit your teeth. If he’d been snappy yesterday, he’s made it his mission to be your worst nightmare today. You think it’s his sort of revenge for ordering him around how you did. “What would you like, then?” you say. Maybe it’s feeding right into what he wants, but your life has lent you a short fuse. “You don’t even care about winning. Why does it matter? Let me do it how I want.”

He’s in another sweater. The sleeves are bunched up to the elbow just like yesterday, but you think he’s making a point with it this time. The shifting of his muscles is a bit too intense for piping icing. You’d made it through three more houses, wrangling your inner demons with each passing snide remark or nasty smile the whole time. It doesn’t help that he keeps his home terribly toasty, and you run cold down to the core. You melt and melt until all that is left of your temper is a puddle on the floor beneath you. Gone. 

“We’re partners, remember?” he says. He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. “I don’t do things half-assed, Frosty.” 

You’re sent reeling with the old nickname. It’d been sweet then, back when it was just the two of you against the world, but now it’s gone sour like milk. It even comes from his mouth soured. It’s something that you thought you’d left a million lifetimes ago, never to hear again. With Taehyun, though, it’s hard to pretend that you are no longer that. 

He will not let you forget that, at one point, the two of you were friends. An unlikely pair, especially looking at you now. You thought it was all nothing to you, but seeing him has kicked up dust. 

“You don’t?” you say, shooting him a quick glare from the side of your eye. “That’s funny.”

Strong brows shooting up, Taehyun quits mid-piping to look at you. “Funny? What’s funny about it to you?”

You can’t settle the obnoxious smile that curls at the edges of your mouth, mean and taunting and falsely sweet. “Oh, nothing.” You shake a sifter full of powder against your palm. It falls like true snow down over the house. 

“No, tell me,” he says, his eyes trained and heavy on your dismissive shrug. “Tell me what you think of me. I wanna hear it.”

Oh, this will be good.

“It’s just that,” you say, “you’re not really known for doing things the best way, you know? Living all the way out here, an ass when anybody tries to talk to you… Well, really, it’s just that nobody likes you. But, don’t worry! I’m sure there’s at least somebody that does.”

His face falls, the twinkle of delight at taunting you that he’d been holding in his eyes gone away. All that’s left is the peaking of something deeper and roiling from out of the cracks. You get the funny feeling that maybe you’ve taken it a step too far.

But, you never lose.

“Is that what it is?” he says. “I work for my shit. You? Everything you’ve ever had has been handed to you.” He measures his words delicately. Like a measuring cup full over the top, he cuts the excess words and coarseness off. He doesn’t say all that he thinks, but you see all he leaves unsaid toiling furiously behind his eyes. 

His eyes. They’re clear and, sharp as they are, they pin you. It’s a reflection of that look he gave you yesterday: deep and swirling and wild. It’s more than that, this time, though. It’s laced with anger and bursting at the seams of him. You’re not sure he’ll be able to hold back whatever it is that storms just beneath his skin, this time.

“It is,” you say, punctuation your words concisely. “It’s exactly why my parents said I shouldn’t hang out with you. They said that I’m above… all this.”

Oh, you’ve absolutely taken it too far now. You don’t really mean it. Sure, that’s what they told you, but you don’t really believe it. For some time, you did, but not now. It’s too late for sorries, though. Taehyun’s jaw goes tense.

For a long, awful moment, you just stand there and burn in his silence. It’s worse than any words he might spit. It’s hot—hot, hot, hot, and you turn liquid in it.

In a blink, nothing more, you collide against his countertop. Something clatters and thuds behind you. The gingerbread houses? That doesn’t matter right now—all that your dizzy mind can manage is his body crushing you and his fingers biting into the plush of your cheeks.

Where he had fractured, like true gingerbread, he snaps. You can see it in his eyes; even you know when you’ve pushed too far. Perhaps you ought to have seen this coming.

His knuckles curl white around the edge of the counter beside you, and his fingers dig deeper into your face. He’s oh-so-hot up against you. “I’m sick of your fucking mouth,” he snarls. His breath is hot as it fans over your face, too. “Someone needs to put you in your place. Where are your goddamn manners?”

Your heart thrums in your chest, and your pulse goes wild in your neck. You can’t form the words to answer him.

“Quiet now, huh?” he says. The husk in it makes the place between your thighs feel weird. You don’t know what’s wrong with you.

He shut you up real quick. You’ll give him that.

That funny feeling does flips, roaring to life when his fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms. “That’s your problem.” His eyes send a chill up and down your spine. “You’ve never been told no. You’ve always gotten what you wanted.” Peeling down all the layers, he tugs your knitted stockings and your little fur skirt, and your sweet frosty panties, too. They bunch at your feet. Between your thighs, right where those foreign, throbbing waves reign, cool air laps at a wetness there. The hair all over your body rises. You’ve never felt anything like it. “Not with me. I'll set you straight. I don’t put up with spoiled brats.”

“I’m not a brat,” you say. “You’re just an ass.” They’re the first words that come to you. Damn your temper.

With the same hand he’d been holding your face in place with, he curls his fingers right into your scalp and yanks hard, baring your neck to him. You lose a strained squeak, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the sting. If your heart had been racing before, it runs wild, now. You strain your eyes to look at him and his curled lips. Painted with a sneer, he says, “Watch your mouth.”

A swallow goes down your throat hard. It’s all unfamiliar: the aching between your thighs, the burning in your blood, and the dazing of your thoughts. “Taehyun, I… I feel weird. It feels weird.”

Something knowing passes over him. “Yeah?” he says. “Show me where. I can help.”

Show him? You hesitate, searching his eyes for an ounce of joke or aversion. You find none, and that pounding is syrupy-sweet, and he says he can help. That’s all you want; all you need. Taking a trembling hand, you bring it down your body, running the palm down the planes of your belly and resting it just over the spot where the lower bit gives way to the apex of your thighs. Going any further—the thought tightens your throat and pinkens your cheeks the color of strawberry frosting. “There. It feels weird there.”

Taehyun smiles a snappy, spiced smile. He likes that. “Want me to make it feel better?”

Your thoughts feel replaced by something powdery and weightless. You give him a dumb nod.

“Say please.”

Something bratty crawls up your throat, but you want help, and he’s the one who will give it to you. He’d meant that: teaching you a lesson. Melted around the edges already, you say, “Please, help make it feel better.” Your voice wavers.

“There we go. That’s how good girls talk. That’s how you ask to get what you want.” He nudges your thighs apart with a knee and slots it between them, pressed right up against that coolness. Right up against that need. “Grind down on it.”

Neck aching at the angle, you say, “Grind?”

He brushes his clothed thigh right up against you. The friction is delicious—sweet and melty and just what you need. It shoots yellow sparks throughout you.

It feels so good. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Grind,” he says. It’s harder, this time. Not a sweet suggestion.

You bring yourself back down on it, gasping at the contact, and you do. You grind, tummy tightening at every brush of the fabric hard and delicious. Your chest constricts, one hand flying up to dig your fingers into his shoulder and the other fighting the hand he has still in your hair. It aches and hurts, and so does the friction as you grow more gaspy and frantic. 

It feels so, so good. You want more—you want him to touch you there and everywhere else. He smells just right all over you, nutty and musky like a gingerbread twist. “Taeh—hyun,” you mewl. It burns, but something slick eases the burn a little bit. Just enough for you to enjoy that burn.

“That’s it,” he coos. It’s not a sweet coo; it’s the type of sound one might make when you play right into their mean game. It’s mean. “Make yourself a mess on my thigh. I don’t even have to touch you. What would mommy and daddy think of you now, huh? What would they think if they saw their precious princess fucking herself on my thigh?”

No. That would be the end of you. You whine, thighs twitching. Something twists in your center, scary and foreboding, and still you chase it. None of your thoughts are solid enough to stop. Each time he flexes a muscled thigh or presses it harder into you, you shudder and curl your fingers into his shirt harder. 

“Don’t like that, huh?” he laughs. “Then you haven’t learned your lesson. You’re no better than me; I mean, look at you.”

You want to cry when he pins your hips back to the counter, stilling your wild bucking. Squeezing your eyes shut, you claw and reach for that wave, even as it recedes from you. “Why?” you say, voice thin. It’d been so yummy—the sweetness still rests on your tongue. Your heart thumps hard, longing for it.

“I said, look at yourself,” he growls, taking his hold on your hair to crank your head down.

Right where you’d been on his thigh, there’s a sticky, marshmallowy mess. Your mess. 

Taehyun releasing his grip on your hair is almost a relief, but he doesn’t even give you time to relish it. The walls of his house blur around you. All that you register in between the motions is his shoulder in your belly and your limbs dangling from you. You dig your hands into his back to balance yourself, but he’s got you.

He has you slung over his shoulder. He’s carrying you like you weigh nothing at all. That place between your thighs flutters anew. In all your life, you never worried too much about the plushness of your belly or your thighs. It is who you are; all mallow and soft around the edges and starkly sweet. But you did get nervous when somebody tried picking you up. Usually, you protest and giggle it off. Watching somebody strain to pick you up when they lift other girls like sacks of flour is just something that makes you feel a little strange.

But, Taehyun does not strain. He doesn’t huff; he carries you right down the hallway and into his room, and he even manhandles you down onto the bed with a bounce without so much as a sound. He is a solid pillar beneath you, and then he is a solid, muscled chest above you. With strong fingers, he pins your hands to the mattress above you. With the other, he leads your shirt up.

He’s so warm against your cold skin. His breath like waves from the oven over your mouth, he says, “You think you’re so much better than me because you have all this?” Curling his fingers around a necklace circling your throat, he tears it off with a clattering of a few snow-drop beads.

 You gasp, glaring right into his eyes. “What the hell?” you hiss, arching your chest to wiggle beneath him. Your necklace. Who does he think he is, breaking your stuff? That was one of your favorite necklaces, and now it lies all over his floor. Still, your center pounds and longs for the return of his touch. Everything about him just calls for more from you. You don’t know how you went so long without him, or how you made yourself forget just how drawn you are to his magnetism. Maybe he is just what your parents turn their nose up at, and you too, but that does not make him any less a powerful personality. 

He knows exactly who he is and what he wants, as solid as the gingerbread cookie. And you, plush and impressionable as whipped marshmallows, take to him just right. It’s something you once knew, but the sneered words of adults obscured that memory.

“Don’t whine,” he says. “I want to see your pretty neck without all that shit. That’s your problem: you’re spoiled.” He reaches down to mess with his pants.

His length springs free. Cheeks flushing, you take it in. You can’t look away, even as embarrassment crawls spindly legs over your skin at the interest you take in the sight. You’ve never seen anything like it—long and hot and weeping something thick and white from the slit at the pinkish tip. A pearl of it dribbles down, landing on your belly in a string where he holds it.

Taehyun collects that wetness and then urges more from the tip with a few drags down the length of it. Wrapping his fingers around it, he begins to slowly work his fist up and down it. It’s nothing short of impossible to tear your sights off it—it’s another thing that inexplicably fans the flames of something roaring in your center. “Do you want to touch it?” he says, watching your tongue dart out to wet your lips. 

The sight of him growing restless over his pumping fist is enough to get you nodding. 

“Fuck,” he says, sharp and under his breath. He lets his hand off it. “Go ahead. Touch it. I won’t tell anybody you did.”

When he frees your pinned wrists, you reach out a slow hand. You curl your fingers around it the way he had. Your fingers don’t even touch around jt. The weight and warmth of him in your palm makes your blood tingle. Looking up, you search for guidance in those intelligent, swirling eyes. His bangs hang over his eyes as he watches.

Placing his hand over yours, he drags it up and down his rigid length the way he had been doing a few beats ago. “Like that,” he says. “Just like that.”

You pump your closed fist up and down him, encouraged to squeeze harder and flick your wrist faster with each tight breath he lets slip. The skin of your palm gets stickier and stickier, the slick sounds sending your ears and core burning just the same. You like that it makes him feel good—that he’s making those noises just for you. 

He twitches under your fingers. “Feels just like I thought your pretty hands would…” he says, stomach tight. “See—what happens when you give up that bratty fucking act? Shit… harder—give it to me harder, Frosty…” Shivering at the name, you oblige him. You reach your thumb up and collect more of that beaded liquid from the slit, and you work your arm harder. Faster. Your forearm begins to burn, but you don’t let it slow you. All you want is more of this; more of him. Finally, he lets sounds out from his chest freely. He grunts and hisses through his teeth, letting his head fall back. “Holy shit. I’m gonna—gonna ice your face, okay?” he says. “You said you liked the taste, huh? Wanna taste it again? Give me your tongue…”

Whatever that means, you push yourself up and situate your face in front of his length, your tongue out. Taehyun’s sounds tighten, and his hips begin to stutter and chase your hand. He picks his head back up to look down at you half-lidded—to watch. With only a few last runs of your palm down his length, skin so slick that your hand just slips and slides up him, he growls through gritted teeth. The weight of him in your working hand twitches once more, and from that weeping tip he shoots dancing ribbons of white. It lands on your tongue hot and sweet, melting out all spiced and snappy.

Snappy like gingerbread. Like gingerbread icing. Swallowing it down, you meet his gaze. He pants, chest rising and falling, but there’s something clear and knowing in his heavy eyes when you do. You think you know now, why he’d been so dazed as you made a show of licking that same sticky icing off your hands and said how good it tasted. 

When you release him from your palm, it glistens with his sweet essence. He softens in front of your eyes just the littlest bit.

Eyes just as hungry and still catching his breath, Taehyun says, “Open your mouth. I wanna see your tongue.”

Belly doing wicked twists, you do. You stick your tongue out for him, still laden with the headiness of his taste. He does taste good. 

“Swallowed it all down?” he says, eating the sight of you with your mouth dropped open up. “You really are so nasty. They all think you’re so sweet—you think you’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.” He pushes you back down to the bed with a palm. “Well, not me. I know that you’re just as filthy as you are spoiled. Somebody had to deal with you.”

Like always, snarky words swirl in your mouth. All it would take is letting them fall off your tongue. But you don’t—not with the feeling between your thighs, and not with the way your blood, frost turned to snowmelt, begs for him to fix it. Not when you know that all it will get you is more of Taehyun’s wrath. 

It’s not like what he says is true, or anything. That’s what you tell yourself anyway.

“Taehyun, please. I need it…” He takes a marshmallow thigh of yours, pressing it up so that it melds with your belly. Cool air reminds you once more of that strange wetness between them.

Dark, blown eyes catching the sight of it, his lips quirk into a scoff. “Need what?” he says, reaching a hand down. At the contact of his fingers, just as they had against his thigh, your hips jolt and an explosion like the breaking of sugar glass shoots down the muscles of your thighs. He scoops that stickiness up from its source, bringing the soft cream up to his mouth. Tongue darting out, he has a taste of you just as you had tasted him. “Shit—you taste good too, frosty. You’re so sweet, how’d you turn out like this? That’s okay. I’ll deal with you, and then you’ll be just as sweet as you taste.” That fat tip of him presses flush to the source of all your want. “I’ll straighten you out.”

You don’t know what that means, and you are absolutely sure that you don’t deserve it, but any sass is staunched with the utter sweetness of the stretch in your center. Taehyun presses his hips up into you, slowly and internalizing the dropping open of your mouth, the pinching of your brows into a worrying line, and the press of your palms to his broad chest. He takes it and metabolizes it down like cream cake or the plumpest fruits, and he gives you more. More, all the way up until there is no length of him left to give, and nowhere else for him to go.

You feel so, so full. No amount of twinkling jewels or new skirts hold a candle to this. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t know why Taehyun knows, but whatever. Who cares? Breathing out a shudder, you squirm beneath him to search for that dazzling feeling he’d made you feel earlier.

“Stay still,” he barks, steadying himself beside your head with a sturdy, powerful arm. When had he lost his sweater? You don’t know. You might drool over the definition and warm skin there if he didn’t pull the length of him out until just the tip of him threatens to pop out, and then drive right back in before you could. A gaspy breath falls from your mouth, devolving into mewls and whimpers when he does the same over and over and over again, quick with snapping hips and the smacking of his skin against the soft skin of your bottom. Your thigh quivers in his hold, his fingers digging into the fluff of your thigh as he holds you into it. 

Each and every time he slides up against something inside you that makes you feel different. Different from what you felt when you were on his thigh, and different from anything else you’ve felt in the entirety of your life. It’s deeper, right at the very bottom of your belly, sending your veins lazy and your hips twitchy. You want to chase it as much as you want to hide from its power, so all you do is stay in a hazy limbo of sharp gasps and long, drawn out mewls for more.

“No,” he says, his face right in yours. The smell of him, manly and so very sweet like oven-warmed gingerbread, settles over your bones and wiggles its way through your thoughts. It does something to your melted mind, planting a need to cling to him right in the center. Your hands perch all over him: the hair at the back of his head, his working waist, his biceps that flex and strain with his effort, and finally around him so that you can push your cheek to his chest and feel his heart racing there. “You’ll take exactly what I give, and thank me for it. You don’t get to ask for more; not with your mouth.”

“Why?” you say, whining. “I want it—so bad. Please? I’ll be so… so good…” Your voice bounces with each collision of your bodies, and your toes flex and curl at the twisting in your core. Nonetheless, you want more. Whatever this is—this syrupy, pure goodness—Taehyun has shown you something that you will never be whole without again. He has bloomed a flower right in the chest of you, something hungry that will want and want this, and you fear that he will be the only one able to satiate it. 

The thought of the smile he’ll wear, should you come crawling back to his doorstep just for this… 

Taehyun stops, pushing off you with a curled lip. “What will it take to get you to fucking listen?” he says. He pulls himself from you, leaving you to whine and long for that feeling once more. You want to complain and pull him back over you, but with the fire churning in his dark gaze and the sight of his length, covered in that same white, whipped stuff you’d left all over his thigh. 

You’d made a sticky, frosty, frothed mess all over him once again. Really, what would people think of you now? Your mom? Your dad? 

Manhandling you again, he flips you onto your hands and knees and shoves your face into the bed. Any yelp or gasp that tears from your chest is muffled into the sheets. Taking the swell of your hips, his fingers like bites against the powdery, soft skin there, his voice comes from behind you. “Won’t you just listen to me? If you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna have to start learning how to hear no.” Curling your hair up and pulling it like a handle, he snaps your head back into another stinging, awful tug. It turns the arch of your back into something that you can imagine is a sight to be seen. If the burning where you feel his eyes raking down the curve of it has something to speak of it, that is. You squeeze your eyes shut as if that’ll help you any. “You don’t get everything you want. That’s not how this works.”

You don’t say anything. You have nothing good or sweet left to say.

“Say thank you, and I’ll give it to you good, okay?” he says, running a flattened hand down your spine. “That’s all I want to hear. Show me you can be good.”

The last thing you want to do is to thank him. That would mean admitting that you’ve lost, and that ruffles your preening feathers. But you want that goodness back, you want his hips snapping into you and that tight knot back in your belly. You’d do anything for it; even forget your ego.

Your mind is gone, anyway. Whatever your rational self would do, it doesn’t matter. There’s one thing that you want right now, and getting it is so easy. “Thank you, Taehyun. Thank you so much… I’m sorry I’ve been a brat, and I’m sorry about what I said to you. Please, just… help me. Please, I need you so bad.”

You? Sorry? It’s absurd, and yet, you entirely mean it. Maybe it’s your lazy brain talking, or maybe he really has won.

“See? So sweet when you act right,” he says. “Let me show you what happens when you do.”

You could cry real tears when he sets that same pace, his hands bracing on your hips to pull you deeper into each thrust and the front of your body bouncing against the sheets with each. Your cries grow hoarse and beyond needy, and your insides twist and turn even more dangerously.

You are on the brink of something divine. Something that will melt down so well, good on the tongue and as smooth as chocolate, but as sharp as the snapping of gingerbread.

And, snap, he has.

“Yes!” you cry, straining your shoulders as you reach behind you and curl your fingers around the place where he meets your skin. “S..So good! Right there—thank you, Taehyun!”

He doubles down on you. His length hits a spongy spot in your core, pounding up against the walls there and turning your insides against you. It’s almost too good. “There we go,” he says, voice shaking with a growl. The delivery of his thrusts grows sloppy. You think he feels just as good as you do. “That’s what—” Falling over you, he supports himself with each strong arm dug into the mattress beside your head, his solid front melded to your soft back. “That’s what I like to hear. Here you go—fuck, I’m gonna give you what good girls get, okay?”

You hope it’s more of that melty icing he shot from his length earlier. The knot in your belly tightens, just on the brink of a glittery, bright explosion. “Mhm!” you say, your voice cracking. You want it—you want it so bad. The intensity of it, turning over in your veins and rendering your thighs jelly, sings in your ears. It’s a frightening greatness, but you rage against the urge to drop your hips into the mattress and run from it. You need to finally taste what you’ve been chasing. “Taehyun! Right there—please, don’t stop!”

You were demanding more from him again, but Taehyun didn’t stop this time. Not when his growls and whines against your shoulder tell you enough about how he’s feeling. He tongues and nips at your shoulders, the only sounds echoing off the walls of his room, the hollow smack of his hips against your bottom, and the only smell of the sweet mingling of his gingerbread sharpness against your heady marshmallow. It’s good enough to eat.

Crying out with a frantic whine, the feeling deep in your belly changes once more, and you’re writhing and squirming against him. Your hips buck and chase and run, wild and just as explosively as the tightness shooting down your thighs and up through your lower back.

Everywhere. You feel it everywhere. It’s in the continued bouncing of your body, in each nudge of his tip to a sweet, spongecake spot deep inside you, in his breathless pants into your skin, and in the curling of his fingers into your hair when he releases a hip to do so, and in your pleads when he chases his own delicious release. Your throat tightens, and suddenly the sheets are all too warm around you, and you realize with blistering intensity that another one of those knots builds up in your belly. It’s quicker, short, and bright. You’ve barely even made it through the last, but still, it comes.

“Holy shit,” he growls, hips stuttering and then stilling. He reaches a hand down between your thighs and finds a very sweet button. The breath in your throat catches, and in nothing more than a blink of an eye, you crash again, and then your bodies are two twitching, elated things. He presses himself impossibly deeper into you before shooting that same hotness, sweet ropes of sugary icing right into you, and your fluttering insides hold him tight and eat it up. Your heart pounds in your chest, running amok in your ears and your neck, and you try to catch running breaths to no avail.

Occasionally grinding up into you, though there is hardly any space between your joined bodies to do so, Taehyun shoots more lazy spurts for a few long moments. His breaths slow against your skin, and yours do in your chest. Slowly, you recover as two entangled bodies, all clammy and melted like left in the oven for a bit too long.

Pressing hot, wet kisses to the back of your neck, and then down your spine when he pushes off you and pulls himself out, his tongue darting out against your skin for some, he says, “Taste so good… So sweet, even on your skin…” He brushes the wild tangles of hair from your face and adds, “I wonder if you’ve gone all sweet inside, too? You look like it…” The mess of you, your thick creaminess staining your thighs and his runny load pooling from your hole, is all over. It even makes the sheets beneath you dirty with dribbles of his release as it drips. “I told you I’d get you sweet.”

If that sluggish, sugary thing moving through your veins is sweetness taking over you from the inside, perhaps you have gone sweet. Or, perhaps you now have every reason to become his worst nightmare—just if it gets you this.

You’ll play sweet for now. The softer kisses he seasons your skin with are no less enthralling than the delightful goodness still ebbing away between your thighs. You think that, for the first time, you have lost. 

And, to your very own dismay, it tastes so very sweet. 

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

✎୭ ashlynn's note BRAT TAMER TAEHUN, amirite?

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[gooselycharm]

severance comic process write up (unasked for)

i finished season 1 of severance jan 24 and maybe by then NL had already begun his apple tv tirades. so maybe that's why i thought of the get it twisted speech? dont remember exactly but i was like wait......... this kinda fits...... and basically the images were forming in my head and i had to get them out. this is the best kind of inspiration to have. when it feels like you are afflicted with a life-threatening disease and the only cure is to draw pictures

i decided i wanted square panels and a black and white color scheme pretty early on. i wanted the pacing to feel kind of fast, so one line per page (basically i was trying to match the monologue). black and white also made sense because 1) i didn't want this to take 2 years like my last comic 2) fits theme of the show and the monologue rapidly whipping back and forth 3) i thought maybe i'd riso print this in the beginning and 1 color would be cheapest/easiest

the sketching phase was really smooth. it was like the images were in my mind already and just needed to be brought to life. my motivation was strong as well (i thought it was really funny and if no one liked it at least i really really liked it).

^ my sketches. most compositions made it to final without major edits. i did cut almost all of the last 8 because i didn't feel like I needed the moment to be dragged out so much AND i was getting pretty tired by that point lol.

one page i'm glad i changed was the ms casey one. the reason i changed it at first was because i thought it was too similar to the irving/burt one. and then i ended up really liking the new composition.

as i moved to final, i had a couple of inspirations in mind. i'm a huge fan of sophia foster-dimino's work, and in particular her sex fantasy comics

^ books/zines i looked at for inspiration. second image is a spread from sex fantasy #4.

i also was inspired by jennifer xiao's comics and how chootalks and nogoodwithcat handle linework and value

i was inspired by jennifer's pop up ads comic for this page. i like the humor in her work and wanted to bring an element of that into my comic.

i love these drawings by choo that showcase these eerie tableaus of desserts/cakes/hammers/etc! i was trying to evoke the same vibe with the two "get it twisted" pages with the stack of waffles.

also, just tons and tons of references taken from the show and stock images.

i pretty much just worked for two weeks straight until i finished. what unemployment does to a motherfucker. even though it's fanart and the words aren't mine, it's a pretty personal comic. i got suddenly laid off last fall which has made me feel all sorts of feelings, and then starting up my job search this year has been grueling. it kinda blows my mind that anyone expects you to love your job. i love my cat. i love the people important to me. i love moving my body and eating good food and listening to music and being out in nature. i love the color green. i dont love my fucking JOB lmfao!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! are you freaking CRAZY???????? literally do NOT get it twisted. but also please hire me. <- this dichotomy has been making me nuts

anyway. the reception to my comic has been mind blowing. people have said some insanely nice things. i also really appreciate anyone who's read and enjoyed the comic without knowledge of severance or northernlion LMAO honestly amazed and in disbelief.... ty so much..... it really means a lot!!!!!!!!!!

okay i ran out of things to say for now byeeeeeeeeeeee

[cyanide-e-pistachio]

Shuake Fics from 2024 that Give Bonafide ✨SHUAKE CLASSICS ENERGY✨🙏🏻

I've been seeing the frankly untrue sentiment that there are "no good Shuake fics out there right now". The purpose of this post is to not only provide evidence against that sentiment, but uplift fics from this year that, in my opinion, are just as good as any of the Shuake classic fics we might find at the top of AO3.

DISCLAIMER: I have not read every shuake fic in 2024, nor did I suggest fics that are currently ongoing (with one exception). If you feel like I missed a Bonafide Shuake Classic(tm) from this year, FEEL FREE to rb with your suggestion!!! This is all about uplifting the wonderful authors in the shuake community who deserve more love!!!!! xoxo

Rebellious Birds by @sixteen-juniper

A post-canon fic where Akiren and Akechi explore a new and deadly Mementos, and an encounter gone wrong forces the tension between them to the surface. I have always loved this author's writing style. Their prose and technique is 10/10.

crowded rooms and highways i call home by sailboating

Rahhhhhh I just finished this one so it is extremely on my mind but holy shit!!! What a classic!!! A early 2000s Band AU in which Akiren and Akechi discover their ship tag on Livejournal. Full of fun LJ references and callbacks to the fandom scene of the time. It was such a fun ride with incredibly engaging prose from the author.

true blue by campanellaes

Listen man, campanellaes is one of those authors where every work of theirs is gonna be a banger. True blue is no different. A very unique post-canon story where Akiren and Akechi are in the Shadow Ops together and we watch as their relationship slowly develops. If you're looking for a sweet yet hilariously chaotic shuake dynamic this is the one for you.

finger twist & split by nexxis

Oh my god NEXXIS is on a roll this year and this is not the last time you'll see this author on the list. Essentially Akiren jokingly mentions to Akechi that he'll finger him and Akechi devolves into gay panic for 6,000+ words. It's so incredibly delightful, hot, and full of fun introspection that I just adore.

Closed For Renovation by @chaoticconstellation

My god, what a wholesome fic AAHHHHH ok ok so basically it's a found family fic in which Sojiro and Akechi scheme with his friends to renovate Akiren's attic bedroom. It's incredibly sweet and just downright adorable at times. Definitely the Feel Good Fic of the Year(tm) for me.

A first spring with you by @manibarilo

A post-canon reunion longfic that just OOZES Shuake Classic energy. Five years after P5R, Akiren and Akechi reunite after Akechi is released from prison. Lots of fluff, wholesomeness, and healing ensue.

we apologize for our streamer by sailboating

This author is truly the master at writing engaging Shuake fics. A Twitch streamer AU in which a glitch streamer Akiren finds a chess streamer with zero viewers and simps. Hard lol. A great ride from start to finish, and despite being 35,000+ words it feels like it ends too quickly!

sweetness by nexxis

Another banger from nexxis. An ABO fic in which Akiren accidentally discovers Akechi is an omega. I just love the way their dynamic is written here, and it's also incredibly :fire: :fire: :fire:

But Live Another Day by @tomiokajen

This is the one exception to the completed fic rule because I've beta'ed it lol. However I think it deserves to be on this list as, much like a first spring, it oozes Shuake classic energy. A post-canon reunion fic that explores Akechi as a wildcard. The way Akechi is characterized in this fic is masterclass, and truly shows that the author has a very good understanding of him. I also love the OC links in this fic. Has classic energy through and though and I can't recommend it enough.

Old Habits Die Loved by @malevolentmango

Technically written in 2023 but I read it in 2024. I love fics where Akiren is in need and Akechi has to step up to help him, and this one does that in spades. An established relationship fic in which Akechi has to do some Scooby-doo style detective work to figure out what's been going on with Akiren. Lots of delicious hurt/comfort involved.

Valerie by bisexualbluesargent

Listen guys I KNOW this was technically posted in 2023 but this was literally posted A DAY before January 1st 2024 so I'll give it to them. A protagonist Palace Fic AU that SCREAMS classic Shuake Fic energy. Honestly I won't say much more than that because half the fun of this fic is piecing together the story, so please give it a read!

Alright, that's all I have for now! Again, if I missed anything please feel free to contribute! Have a lovely day! 💚

[mallahanmoxie]

melfrank historical romance AU set on the grounds of the 1893 columbian exposition (aka the chicago's world's fair -- the one with the ferris wheel!) where frank is part of the medical crew arranged by the exposition's medical department to service the fairgoers and attendants alike and mel is there to attend a few of the medical congresses going on as well as take notes on eadweard muybridge's studies on locomotion at his zoopraxographical hall for her boss.

frank is very disillusioned with the idea of the city investing in this whole show just to toot their own horn and the inability of the medical associations to reach a consensus and a working plan to solve the city's public health issues, whereas mel still thinks events like these provide great opportunity for the learned of the world to gather and share their knowledge, and also to open up spaces for certain peoples and their efforts to reach the public eye, and so they find themselves at odds at the beginning but intrigued by one another. they browse through the exhibits together, marvel at the sights (did you know they recreated la niña, la pinta y la santa maría for this exposition? wild), ride the ferris wheel, have their whole "it's so pretty" (looking at her) "it is" moment. they go see the kinetoscope because i want them to.

i think frank is probably married, but abby's a new york socialité who's got much more important business going on (political organizing) and thus they haven't seen each other in years. her family does not like him lol and frankly (haha) abby did marry down, so. he also probably is still an addict but i'm not going to research what he'd be on right now. mel's under the wing of a pretty well known, but still rural midwestern doctor and she's a doctor in her own right. wanted to apply to the staff for the women's hospital but was rejected. she tells frank about her dreams and in his head he's immediately scheming how to help her thinking i'm pretty sure abby knows the blackwell sisters we could get her a position at their hospital and tries not to interrogate why he wants to do that too closely and also, mm, maybe going to his wife for this is... not the move.

when the fire in the cold storage breaks out, i think frank pulls mel into the emergency hospital and they save a bunch of people and in the aftermath, he gets kicked to the curb for bringing a woman into it that wasn't even part of the staff, so they don't even get to stay for the mayor's assassination. they meet at the train station with their tickets going two different directions and frank tells her to drop everything and go with him to new york and mel really does consider it even though they met like two months ago. they end up parting and becoming pen pals, and when frank opens his own practice, he tells mel he's got a place for her in it, if she wants to take it, and mel wistfully sighs as she looks at the letter from the windowsill in her little idk. kansas hospital, and chews her lip about it until her boss with the big booming voice drops a hand on her shoulder and tells her he didn't send her all sorts of places just to keep her locked in here, so she writes frank back that she'll go where he asks, if he will have her.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Cant be the only one who doesn't like riddle as Rapunzel lol. Why couldn't it be jamil? Idk maybe its just a me problem

[Referencing the JP Feb 2025 schedule!]

Well 💦 I wouldn’t call it a “problem”? People are bound to have different interpretations and opinions, so it isn’t necessarily a “problem” to think differently. However, let’s please try to not put a damper on this situation. You can still choose to dislike Riddle in a Rapunzel fit on a personal level without making it sound as though he somehow isn’t “deserving” of the SSR.

Speaking as someone that’s in the process of writing a twisted retelling of Rapunzel featuring the Twst characters, I did consider Jamil for a role—but as Mother Gothel, not Rapunzel. (Kalim was Rapunzel in one iteration of my retelling, since Jamil is the one controlling him in book 4). I feel like Jamil definitely has the long hair for standing in as the princess and could fit in with the “Road to Freedom” tagline mentioned in the event title, but the characters’ background doesn’t match as well. Yes, he has a restricted life due to his place as a servant, but he isn’t sheltered or manipulated by a mother figure to the same degree that Riddle and Rapunzel are. Jamil is out in the world doing things—but Riddle lacks knowledge of practical applications and other normal life experiences.

The event isn’t out yet, so we can’t be sure how much the degree of similarity to Rapunzel actually matters for the story or setting. (The events typically do explain why these particular boys were chosen for the occasion.) However, if the story does end up touching upon certain themes… well, I think we’d quickly understand why it is that Riddle was given the SSR. Jamil also currently has more event SSRs than Riddle, so maybe it’s as simple as “it’s Riddle’s turn on the XBox.”

Here’s another way to think about it if it helps with any disappointment you may be feeling? Event stories usually do not impact much in the grand scheme of things. If Riddle experiences any character growth, it won’t be HUGE. So if Jamil was in his place as the SSR and working toward achieving the “freedom” mentioned eadlier, I doubt he would be making any significant headway. Jamil’s issue is ultimately far more complex and wouldn’t be resolved or reaching breakthroughs in the span of a short event. I don’t see Riddle doing a ton either; at most, maybe thinking more deeply about his relationship with his mother and eventually finding his own independence.

I’m sure Jamil will have more opportunities for character growth and cool costumes in the future! For now though, he yields the stage to Riddle.

[thaltro]

Hey, I analyze your bad guys design on TikTok awhile ago, so I really want to analyze the new design of Atrophy mostly on the color scheme you picked and little bit things I said before but add too it. The color looks so good! The white is really nice with the color green slime/goop that Atrophy is made out of, it makes him stand out. Which I believe that what he would want because he definitely has a complex on not being enough so a white suit will make him pop out from others. Also the base symbol of white is purity,innocence, and goodness everything Atrophy isn’t but something he was as a child(if we go by the canon were passive was the kindest person in the multiverse in his story). The mask thing is definitely stuck to his face no doubt about it.how you add the moon and sun theme is so genius, it a subtle detail were it reminds the audience that Atrophy will always be connected to dream and theirs au, even if he doesn’t want to be. Because the mask is stuck on there but I don’t think the tie is so even if Atrophy say he doesn’t want to be connected to dream deep down he does he always has/will/be connected to his brother whether he recognized it or not. The way you made the green more bright on him is great, the base green symbolism is New beginnings, peace, nature, harmony, jealousy, greed which only some those really apply here the New beginnings, jealousy, greed and nature (only a little bit on the nature because it connect him to his mother who became a tree). The new beginnings (him changing looks entirely, his name and like you can say his personality him now and when he was child)(also what goes to happen to him in this story) jealousy ( boy has been jealous since day one) and greed (and this might be a lot of a stretch but believed he deserves so much better so he make sure he has the most lavish things,items,clothes,food, he collections things he didn’t even like,hoarding it because he believe he deserves to have them, he was denied so much as a child so now he has the privilege to make sure no one get more than he had as a kid) even though he secretly hate himself so deeply. (I talk about this before but I promise I adding something new!) He named himself Atrophy because he sees himself as a waste/effectiveness but he rename himself even though nightmare have more villain definition being a frightening, unpleasant because he needs control over himself he needs to feel better about himself so he rename himself because it gives him control, he can’t be hurt when people call him Atrophy because he himself calls himself Atrophy. No one can hurt you as badly as you can yourself. That how I believe why Atrophy name himself Atrophy. Anyway I think this get long enough, I will be back! I can promise you that I’m so excited for your story and everything you have planned! Also I should add psychology has a lot matching colors as Atrophy so it says a lot about these two, maybe I’ll get psych (rubbing my hands evilly to gather) anyway bye bye have a good day or night wherever you’re at!sorry about how long this is and if my writing isn’t the best.

How the hell did you interpret all that accurately? /not mad

I haven’t even posted the webcomic and I have a lot of people send me really accurate interpretations of Atrophy, this one is really good.

Yk in nightwatch I wrote for atrophy not to be shown nuanced or sympathetic light until like mid act 2. Like he does HORRIBLE shit for the majority of the comic, I have to make a chart of content warnings just for his actions. If I ever garnered a small fandom around it I expected little to no analysis of him but I post one picture of him lol and I have like character design theory essays in my ask box.

You are very right on why he named himself, I love how you worded it too.

Atrophy is a hoarder for the exact reasons you mention, Atrophy tries to embody what he never had- power, wealth, and masculinity. Having trinkets and a large home are included in that. He hoards food too, he has an entire basement that he dedicates to non perishable food that he will never eat, as he can’t eat food. He doesn’t know why but it feels safe with it there.

You also noticed how psych and atrophy have color schemes similar, which is 100 percent intentional. All of the characters i directly parallel have similar color schemes. Atrophy and psych are Enemies but also the closest and most familiar to one another. To atrophy psych is just a mirror of himself, which creates a oddly hateful, dependent, and egotistical relationship with him.

The color symbolism especially the green symbolism is intentional. Atrophy is greedy, gluttonous, and jealous and I always associated that with green. He’s also supposed to resemble a wine bottle with his color palette- as a reference to his lavish lifestyle. The moon and sun motifs are in reference to his brother. It’s the only thing atrophy genuinely feels bad about.

I don’t know if I said this already but dream thinks his brother is dead, not in a metaphorical way in a genuine way where he hasn’t seen him in hundreds of years and was told he was murdered. Atrophy is aware his brother probably believes this, but thinks it’s best for them to never meet as he’s changed so much that him dying is not too far off from what he is now. But dream is always at the back of his mind, which is why he has a lot of motifs.

I love this analysis aughsh

Thank you

[xysidhequeen]

Hello! I JUST found you The King and His Red Knight series and I am OBSESSED! IT'S SO FREAKING CUTE!!!! Also, thank you for the new ship to my collection hahaha!

I have...so many questions? Not in-depth questions, but please don't feel like these are prompts. Absolutely no pushing on my end, and I hope this doesn't convey pressure. Just...SO EXCITED!!! So I'm figuratively FLAILING!

I LOVE THIS DEPICTION OF GOTHAM'S CITY SPIRIT. I've seen a few takes on this but yours might be my favorite. The DETAIL. The DISSONANCE because you could straight up imagine her in a horror movie, but it's also DANNY and his nonchalance carries over to the reader. 😂 But lol, he WOULD accidentally become King of Gotham. And Jason just essentially became the literal Gotham Knight! 😂🤣😂 As a result though, and actually you might have seen my comment for this, now I'm thinking about whether Amity Park has a city spirit because I remember it being a pretty old place too. And I get sad feelings because if Amity Park loves its hero the same way Gotham does, then how is Amity Park doing after their hero son and all adjacent hero-children were driven away? 😭

I kind of really understand Danny's depression. What his parents did was not only a betrayal, but they literally ruined his life and any chances at a future. The sheer depth of it is at least touched on in many fics where Danny revealed his identity, but I think the implications are distinctly FELT in an unsaid way in your fic. Because canonically, Jason is taken back into the Wayne Family's sphere in many ways. But if that happens here, Danny can never truly join Jason there unless all the secrets come out. Because all it takes is one photo of Danny in a Wayne gossip shot, and the GIW and/or Fentons are on their ass. It's the same mentioned at the beginning with Tucker and Sam. At the time, the best protection Danny could give was to stay away as his friends and family moved forward in life. He can't, but he won't let his spook stagnate with him. Thanks to his parents, Danny Fenton doesn't "exist" anymore, so there's no life where he can move forward with. No wonder he remained in his ghost form, he might as well be dead-dead at that point.

But they ARE doing a bunch of illegal stuff anyway. Is Danny going to be able to go to university? He's so smart, he deserves at least the choice. Even if not officially enrolled, I mean, would he find it appealing to just join classes? (Lol, Gotham Uni students and professors being like normal attendees but three times as much DONE so they REALLY don't register the new guy in class as anything other than another student there for the grind.)

Actual question: What's been going on with Vlad all this time? Did I miss a detail there? He's mentioned as an existence but what's been going on with him since the discovery that Maddie won't even accept her own son as a half-ghost, so he's probably right out. Is he still obsessed with Danny on some level? Or has the dynamic changed there with everything? If nothing else, he'll still be the sassy, creepy billionaire who speaks to Danny in incredibly condescending ways while needling all his weaknesses. (Which is another way of saying, go kick his ass, Jason!)

Just to clarify, Danny's abilities are still growing? Because that's so cool. Was there the implication that the crown and ring are actually binding his powers?

In which case, who would win? Trigon or Danny?

Has Danny done any business with forces like Doctor Fate and Klarion (Lords of Order and Chaos)? How would they fit in the schemes of the Infinite Realm?

Right now, most of the problems are navigating kingship and issues that can't simply be punched into oblivion, which I like and also think is the absolutely right choice to write it. It's both fun, and I like the suspense of Danny's true extent of power yet being unleashed. Actually, I even consider the issues with GIW and Joker to be issues that can't be punched into oblivion because those are tangled with (respectively) politics and emotional issues. My question is, will there ever be a straight-up villain that is a threat to Danny personally? Admittedly, the way his unique being is described gave my writer-brain a reflexive thought of "someone definitely wants that".

Which is a long way of saying, I have a craving for like that some kind of interdimensional villain looking to capture and enslave all the major forces of existence for one reason or another. And them going "yeesss, and I'll leave the Earth alone as long as you give me these remaining individuals for my collection, including the King of the Infinite Realms", and seeing Jason lose his shit.

Speaking of which, will Jason ALSO get to beat up a clown for his boyfriend? Freakshow has been mentioned? Any plans for him?

Lol, Mausoleum. How many extra rooms are there? Is there ghost magic playing with the dimensions? Will Gotham moving in mess with that? How do they even get mail if the building is supposed to be abandoned?

Actually, it IS mentioned they paid attention to the safe houses lecture. Do they have a bunch of other safe houses? Including up-and-up ones?

In the last chapter where Danny notes that Arkham's natural ambiance could effortlessly power Spectra and already WAS giving Nocturne a boost, can the same be said about the rest of DP's rogue gallery? All the weapons smuggling and ABUNDANCE of slippery targets in the maze that is Gotham for Skulker. The music/celebrity scene for Ember. The nightlife for Kitty. The doubtlessly countless illegal street races for Johnny, not to mention BATMOBILE at any given time. Not to mention, SHIPYARDS FOR BOXY! ALL THE SHIPPING BOXES AND CRATES!

Before, Tucker was able to eat Blood Blossoms. Now that he, Sam, and Jazz are more distinctly liminal, how do Blood Blossoms affect them? Is there a difference?

Does Jason know about Dan?

Daaaaahhh~! Danny threw a whole ass ball for Jason??? That's so fricking romantic.

Lol, did Dani like the duck candles?

Daaaahh~! Constantine is actually a worry-wart. X3 I love how, essentially, Danny has a job lined up for John after his death. "Lol, welcome to your afterlife, bitch! You're working for me for the rest of eternity! 😈" It feels like it's exactly what John deserves.

Speaking of which, can I say how much I feel Danny and Jason DESERVE each other? Just driving each other up the wall and giving each other as good as they got for the rest of existence hahaha!

Sorry for the very long spiel. Please just know that I LOVE your series and writing!

I feel like i was just brought back from the dead. Which for my followers may basically be the truth, I was on Tumblr to read a blog that does some great analysis for a different fandom I'm in and checked my notifs and saw this in my asks.

I'm sorry as I'm sure this was asked a very long time ago, but hopefully you won't be too upset at the delay for an answer. I'll try to touch on all your points.

One thing to remember with my writing process, most especially with fics, is i rarely plan. I have a rough mix of ideas and goals I want to hit with fics when I write and I let the characters drive me towards them. The exception here is Equilibrium which has an outlined plot. I also end up adding a lot of unintentional foreshadowing and deeper meanings subconsciously.

Warning, walls of text ahead.

I am always so happy, and surprised, how well my interpretation of Gotham's city spirit is recieved. Especially considering there is already a canonical version of Gotham the city spirit. Which is really cool (And super freaky and scary). I spent far more time than I normally would(as i said my writing is very intuitive and instinctive. I sit down and just. Write) thinking about how she would look, and trying to cram as much symbolism (because what could possibly be more of a symbol than the literal spirit of a city?) as I could into her appearance. There's even a refrence to Martha Wayne in her appearance, and technically a reference to Thomas AND Martha in that scene(in the fic the theater Danny goes to, that is the seat of Gotham's power, is the same theater the Wayne Family left and got mugged nearby. That event, that spawned Batman, is seen as such a pivotal moment for the city itself that Gotham's power shifted to make it the nexus). So Gotham is something I'm actually rather proud of, because I put in some real mental work to give her life and tie in a bunch of things. Her dissonance was also, miraculously, intentional. As is Danny's reactions to her. My fics in RK are comedy and fluff first, angst second. Danny and Jason being such funny little shits naturally helps with that, and with taking the edge off of a lot. I wanted Gotham to be undeniably creepy, I actually enjoy supernatural horror movies and I wanted some of that feel to Gotham when I wrote her. I wanted her to be frightening and creepy and something you don't want to see in your mirror at 3am in the dark. But I also wanted to use her to really show exactly how immune Danny is to that, that was important to me. Because Danny in my fic has Seen Some Shit. He's King of the Infinite Realms and every possible afterlife. He can't get scared because of a city spirit. So he had to approach it with a 'away she's kinda sweet' mindset. Which also does a lot to give you hints into how he likely approaches his subjects. No matter how frightening they might look, Danny won't see them as monsters. He's going to see them as who they are, and offer them comfort if that's what they need. Which is a core part of how I write Danny. He cares, so much. It's why he took Jason in, it's why he's willing to put himself out there again and possibly make enemies with the entire world just because his subjects are in danger. You'll notice that the people Danny sees as monsters are always living Humans. Because they act like monsters.

I'm addressing Amity in a different bullet point because I went on about Gotham and Danny so much. I didn't initially have any concrete plans for Amity Park to have a city ghost, although that is a natural conclusion to come to. It is a fairly sized city (I'd place it as a mid to large city because of the sky scrapers shown in the show, I've lived in several cities and only the large ones have buildings like that, small cities do not grow up, they sprawl outwards. At least in the south). Combined with the amount of ectoplasm released from the portal to hell the Fentons opened there should definitely be a city spirit. Now whether it's a newly born city spirit that hasn't entirely formed a sense of self yet, an existing one, or is Danny himself I haven't landed on as of yet. If we touch back on Amity this will be brought up inevitably.

Danny's abuse and the fall out from the Fentons and all of that trauma is implied throughout for a reason, the reason being that the fics are comedy and fluff focused. I can, and do, write angst and willingly will deep dive into a character's trauma but the focus of RK was always to be a bit of a balm. I wanted it to be fun while also providing Danny and Jason with a chance to heal together. But I'm incapable of writing depthless works, so I hint at and allude to what Danny went through as much as I can without shifting the tone. And also, Danny doesn't want to touch on his trauma or issues. He doesn't want to work through it. He's avoidant. (How does Jazz feel about this? Frustrated. She wants a drink) This will cause problems later. You can see his avoidance in how little he talks about it, and you can see it still affecting him in the fact that he's now more comfortable in his ghost form than his human form. And it says a lot about his self perception as well.

Onto the Wayne Family. Danny getting involved with them could cause problems, if he has a reason to be involved. I know a lot of fics get deeply involved with the Wayne Family (and I love that, i love those fics) however Danny really doesn't have the biggest interest in the Wayne Family as a whole. His main interest is Jason, Tim and eventually Damian. Dick he feels obliged towards because Jason cares, but that's not really Danny caring about him one way or another. (And this is yet another example of Danny and his trauma. He takes an interest in the child heroes, because he was one. Dick also was a child hero at one point, but he's an adult now and in Danny's mind this means he doesn't Need Danny. Danny needs to be needed.) I don't see Jason going in the direction of reintegration in this fic series, mostly because he already has a very stable support network (something that Jason did not have in UTRH) and he's a lot more secure in himself. And most importantly, Bruce and the Wayne Family are no longer the sole source of love and comfort for Jason. Jason spent his 'missing' years being loved and adored by So Many People. Yes, he's still devastated by his death, and Bruce's actions leading up to and following it but it's no longer a defining part of him. Actually at this point he's spent nearly as much time with Danny and everyone as he did with Bruce (I'm not checking the actual timeline, but it should be of a roughly similar amount of time) and during still formative years of his development. Jason doesn't Need Bruce to kill the Joker here the way he did in canon. Although it would do a lot to facilitate at least something like amicability here. But if Bruce wants a relationship with Jason (and whichever other batkids Danny steals from him) he would have to Work for it and it would take a Long Time before Jason is even willing to step foot in the manor, let alone drag Danny along and result in paparazzi catching a quick shot.

I'm breaking this up because I talk too much. But if anyone is going to be caught in a picture and plastered on a gossip column for hanging out with a Wayne it's most likely going to be Jazz. Feel free to guess why.

Danny is unlikely to go to Uni the normal way. He really doesn't even see himself as human, or living, anymore. He fully sees himself as a Hero first, King second and Danny third. He wouldn't be willing to split his responsibilities that far, he's only willing to even leave the IRs at all because they're building a portal so he can go back and forth without using his own power to do so. He will push for Jason to go though, because Danny is always going to try to make sure the people he cares for get their dreams even if he doesn't. However he may start 'shadowing' classes if he gets the chance. But that might take convincing from the rest of the Spook to have happen. Danny is very averse to being selfish in my fic, he's been a King for too long. (You are right though that even if he goes in his human form no one would care. He's not holding them hostage, they have better things to care about)

Vlad is doing creepy Vlad things in the background. Like building a shrine. He's not touched on because he is no longer a threat to Danny. Danny matched Vlad when he was 14, by now as a fully fledged adult with years to grow into his powers and self, along with the authorities given to him as King, Vlad can't stand up to him. He's been so thoroughly outclassed he's not going to try. Vlad is smart, and cunning for all he's mildly insane. He isn't going into a fight he knows he won't win. It doesn't help that Danny has been living in the GZ for years, and staying in his own seat of power which further skews the power dynamic there. However, now Danny is back in the world of the living and shaking things up. Maybe Vlad thinks he can slip his way in? And you know who isn't as strong as Danny but is ALSO a Halfa and is also someone Danny has strong emotional ties to? Jason. So if Vlad shows up it's unlikely he's going to be aiming directly at Danny. He knows better by now, but that doesn't mean he can't do Something if he shows up.

Danny's powers are still growing. His theorizing that he's tied into the IR is canon in the fics. Danny is smart, definitely take his theories seriously. As long as the IRs continue to grow, so will Danny. His power is, pardon the pun, infinite in its potential. He will never stop growing. I like writing him as OP. It means I have to think of other solutions to add tension since there's no actual threat that can stand up to Danny. The Ring and Crown don't really limit his powers, so much as they kind of smooth out the rough edges in a way? Normal Danny in ghost form is like a hurricane, all wild power and force of nature. The Ring and Crown kind of... clean that up a bit to give him a sense of gravitas and elegance. They make him a King, basically, and add Authority to him.

Danny would beat Trigon, hands down. Danny is a multiversal level threat, meaning he has the power to destroy multiple universes if he wanted to. Is he consciously aware of this? No. He'd have a whole meltdown if he realized the full extent of his power. Honestly I could see Danny fighting Trigon just because if he met Raven and befriended her. But also, I'm not as familiar with Raven's story besides what's shown in DCAM and Teen Titans(the OG show). So it's unlikely to happen.

He is familiar with the Lords of Order and Chaos. As an agent of Death who is also tied to Life he sees the intrinsic need for both, as life is chaotic by nature and death is its own form of order(all must come to her one day, no matter who they are.) But on a personal level he thinks Klarion is a funny kid and Doctor Fate is an annoying stick in the mud. But as always Danny is going to offer grace towards those he views as children, and he definitely sees Klarion as a child and Klarion's actions reinforce that belief. If they ever interact Danny is going to behave like an Uncle towards Klarion and at worst just throw him into a portal to have his fun in the IR where he can't really do too much damage. If he runs into DF he'd probably try to just leave if possible, as he respects DF but his general distaste towards adult living heroes is going to make him not want to deal with him. But I also am not exceedingly familiar with either of these characters so there's not a huge chance of them appearing in my fics.

I'm glad you enjoy that most of the issues Danny&Co approach aren't things he can punch away. It's the only way I can add tension since I prefer writing Danny as OP so I can focus on character growth. There are no villains in the fic series who will pose a physical threat to Danny himself. The only way to even the playing field are Fenton Tech weapons, which Danny is VERY familiar with and even if his parents made new ones, he's so familiar with them, their thought process and their inventions that he's going to be able to reverse engineer any of it in minutes. So even with those it would take a LOT for someone to be seen as a valid threat to Danny. However this doesn't mean they can't be a threat in other ways. They can threaten him politically(with his aims towards getting Ghosts recognized as sentient beings with rights) they can threaten his friends, they can even threaten people close to the people he cares about (Dick, Tim, Damian, Babs, Bruce, Tucker's family, Sam's family etc). He might physically have no equal, but that doesn't mean he lacks weaknesses.

I have no plans for an intergalactic threat in RK (Equilibrium on the other hand...) most of the threats Danny&Co will face are going to be ones that have already been mentioned in fic. (Bruce, to a very low extent, The Fentons, GIW, The American Government, The Justice League).

However Jsson would absolutely go apeshit if someone demanded Danny as a hostage.

Freakshow is lying VERY low and will not be making any in person appearances. Sadly. Jason WILL get to beat up a clown though.

There are enough rooms for the purpose of the plot LOL. Realistically i never did a full floor plan for it, because if I did I'd try to make it in the Sims and then I'd have a whole other set of problems. Currently there is no space magic other than what Gotham has done (which is shift things around underground to facilitate them digging that deep). However that is not going to stay true as more and more supernatural beings take up residence. As for how they get mail. Gotham. Gotham is how they get mail.

They do have more safe houses! Mostly in Gotham as that's home base, and they've been bought under a few different aliases by Sam, Tucker and Jazz. But they all remember Jason's lectures and also all remember how hurt Danny used to get and so they have several spots they can crash in or head to for first aid.

The other ghosts WILL love Gotham. That's as much as I'll say for that, and they will be appearing again.

Blood Blossoms still won't really affect Tucker, Sam or Jazz as none of them are dead. They'd have to be dead, or half dead half alive, for them to have an impact at least in this verse. However Tucker might end up with something like indigestion if he eats one again.

Jason knows Danny fought an evil future version of himself. He doesn't find this weird because. Well. How many times has someone from the Batfamily(actually any DC Hero) had to fight an evil version of themselves? He however is NOT aware Dan is being kept in a thermos in Clockwork's haunt. I have considered having Dan be a character in the fic, just because I think he and Danny as he is in the fic might be able to get along fairly well. But also I'm not sure if I want to bring in another character dealing with emotional trauma and baggage when we've got Danny and Jason and Tim will be absorbed into the group soon as well.

He did throw a ball. Danny is SO sweet to the people he cares about and wants to make them as happy as possible, and Jason was a rather sad kid. Danny can't stop spoiling him anymore because that behavior got ingrained so early in. And Danny did actually enjoy the ball, although that was mostly because Jason enjoyed it and wouldn't stop gushing about it for two weeks straight afterwards.

Dani loves the duck candles and now wants more of them. Constantine has learned that if he buys duck candles he can't expect to use them because Dani will, somehow, know and will, somehow, get in and steal them. He has no idea how she does this. He doesn't want to know actually and can she please stop stealing his candles? He needs those!

Constantine unwillingly cares a Lot about Danny (and Dani but he's less willing to admit that since she keeps stealing his candles). He feels rather like he's being held emotionally hostage here because he doesn't want to care about this chaotic, overpowered king of the dead who is also a traumatized young adult but no one Else seems to be stepping up to care so he guesses it's his problem now. (He knows about Nox. He is lying to himself he's got a soft heart)

Danny and Jason very much deserve each other in every meaning of that lol. They balance each other rather well, and both provide what the other desperately needs.

Sorry for my even longer response to your ask than what you asked, but I couldn't help myself. Also, thank you. You actually reignited a lot of my love for this series. I apologize for any typos.

[sweetshelluvaau]

Finally, the Queen and Princess of Gluttony are here!!

Truth be told though, I got my Beelzebub done sometime last year (Summer or Fall I don't remember) but wanted to wait until I got my Kesha!Bee redesign done before posting her up in full because I need to talk about canon!Bee.

Which also explains the coloring differences between the two pics but heh...

Like always, notes under the cut. Drawn in Clip Studio Paint and with Photoshop CS6 for final touches. Okay to reblog, Feedback is encourage.

About Beelzebub in canon:

Honestly, I don't mind her design. think it's cute in a vacuum but at the same time it's pretty busy with the many colors and things going on. I prefer her Mastermind look honestly, she slayed in that outfit and it went simple on the colors (also think it fits with her animal tamer motif she's suppose to have because 'sins being a circus trope' but it's poorly done, if barely there):

I do dig the fuck out of her hair and tail. Just how flowy it is it reminds me of honey, which is fitting because BEEzlebub. The lava lamp stomach is cool too but I feel in a vacuum being as I said, her design is busy as it is (though I do think having a simple color scheme like in her Mastermind outfit does make it a little less attention grabbing).

I think her personality is fine too, for the most part. Sometimes she can get a little grating but overall I don't dislike her character. I like the idea of the party girl vibe she has going considering that Gluttony isn't just over consumption of food but of anything so her being a party girl who overindulges in drugs and achoal is pretty clever (or at least as clever we're getting out of Hellaverse)

That being said, she never really screamed Queen of Gluttony to me. I know most of the Sins don't act like demons who are thousand of years old which is fine I like the idea they change with the times but they still feel like they could be in their mid/late 30's- 40's putting aside the immoral part but with the case of Beelzebub, she acts a bit too young? I don't know if I'm making sense lol.

Anyway. To the design (and personality) notes:

Queen Bee:

For my Beelzebub, I decided to go with 70's disco queen/Donna Summer's vibes with her. The Gluttony ring in canon already gave 70s vibes with it's architecture. I saw plenty of Beelzebub's that went in the a Rococo era/Marie Antoinette direction which is fitting yeah, but considering it's been done so much and the whole 'party girl' thing canon!Bee has going; I thought it was a good era to take inspiration from.

Speaking of Parties, yes she still host them but not in the same way as her daughter does. Queen Bee's are more formal get togethers like galas but make no mistake, there's plenty of food and drinks to go around. She IS the Embodiment of Gluttony after all.

Despite the whole 70s get up, Queen Bee's view on her Sin is a bit old fashion but she does keep up with the times both because she has to because ya know, she's the Embodiment of Gluttony and she's always open to new interpretations and ways her Sin can be explored. She just happens to dig the 70s era when it comes to aesthetics and such.

Hellhounds were not created by Beelzebub, but come from Cerberus, who predates Hell before Lucifer's Fall and when it was still referred by the The Pits. She and him are married in my AU. I plan talking about Hellhounds more when I write up my Gluttony Ring post in the future.

Princess Bee:

She's basically how canon!Bee is in the show: An unapologetic party girl. I really don't have much to say about her personality honestly. Her full name is 'Princess Beelzebub of Gluttony the 2nd' but everyone calls her 'BB'

Obviously I wanted to make her more Hellhound-ish (I can't draw snoots lol). I regret not adding more bug like features to her but being I'm gonna likely revisit her once I design her dad being I haven't figured out the direction I want to take him yet.

Flowy honey style hair my beloved <3. I wanted to try to see if I could try to do something with the lava lamp stomach but with the jacket and hair I didn't want the design to be too busy.

Yes, I went heavy on the bee them. Bee fuzz faux fur jacket and leg warmers, honeycomb belt buckle, honeycomb pattern on her bra style top. Def has a bumblebee stamp tramp as well kinda like this:

Honestly I don't really have much more to say. Sorry that the notes are kinda bare this time being I didn't have a whole lot to say. But um...yeah...

Bouns! BB without her jacket:

Not sure what will be next it's a toss up between Stolas, Leviathan or the Wrath Ring post.

[toniko]

okay I agree with everything you said about Kim except his treatment of Baek. If you read as far as 161 then you know we see Baek constantly being conniving and sneaky and really is always looking for the next opportunity to backstab someone if it’s advantageous to him from Baek’s POV. In the Dream School Arc he makes a murder attempt on him which Kim artfully dodges. Baek’s whole thing is being a clown that keeps making his own situation worse because he keeps confirming for Kim that he’s frankly awful even when Kim tries to give him an out.

up to 161 still

totally will admit my section on Saheon was something I threw on quickly without explaining well. In frank words now, I’d say:

‘Kim Soleum seems to believe in the Baek Saheon (Viper-heon, Doksa) from the text a lot compared to the one in front of him. The one from the text is implied to be much more cruel. His discipline reflects as way too extra for this Baek Saheon.’

not that he isn’t a bastard in the first place lol. also yeah, I get that interpretation too. I just give the ol’ Baek Saheon some benefit of the doubt, more detail below. other reasons too

again big opinion piece

I was going to mention the attempt on Kim Soleum’s life in the school arc actually! Thought it would go on too long. In my mind, Baek Saheon reads as someone who’s overly hasty, almost bullheaded? He decides Kim Soleum is some kind of traitor very quickly and takes action. Actually his exact thoughts is that Kim Soleum would have a name tag anyway and he’ll just wake up. (He’s pretty stupid now to just assume that, doesn’t he? But he really does believe in the total competency of Kim Soleum after seeing him operate.) I think to even have thought that though means he’s adverse to committing literal murder.

Yes, his morality is loose, but killing people is not on the board yet and I think that’s the most clear line between the true psychos who use finishing team members, mad scientists and shitty bosses vs this guy that we’ve seen being an absolute bastard but backs down the moment he seems threatened. And input some of my own bias here, I think killing with intention is truly the line between a truly evil character and one that isn’t (because of the great emphasis of preserving life within the story) at least in this ghost story where psychopaths are rampant and bad personalities are abound.

I also didn’t describe what I believe to be Kim Soleum’s evaluation of Baek Saheon as a character. I think there’s a combination of Baek Saheon committing the first instance of ‘cruelty’ Kim Soleum witnesses in this new world and his previous knowledge of Saheon. We can only speculate what the original Saheon is like, but it’s clear he’s the character with the largest departure in his story from his original. The character in the text Kim Soleum often refers to is already a chief with many years of experience and lots of time for horrible acts to pile up. So this is the frame of mind I think Soleum has when thinking of Saheon.

Kim Soleum’s discipline is rather important for his safety of course! But rather, since we have some POV chapters from Saheon’s perspective, we can see how that guy immediately crumbles after any opposition lol. The longer Kim Soleum performs this discipline, the more it seems like he doesn’t need to be doing all that work. (Read cat note death threat before Saheon shows a semblance of scheming). It is also possible that Soleum is going overboard for fun (even though he likes to say that this is absolutely necessary).

In the end, it’s difficult to say Kim Soleum views Baek Saheon in an objective way regardless or without any bias from the darkness text. I can loop this right back to the impersonalization topic

Of course this is all very speculative! I do call it my personal interpretation.

I’m someone who believes Kim Soleum is not just reliant on the text, but was overly reliant on it as both his way to survive and interpret this world and to cope. I also think the writing is a bit of a trick most of the time, some classic unreliable narrator type shenanigans.

Here’s some meta elements I base it off of as well:

Baek Saheon is like one of the only characters that gets chapters in his POV and the most compared to other characters as well. So I don’t doubt he’s here for the long run. He’s set up as more of a comedic character for now but the angle for his character doesn’t seem like an antagonistic setup. But additionally with a character like Kim Soleum as the protagonist, I don’t think he’s in any narrative position to get worse.

please don’t take this as me overly defending Saheon, I make fun of him like every other Tuesday. Kim Soleum just doesn’t quite treat him like any he does with any other character in a drastic way so I can only theorize on why 🤔 (there’s more to say about this but man, this is not the post for that

[dootznbootz]

I'm not very fond of Epic AUs where Odysseus adopts Astyanax.

It's fine for a one-off joke or comic and ofc this is just my opinion but... if Astyanax lives (like in Racine's play), he should always stay with Andromache. His actual mother, yk. Not with one of the men who sacked Troy. Zeus' prophecy is bound to happen and Odysseus knew keeping the infant around was a bad idea.

If Astyanax dies, I want to see him in Elysium with his father, finally in a peaceful place and having all of eternity to catch up. Then Andromache joins them (sending her to Asphodel would be too cruel) and they finally reunite.

Would anyone picture Neoptolemus adopting Astyanax ? The son of Achilles, who dragged Hector's body in a chariot. No ? So Achilles' associate doing the same would be weird.

And Odysseus ? I want him CRAVING for a son, waiting for so long until he can express his paternal affection (and always cursing Palamedes even after his revenge 😂).

Him meeting Telemachus all grown up should be his first real shot at fatherhood. It'd be underwhelming if he already had a little boy with him. If Telemachus has a little brother, Penelope should be the mother. Or they adopt another baby together afterwards. No Astyanax and ESPECIALLY NO TELEGONUS !

So yeah, imo Astyanax and Odysseus don't belong with each other. Any thought ?

Headsup: This is just an opinion. My opinion does not matter. If you like this AU, PLEASE don't let that stop you from creating! Just because it's not for me, doesn't mean it's not for you or for someone else :D

I absolutely agree and you absolutely put into words WHY.

There's the term "woobifying" and in some cases...I think that's what people just often do with Epic/The Odyssey. (especially from Epic) I'm saying as someone who is a very soft and fluffy person. I love soft and sweet fics and ideas. I love stuff that makes me smile. But I almost feel as though with certain soft things, you're taking away what makes characters who they are. which DOESN'T make me smile lol

like I think there's more fun in simply a "no-war AU" than the "Astyanax lives AU" xD like, that way, Odysseus is with his family, gets to be a dad, Astyanax gets to live (let's not think too hard about how "no war may have meant no Astayanax")

As that way, they still get to be in character as well.

Penelope and Odysseus for example, are scallywags lol. They scheme and swindle. They giggle and kick their feet when they get extra cattle. They hold grudges. They can be snooty and prideful. They're as full of love as they are full of hate. Odysseus, during the Sack of Troy, in both the Odyssey AND Epic, will do whatever it takes to get home. Like yes, in Epic, Jay has it where Odysseus has to "become ruthless" but I can understand what he's doing with the narrative. Odyssey Odysseus? Um...Iphigenia is proof that Odysseus is already ruthless.

Btw, why is Astyanax the only one Odysseus would want to save with these AUs? What about Iphigenia? Is it because of Epic?

Yes, I DO think Odysseus (and Penelope for that matter) have a lot of parental instinct. I plan to write Odysseus carving lil wooden toys for random kids just as something to do. He does tricks. (ngl, while it seems they weren't around in the Mycenaean era, Yo-yos were a thing in ancient Greece. I just KNOW Odysseus would be the type to do so many tricks. (also string and wood🥹)) He has a soft spot for Greater Ajax's boy. My goober was friends with Menelaus and Agamemnon even before he met Penelope (he saw two exiled guys take back their kingdom and thought "hm??? vulnerable state??? They're very rich?? hehe >:3" but then became fond of them. The reason why he went to Sparta was to help Menelaus with Helen but fell in love himself.) and he's carved lil toys for Agamemnon's kids

He's carved lil Iphigenia toys. She likes Dolphins. He still helps sabotage the letter in some myths and even hypes up the crowd.

Even if it IS just based on Epic, "The Horse and The Infant" and "Just a Man" are HUGE turning points for Odysseus. Or even just a show of character. Like yes, "Odysseus is learning ruthlessness" but he already is ruthless. He literally says "I would trade the world to see my son and wife". AND HE STILL DOES THE DEED! HE WAS RUTHLESS SINCE THE BEGINNING! The Second song in the Musical and it already tells you about Odysseus and what he is willing to do. Is he sad and haunted? Yeah. Still did it.

And I really love that as that's Odyssey Odysseus as well! Odysseus isn't an unfeeling violent villain. He's just a man.

Also...What happens in the Odyssey is no fucking place for a child. ;~; The cyclops, the Goddesses, the monsters? Why should a lil boy be anywhere near that? How did he survive while drifting to Ogygia? Does Poseidon try to keep them together? As no one would be in the state to take care of each other together for that many days.

And in general, in the Odyssey, to me, it's such a huge thing that he literally lost EVERYONE. THAT HE IS ALL ALONE. All of the people who were with him are now dead, and there was nothing he could do. It was already fated.

It's horrible but there's something so poetic in him being the "Sole Survivor", especially after all the hell he went through.

Also yeah, I DO really hate the thought of Telemachus knowing "You took care of this baby when I needed you?". Like my OdyPen have a daughter after he returns as the whole "only one son" and that's already really hard for Telemachus to watch Odysseus be a father for her, regardless of how often and how adamantly Odysseus reassures him that Odysseus desperately wished to do the same with him.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

I want to write some stuff for this but am actively nodding off so y'all just get an info dump before I forget it instead. (My baby loftwing being all fluffed and happy on my chest is not helping me focus lol)

Anyway! Miphlink baby!

I think it would be pretty neat if he was hard of hearing. The mix of Hylian/Zora genes mostly goes fine, but that's the one thing that just gets him. Part of it is because Zora and Hylian ears are different - Zora ears are small openings hidden under the side fins on their heads, and we all know about Hylian ears. Zora rely on different hearing sensors when underwater, hollowed out structures in their heads that allow, essentially, for echolocation. Miphlink baby is born with Hylian ears tucked behind thinner side fins, no structures for echolocation, and not the best hearing. So Link and Mipha have to sign with him most of the time, though he does hear a little better underwater since sound travels better underwater.

While Mipha's color scheme for her scales is like crystla red and creamy white, baby's color scheme is a lighter shade of red paired with Link's skin tone. He doesn't have claws, either, but he does have sharp incisors. He's got his dad's blue eyes.

As for size, when he's full grown he'll stand around the height of an adult Hylian man, so he'll be taller than his dad but short by Zora standards (I figure Mipha seems pretty short for her people's standards too - she is a teenager, of course, but like... she's shorter than Link. Girl is tiny). He's got the structural fins like any Zora, but his body proportions are those of a Hylian (longer legs, shorter torso, whereas Zora are shorter legs and longer torso).

He grows at a rate similar to Hylians - Zora age twice as slow as Hylians until they hit adulthood, and then they just... are adults for a million years. But Miphlink baby grows roughly at the rate of a Hylian, maybe a little slower, and the rest of the Domain is just floored at how fast this kid is hitting his growth milestones.

He definitely has that cute "head tail is too big for his body" thing going on that Sidon had <3

[w0rmdahl]

are you listening? — SKNS

gif ©: w0rmdahl, madsofrps-blog

show: skins s1 (2007-2008)

synopsis: joey may have fallen first, but love fell on anwar.

word count: 4.1k

featuring: anwar kharral, (oc) joey park, maxxie oliver, mention of jal fazer, mention of tony stonem

warnings: (it's skins yk) strong language, sex, early 2000s

a/n: so much to say about this piece omg. check the replies for everything i have to tell you guys lol (p.s. i think swear i can write in present-ish tense but i can't begin without the bg set up womp womp)

next-door neighbors turned childhood best friends, anwar and joey were widely regarded (at least by the 13 people who knew them) as two peas in a pod; an inseparable duo that always happened to be together even when they weren't really supposed to. most — if not all parent-teacher conferences were chalk-full of complaints about their inability to stop talking to the other, and numerous family gatherings had been defined by the odd man out chatting happily as usual with their other half — their other half being a spikey haired anwar standing significantly shorter than he was now or the brace-faced joey who'd refused to make eye contact with anyone else.

over the near-seventeen years they were friends so tightly knit you couldn't even fit a coin between them, joey and anwar had obviously encountered their fair share of pros and cons that came with the territory. on one hand, they always got away with whatever mischievous schemes they'd come up with because no one ever expected them to be in on it together. however, the most pressing issue by far had always been the dating allegations.

for a long time even the mention of romantic feelings lingering around had them up in arms, vehemently denying the allegations with an iron fist as they cited how ridiculous it was to assume just because they were a boy and a girl. and though they began this uphill battle before even reaching double digits, the accusations would only grow worse the older they got and the further into their friendship they ventured.

anwar had always been the very first to deny, always saying the same thing; "you're sick and perverted, joey's my best mate! she's not even like a girl to me!" and for some reason young joey always found this to be hilarious. nowadays, however, not as funny. actually a little hurtful to be completely honest, but she knew why.

the god-honest truth was; joey had loved anwar since the start. she grew up with the hopeless gnawing of yearn at her fingertips, familiar with the fungus-like growth of blush on her cheeks as they walked home from school or shared a cigarette under the stars. she'd spent years tossing restlessly in bed every night in an attempt to tune out the annoying hum in her chest until it eventually became nothing more than white noise in her ears — somewhat manageable but still tender like a bruise when pressed.

by 14 she had figured out a way to better conceal the jealousy that bubbled inside whenever he drooled over the nearest being with boobs, that is, until she found herself whining under the covers like a sick dog. by 15 she finally came to terms with the fact that he'd never even look in her direction with romance in mind, and by her 16th birthday spent with the blubbering drunk, joey finally put the hopes of ‘something more’ to rest as she fell asleep with his elbow dug into her ribs and a lump of acceptance in her throat.

on the contrary, however, anwar was not afforded the luxury of carefully unraveling the warmth in his chest until the burden met his open palms. no — unlike joey's lifelong pining, poor dear anwar happened to be speaking with maxxie when the realization fell on top of him like bricks squashing a bug.

"i just — i don't get it! why does she do that?" he huffed before taking another swig of whatever liquor it was that they'd found at the park, sat leaned against his bed with the absence of her fairy lights reflecting into his window further grating his tender feelings. "of course i don't want to hear about some wanker trying to chat her up! that's disgusting!"

maxxie almost laughs at him, though he refrains. "oh, come on, anwar. you know joey's like mother teresa, i bet she didn't even let him dream about it. is it really that big of an issue?"

"it is! because now i have the image of this bloke shoving his tongue down her throat and if i think about it any longer i'm gonna spew!"

now pausing to catch the sad-faced-clowns gaze, maxxie snatched the bottle from him before shrugging, voice small like he already knew what would come next. "well..." he hummed, "have you ever thought about telling her?"

the aforementioned clowns eyebrows furrowed together. "telling her what?"

"come on, an, it's obvious. i've seen how you look at her. you'll never know until you give it a shot."

at first, anwar would fully brush him off. "maxxie," he'd say with the disapproval already written in his grimace "it's not like that — it's never been like that. i've never even thought of joey like that." but when his stripe-wearing friend finally went home and left him all alone to mull over their conversation, poor dear anwar would think of her like that. he'd find himself in a similar position that night, unbeknownst to either parties, curled into a ball under the covers as he clutched at his chest almost like he was ready to rip the frantic heart right out.

as jal would say months after this initial incident; "joey may have fallen in love first, but love fell on anwar." she was right, as always, but this wouldn't come to fruition until a period of continuous push-and-pulls between them.

of course, the days and weeks following proceeded as typical as usual; anwar and joey hung out for the majority of the day, partied on the weekends, found themselves waking up a tangled mess on the floor surrounded by the rest of the gang covered in a typical amount of vomit. nothing significant immediately changed — much to his dismay — but instead it seemed as though a list of strange circumstances added up over time to grow into the change they both so desperately longed for.

first it was anwar. joey noticed only a few days after he'd originally got upset with her that he started accommodating her more — at least more than usual. it started with the bag of chips they'd bought to share between their parallel windows. usually he'd try to convince her not to get the spicy chips due to the fact that it always ended with tears, but on this fateful day, anwar picked her absolute favorite without so much as a flinch before paying for it himself.

it didn't strike her as exceptionally abnormal until she finished her drink without realizing and was yet again left sniffling, eyes wet as she reached over the gap to hand it back to him with dust-covered fingers. he'd resume leaning against the window frame in search for his drink to hand over only to turn back and find her with a thumb between her lips, tears dripping down her pink cheeks. she laughed.

"they're just so good."

joey would wait for her expected response, something along the lines of 'you're a monster/addict/freak,' only to have his dumb grin be the entire response. she could see his gaze surveying her warm face before fixing on her eyes and staying there, utterly unmoving until she'd grumble.

"just say 'told you so' or something! don't make me stew in it."

anwar was careful not to stare for too long after that, he knew she didn't like feeling 'seen' anyway. but you'd best believe he was studying her features every time she wasn't looking, skin so much softer and lips so much rosier now that he saw her in the new light. he could've sworn she existed solely in a hazy glow colored by every new feature he witnessed pulling him in deeper. if only he could reach out to make sure — to check and see if she was really as radiant as he'd observed. how didn't he notice it before?

it would get to a point that, on a foggy drunken night, anwar would reach out to test his theory.

"— so, when i went home, i got to tell my mom all about how well i did and how many compliments i got from the teachers. she said she'd make my jjajangmyeon tomorrow, too!" from her seat on the counter, joey sat swinging her legs with a cup full of absolute jungle-juice swishing inside as she told him about her successful friday quizzes. "i'm just so happy it's over. i could drink myself to death!"

anwar swore he was listening — he swore he was paying attention to each and every detail about her exams and all the people and especially that bloke dominic — but from his inebriated place against the adjacent island of this posh house he could not for the life of him keep his mind off of the yearn to bring his pounding heart as close to hers as possible. with slow blinks emphasizing his glossy eyes, anwar set his drink down and pushed himself to stand up in one swift motion, arms already wrapped under her shoulder blades by the time she understood what was happening.

it wasn't like they'd never hugged before — they have hugged plenty of times, in fact. physical contact was not a foreign language to them after a long childhood of sleepovers ending with him using her as a blanket because they fell asleep on the floor, but it definitely became less frequent the older they got. waking up on the floor with his head on her stomach was still a common occurrence, but tender interactions like hugs were typically reserved for serious, gloomy moments that called for it. like when her cat died. not, for example, while she was around 7 shots in telling him about her awesome day.

"wh—what's up?" she chuckled nervously, pulse against his as her fingertips subconsciously found his spine, "this is super haram." there was an anxiousness to her voice that even an intoxicated anwar picked up on, especially when pressed so close he could hear the vibrations of her vocal cords. anwar took a deep breath before he pulled away to reclaim his spot against the marble.

"i'm happy you're alive."

a flash of furrowed brows appeared across her face before she was then setting her cup down, sliding off the counter to put her jacket back on. "okay, annie, time to go home. i want you to remember this in the morning when i nurse you back to health."

anwar declared to maxxie the following day (after recovering from his hangover) that he needed to be more careful with how he went about this with joey — if he was gonna muster the courage to talk about it, he had to be careful until that point came. he couldn't just find himself stumbling into it; he had to be smart about this and prove himself worthy as someone for joey, the famously proud virgin who ran off any guy looking in the wrong places for something 'haram' (as his dad and joey would say, though he was certain joey was only teasing.)

"how do i know she even likes guys? or anyone, for that matter!" anwar is almost spiraling with his eyes fixed on the ceiling fan, "the only people she's ever liked are all celebrities! sure, norman bates is an interesting choice, but everyone loves ralph macchio he's-the-fucking-karate-kid!!!"

maxxie, as per usual, was cool as a cucumber. "well, why don't you just do some spy work?” he suggested, “ask her sneaky questions...point her in that direction?"

this ingenious yet devious plan from the third musketeer would eventually be how joey accidentally stumbled into revealing a little too much, unknowingly lead into the territory by her best friend with a sinister motive as they waited on tony and michelle to stop shagging upstairs.

"hey," he'd inquire, innocent in the face as he looked over at her. "can i ask you something?"

"of course."

"the other day chris said mostly men have foot fetishes and mostly women have hand fetishes. is that true or..."

joey looked over at him already irritated, likely suspicious of a looming joke in poor taste. she sighed as she shrugged in an attempt to play off her genuine intrigue before actually pausing to think about it. it sounded true, didn't it?

"i mean...i have no sources, so don't quote me or anything, but i'd say it's probably true."

anwar leaned in a little closer. "but...so...you think a lot of women like hands?"

"i don't know, man," she chuckles and visibly leans away "i know some girls do. why are you so interested?"

"do you?"

now she's actually raising her guard, he can see it in her eyes as she grimaces at his questioning. "well..." joey starts, gaze flicking around the room so as to avoid his. "kind of."

anwar's mischevious smile would grow upon hearing this response, restraining the urge to tease and nudge her with an elbow in favor of continuing his spywork. "kind of?"

"i wouldn't even say it's a fetish like a foot fetish is —" she's speaking quickly the same way she did when trying to fight embarrassment, "it's just — girls can appreciate pretty hands when they see one — i can appreciate pretty hands. it's just an added bonus, you know? if you're hot that's awesome, if you're hot and you have nice hands..."

he didn't even have to think about his next line of questioning. "do i?" anwar asks, presenting forth a warm (and a little clammy from the nerves) palm toward her. joey's eyes would finally return to his, wide and utterly perplexed, before peering down at the fingers outstretched toward her.

"well..." she mutters, shaky fingertips grazing his knuckles as she turned his hand over. "i'd...say so. you have...um..." joey's almost crumbling under the pressure. her face is growing hotter by the second, covered only by the long locks of hair she let conceal her features while she tried to navigate this sticky situation. how to be honest while also not revealing that she had thought about his hands in detail plenty of times to recognize each and every vein and scar in the skin?

"well," her tone is stronger now that she's cleared her throat, "you don't have any visible diseases, so that's a start. your fingers are long — but not like, salad fingers long. and you have big hands, too, girls like that. — i think."

finally looking up from the back of the hand she knew well, joey's pupils are darker than before, a shy smile curling her red lips once she noticed his. 'sly' he thought, 'but not sly enough.' she'd set his hand back down in his lap as the creaking bed upstairs finally came to a halt.

"you're cheeky."

moments such as these, tense and somewhat awkward but certainly suggestive, would be given the time to grow into an entire catalogue (later discussed between maxxie and anwar) that eventually built up into one final, fateful friday.

it was a friday like any other for the pair, the beginning of the weekend spent walking home side-by-side after school in order to drop off their bags before heading to some posh party tony had invited them to. but, halfway through the getting-ready process, anwar would decide to make a catastrophic play;

"do you know if kelsey will be there?"

joey, from her place laid flat over his covers, almost scoffed. "um...why would i know?"

"she's in your last period," anwar shrugged nonchalance before pulling a different shirt over his head. "just thought you might have overheard her say something about it." from the corner of his vision he could see her sit up for the first time in 20 minutes, her arms propped behind her back as she looked over at him, though he couldn't see her expression.

"how do you know that?"

"she told me yesterday." he'd say simply. joey only inched closer, her full and individed attention on him now as she sat at the edge of the mattress.

"she told you? what does that mean?"

anwar couldn't help the smirk that found it's way to his lips at the obvious jealousy in her voice. he turned to look at her — wiping the grin from his face first, of course. "it means she came up to me yesterday before last period to ask to hang out." he stated plainly, watching as her gaze became sharper, "but i said no cause i didn't wanna cancel our movie night."

"oh, how thoughtful of you."

anwar was immediately certain he'd made a severe miscalculation by the absolute venom in her voice, low and barbed and filled to the brim with animosity as she rolled her eyes — a gesture he didn't see often. joey sat tense with her arms folded over her chest so tightly that her nails dug into the skin like she was holding the leash of a rabid dog.

she spoke again.

"so thoughtful, in fact, it makes me wonder why you even bothered to bring kelsey up at all. you could've just kept that to yourself — and yet here we are. why is that, anwar?"

he audibly gulped, his mouth agape as he searched for an explanation to offer other than the real one. joey was too quick, however, too well-versed in anwar-isms to not notice his obvious tells of dishonesty. within a beat and a half she's shooting to her feet with her pointer finger angled accusingly at him.

"you know what? i'm sick to death of your double standards, anwar, and i never got an apology after you totally brushed me off over the dominic thing — so it's funny that you decide now is a great time to tell me all about how badly that cunt kelsey wants in your pants. did you think i'd be happy you canceled because of me? that i'm the roadblock?"

in their near-seventeen years of friendship, never has anwar seen joey so angry. of course they'd argued in the past, especially over trivial things, but jo typically spoke in this distinct whine that came out whenever she felt cornered. maybe that was just how he made her feel at the time, and maybe that was how she effectively wanted to make him feel — but he didn't have the time to think about that now.

"n—no, no," anwar is backpedaling, his mind spinning the wheel on where to begin — what to do. "i wasn't—i just—it's different!" he's incomprehensible through the fire in her veins.

"what's different, anwar? your hypocrisy? — telling me all about how well you and kelsey kerr get along but i'm the bitch for telling you how massive of a cunt i was to dominic?" her eyebrows are almost touching, the lines of disgust visible by her flared nostrils, teeth bared like a violent beast. joey's almost yelling by this point, "you made me feel like bristol's town slut for telling that — that fucker off and yet here you are asking me if your stupid hookup is coming to this stupid fucking party!"

anwar begins sputtering for the right words to say, nearly unintelligible as multiple explanations meld together into a frantic jumbled mess. "jo — no — it's different now! i just mean — i didn't — i was just trying —"

she's over it. "you know what!?" joey interrupts, her volume close to the loudest he'd ever heard her voice (minus the spider on her shoulder.) "i don't want to hear it!" and without another word she's already turning on her heel, stomping her way out the door before slamming it behind her. thank allah his family was out.

of course anwar followed after her! what else was he supposed to do? he'd be hot on her heels the whole way down the stairs, blubbering a slew of apologies and explanations and pleads as they exited his front door and walked right up to hers. joey then turned as her fingers gripped the knob, face to face with him from her spot on the top step, and wholly severed any lingering conversation to be had.

"shut up, anwar! just shut the fuck up! i don't know if you think it's funny to piss me off or what — but now i'm pissed off! so what i need from you right now is to shut your mouth and fuck off because i don't want to say anything mean to you because i love you—so.for.the.love.of...god or allah or whatever! — go away!"

anwar went back to his room with his tail tucked between his legs, head hung as he flopped onto his bed. he'd turn to look out his window — the one that had always been their own personal menagerie for the other to watch and occasionally sneak into — only to find her blinds closed. with a heavy and distinctly discouraged sigh anwar would spend another hour or so going over everything that had happened — everything that could happen after this passed. he'd find that the longer he thought about it, the worse the outcome between them spiraled in his mind, his hands and his legs restless — itching to get up and do something about it. so he did.

first anwar tried tapping on the glass to see if anyone was actually inside there, rightfully earning himself a middle finger that emerged from below the windowsill. he took it on the chin with a short nod of acceptance before turning around just to brainstorm another option, then deciding to throw pebbles at the street-view glass. that was rom-com-ish, right? maybe he could charm her enough to hear him out, to just listen from the top of the tower she'd barracaded herself in, to understand the love inside that begged to be seen.

although this attempt was completely ignored instead, anwar was not discouraged, finding his own resolve by his side; he'd either burn every bridge to joey in one fell swoop, or he'd make it to the other side unscathed. using a trick from his sisters who'd gushed over john cusack after watching that one movie from the 80s, anwar would head back inside only to emerge with the biggest boombox he could find propped on his shoulder, the tape she'd made for his 14th birthday already playing one of her favorite songs.

it took a moment (the entire first chorus) for a response, but soon a glossy-eyed and puffy-faced joey appeared in the window, arms still folded over her chest and brows still furrowed despite his determination.

'and you do your best to show me love.'

he held the boombox taller, stronger atop his shoulder as he watched the grip on her own arms loosen.

'but you don't know what love is.'

anwar offered a weak, apologetic, pathetic smile.

'so are you listening?'

finally, the outline of her smile would be revived as she let go of her flesh to pull the window pane up, lifting it over her head to lean over the edge. she couldn’t resist paramore.

"trying to get arrested?" she asks, obviously teasing although her tone remained the same as before.

anwar wouldn't waste even a second, setting the still-booming speaker on the ground to dive head first into redemption, calling up to her with a muddled and quivering voice.

"joey, i'm sorry! i'm sorry i'm not a better friend to you! i'm sorry i'm a hypocrite and a dick and a caveman and a jackass — i swear i'm good inside! i can be tender! i can be kind! please let me show you! i — i have all these feelings inside me and to you it's just words and you know i'm not good with my words!!"

joey pauses. there's a lot to sort through here and not a lot of context, so she's mid-filling in the gaps when he starts hollering again.

"i'm sorry about dominic! i know it was shitty — i just — i couldn't stand the thought of him — !" anwar nearly chokes on the words "i just wanted to make you jealous! i wanted to see if you felt as awful as i did! and i'm sorry, jo! i'm sorry i l—" he stops himself to gauge her reaction.

there is a smile of utter disbelief on her face now, teeth growing more and more visible as she stares down at him from her place on the second floor. even under the familiar streetlight he can see her cheeks blushing a deep red, eyes sparkling with what he'd describe as hope. with a deep breath and a leap of faith, anwar would finally say the three simple words that sealed the deal.

“i love you!!” anwar calls up to joey from his place on the sidewalk, the prince at the bottom of the tower calling up to the princess. and what does she say?

“i think about you when i touch myself!!”

anwar had never been so sure about anything in his life.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Hiiii👋. Hope you're doing well. I just finished reading chapter 2 of mouth to meat and can I just say that I absolutely love your writing style🤩🤩. You're so good at painting a scene with words and I hope I can reach that level of writing skill someday.

I wanted to ask if we could get like a chapter about NK and her dynamic with satoru and suguru. (Lol that scene of suguru gave me a jumpscare. In a good way though).

That's all I wanted to ask. 0lease take care of yourself. Byeeee 👋

Thank you so much, Anon, for your sweet message and request! 😊 For writing - I have a habit of reading just about anything—even shampoo bottles when I'm bored, haha. Having a degree in English Literature does help, but it’s not necessary (honestly, my curriculum mostly covered the history of the language, not writing itself). What really shaped me is inhaling copious amounts of media—movies, shows, books, you name it—since I work in the Media Operations field during the day. If traditional books bore you, fanfics are an amazing alternative! There are so many master-level writers in the JJK fandom alone who’ll blow your mind. Just keep reading and writing, and you’ll get the hang of it. As for this fic, I wasn’t planning to write more, but a horrible inspiration hit me at the worst (or best?) time. This chapter is a flashback set before Chapter 1 & leads into her scheming. Enjoy! 🖤 Take care of yourself and bundle up as you step into the cold—and awful—shoes of this reader. I hope you enjoy it!

Mouth to Meat

Cannibal Yakuza Sukuna X [Retracted] F!Reader

Summary: Dr. Y/N L/N is tasked with profiling Ryomen Sukuna, a feared yakuza boss known for his violent tendencies and taste for human flesh. Through a series of therapy sessions, she gains his trust—or so it seems. But Sukuna isn’t the only predator in the room. Behind Y/N’s professional demeanor hides a secret far darker than even Sukuna’s sins. When the masks drop, it’s clear: monsters don’t always look like him.

Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains themes of manipulation, torture, straight-up male rape non-con elements, obsessive behavior, and violence (murder). Power Dynamics, Mind Manipulation, Twisted Relationships, Blood and Gore, Torture, Cannibalism, Sadistic Behavior, Manipulative Protagonist, Psychological Horror, Mentions of Suicide, Murder, Dark Psychology, & Disturbing Imagery. If any of these subjects are sensitive for you, please proceed with caution or consider skipping this chapter.

A/N: This story is purely fictional and written for creative exploration of dark themes—it does not reflect my beliefs or support for such actions. This is my first attempt at writing within this genre, & I appreciate your understanding of the delicate subject matter.

Previous Chapter 2 - Flesh and Stone (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 3 - Unravelling the first Red Threads

The clock ticked in deliberate, measured beats, a cruel reminder of the seconds slipping away. Y/N sat in her office, her gaze fixed on the files before her, though her mind had drifted far beyond the walls of the room. Outside, the faint hum of a sterile facility buzzed with life—doctors, guards, and the unfortunate souls trapped within. On the surface, her calm demeanor was intact, but inside, she seethed.

But her focus sharpened as the knock came, polite but firm, and without looking up, she forced her lips into a polite smile. “Come in.”

Nanami Kento entered, his shoulders tense, the usual faint furrow on his brow deeper than usual. Something that looked suspiciously like guilt. The polished shine of his green-tinted glasses caught the faint overhead light. He held a folder against his chest like a shield. “Dr. L/N, I wanted to speak with you.”

“Please have a seat, Dr. NK,” she said smoothly, gesturing to the chair across from her. “What’s on your mind?”

He lingered for a moment, as though reconsidering, then took the seat across from her desk. His fingers flexed on the folder he carried, knuckles tightening as he spoke. “I wanted to apologize.”

Y/N tilted her head, the perfect picture of curiosity. “An apology? For what may I ask?”

Kento sighed, his fingers flexing against the Manila edges. “I didn’t realize you were working on the same research topic as me.” His voice was steady but quiet, his discomfort leaking into the air between them. “Dr. Gakuganji only told me after my paper was published.”

Her fingers stilled against the edge of her desk. Inside, the venom coiled, sharp and ready. But she only smiled. “Oh. That.”

“Yes,” Kento continued, his words hurried, as if rushing to unburden himself. “It wasn’t my intention to undermine your work. I—” He paused, then pushed forward. “I’d like to retract my paper. You can publish yours instead.”

The words landed with the force of a slap. The world seemed to slow for a moment, the audacity of his words hanging heavy in the air. Y/N’s lips twitched, her mask of grace holding firm. How dare he? The suggestion was veiled in kindness, but to her, it was an insult—charity disguised as compromise. The patronizing humility. The assumption that she would need him to step aside, as though his benevolence was the key to her success.

She exhaled softly, her tone as light as a feather. “That’s very kind of you, Dr. NK. But it’s not necessary. I have read your work, and it's exemplary. And Dr. Gakuganji didn’t mean any harm, I’m sure. Your work deserves its recognition.” Not a lie, technically.

“No but your work…" Kento started, but she cut him off.

“No, Dr. NK I have always admired you as my senior & a respected scientist in our field of criminal psychology. After I read your research, I realised I had a long way to go still, so I’ll work on other subjects for now, so you can stop worrying.” Her smile light, but her words were a bold-faced lie. She’d read his research, but it was weak; his deductions came around to his rose-colored opinions while her research reveled in it. 

Kento’s shoulders eased, and he offered a small, relieved smile. “Thank you. I’m glad we could clear this up.”

Inside, her thoughts twisted like a coiled snake. You think you’re so noble. You think I need your permission? Your pity? I don’t need your charity or your apologizes. I’ll make sure you understand that as I tear apart everything you hold dear—as I eat your world.

He stood, smoothing his tie. “I’m sorry again for the trouble, truly. I appreciate your understanding, Dr. L/N.”

“It’s nothing, Dr. NK. I guess I’ll see you around,” she replied, watching him get up with an air of a saint. He nodded with a polite smile then headed towards the door; the click of it closing was like a starter pistol in her mind; her smile dropped. Her fingers flexed against the desk as plans began to form, delicate threads weaving into an intricate web.

---

Later that day, Y/N’s curiosity led her to the observation deck overlooking the therapy rooms. Kento sat across from Geto Suguru, the infamous cult leader, the man whose charisma had nearly incited genocide. Through the glass below, she could see Kento’s posture—rigid, professional, yet open. Suguru, in contrast, exuded lazy arrogance, his shackled hands resting on the table like ornaments rather than restraints.

“You believe in redemption, don’t you?” Suguru’s voice, smooth as silk, carried through the speakers while a few of Kento’s students took notes.

“I believe everyone is capable of change,” Kento replied evenly.

Suguru chuckled, a deep, rich sound. “How noble. Tell me, Doctor, does your husband share your optimism? Or does he leave that naivety to you?”

Y/N leaned closer to the glass; her interest piqued.

Kento’s jaw tightened, but his tone didn’t waver. “This isn’t about him.”

Suguru leaned forward, the movement deliberate, predatory. “Oh, but it is. Everything about you reeks of guilt. Tell me—does he know you spend more of your time with me than required?”

Y/N’s fingers tapped against the railing. Suguru was beautiful, his ego unchecked even in chains. He was vain, too aware of his magnetism, and self-obsessed to the point of blindness. The perfect foundation for ruin, but the cracks in his armor were apparent. His obsession with appearances, his calculated words—there were weaknesses to exploit.

Her lips curled as she observed. You’ll crumble soon enough.

Suguru’s amusement was palpable, and when the session ended, Y/N lingered in the shadows of the hall as Kento exited, loosening his tie. Once the student’s had left, she too turned to leave the observation deck; that’s when she nearly collided with him. A white-haired man, flanked by guards in ceremonial military attire, his presence was overwhelming, like he was the flame and everyone else were moths around him. His stride was purposeful, his shoulders broad under the weight of his station, probably military.

She froze, her breath catching as the faint scent of ozone and petrichor lingered in his wake. She’d never thought humans were capable of smelling as such. It wasn’t just his appearance—the sharp lines of his jaw, the glint of his blue eyes—it was the way he commanded the space around him. He was untouchable, one of a kind—no, something greater. His presence was like a drug—the kind that demanded attention and made hearts skip.

She wanted him, and there was no man who’d resisted her before, even if she didn’t try. But why was he moving like she didn’t exist?

Y/N’s eyes followed him as he approached Kento. Halfway there, Kento asked, “What are you doing here?”

The white-haired man responded, “Came to drop off the cannibal; couldn’t trust anyone else to make sure he actually got here and not escape custody again.”

Then, upon reaching Kento, to her surprise, he cupped Kento’s face, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. The gesture was reverent and intimate, and when his hand slid to Kento’s waist, squeezing. His other thumb grazing along Kento’s pecs, making her stomach twist in something that wasn’t quite jealousy but burned just as fiercely. How did this boring asshole land this perfection? Oh, never mind; he’s probably just a placeholder until someone like her came along.

The guards around them averted their eyes awkwardly, their gazes fixed anywhere but on the couple.

Kento broke eye contact, averting his gaze softly, his face flushing. “Satoru, not here.”

The ‘Satoru’ smirked. “Why not? Let them stare.”

Y/N’s grip tightened on the folder she carried.

Kento sighed and spoke softly, “I think you should meet him. He’s being stubborn again; maybe you can soften him.”

‘Satoru’ nodded as Kento opened the genocidal cult leader’s door. To her surprise, the cult leader got up with a smile she’d never seen before—genuine?—and hugged Satoru like they were long-lost friends. The twitch in Kento’s shoulders didn’t go unnoticed by her as the door closed, and she couldn’t hear anymore as Kento likely turned off the recording and speakers.

Y/N’s nails dug into her palm. A twisted kind of hunger took root in her chest. It wasn’t just Kento anymore—it was this Satoru. He was one of a kind, but with Kento by his side, they were a rarity she couldn’t resist.

---

On her way back to her office, Y/N crossed paths with Toji, casually stopping him in the hall. “Who was that earlier, Dr. Fushiguro? The man in the guards in uniform?”

Toji raised an eyebrow. “Minister of Defense. Gojo Satoru. He’s Dr. Nanami’s husband.”

The words hung in the air, and Y/N’s smile didn’t falter, though her grip on her coffee cup tightened imperceptibly.

“Oh,” she said lightly.

Toji shrugged, distracted by a few papers in his hands. “Anyway, I’ve got a session with Maki. She’s been unusually volatile today. See you around.” Maki was a kid from his family that had one night snapped under the pressure and mudered their entire family except for Toji and his son. Toji took over her case under the unusual circumstances, given he’d gone through the same earlier and had become a guardian to her, the only one who could calm her erratic episodes, and she listened to him like he was the second coming of Jesus.

As he walked away, Y/N turned, her mind already working.

Gojo Satoru. Minister of Defense. Nanami’s husband. So Nanami wasn’t a placeholder.

Her obsession had shifted, expanded. The chase had begun.

---

That evening, Y/N invited the district attorney, the guy who’d put Geto Suguru and Ryomen Sukuna, among others, behind bars, for dinner. The restaurant was warm and inviting—a perfect facade. Dim lighting softened the edges of the mahogany table, casting flickering shadows over the array of dishes that sat between them. A vintage wine bottle stood half-empty at the center, its label obscured, but the deep crimson liquid in their glasses caught the light like blood.

Y/N leaned forward, her elbow resting lightly on the table, her chin cradled in her hand. Her smile was soft, unassuming, but her eyes gleamed with a dangerous sort of curiosity. “You and Dr. NK are close, aren’t you?”

He chuckled, the sound measured and low, though there was a faint, almost imperceptible tension in his shoulders as he set his glass down. “We’ve known each other since college. Why do you ask?”

She tilted her head, her other hand idly swirling the wine in her glass. “Oh, I’m just curious. He seems... driven. Like a man carrying the weight of the world. I can’t help but wonder where that comes from.”

He sighed, the cadence of her voice seeming to smooth away some of his tension. His shoulders relaxed as he leaned back slightly, his posture no longer rigid. “Kento’s always been like that. Steady. Determined.” His voice softened, trailing off. “But if you ask me about Gojo...” He hesitated, as though unsure whether to continue.

Y/N’s lips curled into an encouraging smile as she leaned forward just slightly, the movement subtle but calculated. She poured more wine into his glass, the faint clink of glass on glass breaking the silence. “Go on,” she murmured, her voice intimate, almost conspiratorial.

He stared into his wine, swirling the deep red liquid in slow, deliberate motions. “Well, Gojo used to be in love with Suguru.” Her eyes widened as his words carried a weight, a sense of reverence tinged with melancholy. “They were best friends, inseparable since they were kids. Even engaged once. It was... kind of legendary.”

Her hand paused mid-air, the wine bottle poised for a second before she set it down gently. Her tone remained soft, disinterested on the surface, but her words were barbed. “That’s a bold claim. Best friends and lovers? What happened?”

He sighed again, the lines of his face deepening as if he bore the burden of the story himself. The wine had loosened his tongue, but his voice carried a genuine sadness. “Suguru snapped. Left Gojo at the altar and disappeared. For years, no one knew where he’d gone or what had happened to him.” He shook his head, his gaze distant. “And then he reappeared, but he wasn’t the Suguru we remembered. He was... different.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her smile unwavering. “Different how?”

He glanced up at her, his lips pressing into a thin line before he continued. “He came back as a cult leader. Not just any cult, though. It was violent. Fanatical. He had this... hatred.” His voice grew quieter, as though saying the words aloud could summon ghosts. “He wanted to ‘cleanse’ Japan. Make it pure again. He had followers. Men. Women. People ready to die for him.”

Y/N’s smile twitched, a flicker of something dark glimmering in her gaze. “Sounds like he thought himself a god.”

He nodded solemnly, his expression grim. “He did. Gojo was... devastated.” His words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. “But he did what he had to. Suguru tried to recruit one of Gojo’s cousins into his cult. That was the breaking point.” His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze hardening. “Gojo exposed him, foiled his plans, and threw him in prison. Saved hundreds of lives in the process.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her mind already filing away the details. “And Dr. NK? He’s Suguru’s therapist now, isn’t he?”

He hesitated, swirling his wine again, the liquid rippling faintly. “Kento... he feels responsible. Guilty, maybe.” He exhaled slowly, shaking his head as though the thought pained him. “He’s always had this need to fix things, even when they’re not his fault.”

Y/N hummed, a noncommittal sound that belied her sharp interest. Her smile widened, her teeth gleaming in the low light as she lifted her glass. “What a story.”

His eyes softened as he looked at her, the warmth in his expression undeniable, as though she were the only person who’d ever truly listened to him. “You’re... something else, you know that?”

Her smile shifted, becoming something more intimate, more dangerous. “Am I?”

He paused, his gaze lingering on her, his voice dropping to something softer, almost reverent. “You’re different. The way you listen, the way you ask questions—it’s like you see straight through people.”

Y/N chuckled softly, setting her glass down as she met his gaze. “You’re flattering me, Mr. Higuruma. You shouldn’t do that.”

When her lips quirked into a faint, unreadable smile, his hesitation wavered. “Why not?” he asked, a small, almost self-conscious smile curving his lips.

“Because flattery is a currency, and I’m expensive.” Her tone was light, teasing, but her eyes were knives, watching every shift in his expression.

Hiromi laughed, the sound genuine, and reached for his glass. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She watched him for a moment, her smile never faltering, before leaning back in her chair. The conversation drifted, touching on mundane topics—politics, work, the wine—but her mind never strayed far from its purpose. Hiromi was useful, yes, but he was also blind. His affection for her, unspoken but obvious, made him predictable and malleable.

“So, what do you think of Gojo?” She asked suddenly, her tone casual, as though the question had just occurred to her.

He blinked, surprised, and straightened slightly in his chair. “Gojo? He’s...” He paused, searching for the right words. “He’s a good man. Strong. Decisive. He’s been through a lot, but he doesn’t let it show.”

“And now he’s married to Dr. NK,” she said, her voice light, but her words were needles, pricking at the truth.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, a flicker of something softer breaking through his usual restraint. “Yes,” he said slowly but confidently. “They’re... good together.”

“And Suguru?”

His smile faltered, his gaze growing distant again as he stared at his wine. “The first body Suguru buried was his own, so you can understand the rest,” he admitted quietly. “For a long time, Gojo wasn’t the same either. But Kento helped him every day when Gojo didn’t wanna leave his bed and brought him back. Gave him something to hold onto. Soon after a few years, they fell in love. Then Suguru showed up all genocidal, and Kento has blamed himself ever since.”

Y/N’s smile widened as she leaned forward, her voice dropping into something softer, almost conspiratorial. “Do you think Mr. Gojo ever really let Suguru go?”

The next question seemed to catch him off guard. He hesitated, swirling his wine with a deliberation that bordered on distraction. “I think...” His voice trailed off for a moment, thoughtful. “I think he had to. For his own sake. For Kento’s. But some things... they leave scars.”

She nodded, as if satisfied, and poured him another glass.

By the end of the evening, he leaned against the doorframe to her apartment as he had insisted on dropping her 'safe home’, his usual composure stripped away by the evening’s wine and her disarming presence. His expression was softer than she’d ever seen it, his voice slurring slightly but warm, almost tender. “You’re... something special, doctor,” he murmured, his tone unguarded. “You are pursuing the right career.”

She smiled, placing a hand on his arm as she guided him gently outside the door. “You’ve had too much wine, Mr. Higuruma. Go home and rest.”

He nodded, his movements sluggish as she guided him toward the exit. Oblivious to her true intentions, he stumbled down the hall with his driver, carrying the warmth of her attention like a lifeline.

Once the door closed, her smile faded, replaced by something colder, sharper. Her art project awaited her, and Hiromi’s usefulness had already begun to wane.

---

A few ours later, the dim, flickering light of the basement cast long shadows across the room, the air thick with sweat and the lingering scent of iron. Y/N moved with deliberate grace, her movements languid and indulgent as she rode the bound man beneath her. A half-full glass of crimson wine sat precariously in her hand, the rich, velvety liquid catching the light in a way that seemed almost alive.

The white-long-haired man’s arms strained against the restraints, his muscles trembling uselessly. His breaths came in uneven gasps, his chest heaving with exhaustion. His wide eyes, mingling with a desperation that clung to the edges of his fractured mind.

The glowing computer screen illuminated Y/N’s face, the sharp edges of her grin casting her features into something otherworldly. An article about Suguru Geto’s cult filled the screen, but her thoughts weren’t on the infamous cult leader. No, her mind was elsewhere—on Sukuna’s taunting words, on the vision of Satoru Gojo’s lips pressing against Kento’s in a moment of infuriating tenderness.

The wine burned her throat as she drank deeply, the sensation momentarily dulling the jagged edges of her reality. Curling her fingers around the glass with a tense grip, she hurled it across the room. The sharp crack of shattering glass echoed like gunfire, but it wasn’t enough to drown the helpless mewling of the man beneath her.

She licked her lips, savoring the image. “You’ll be mine,” she murmured, her voice low, hungry. “One way or another.”

“Mine,” she hissed again, her voice guttural and low as she ground against him with renewed intensity. “Mine. Mine. Mine. You’ll be mine, Satoru.”

The man’s voice broke through the haze of her obsession, trembling with equal parts terror and defiance. “M-my name is Kashimo,” he stammered, his tone quivering as his body shook violently.

She froze for a heartbeat, her eyes narrowing and her lips curling back in displeasure. Her gaze snapped to his face, tear-streaked and wide-eyed beneath her. “Oh, baby,” she cooed, her voice honeyed with cruel mockery as her nails dragged sharp lines along his jaw. “You must’ve heard wrong. How could I say anyone else’s name?” She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his cheek. “You’re the only one I come home to.”

His body bucked harder against the restraints, desperation fueling his movements. “Let me go!” he cried, his voice cracking as tears streamed down his face.

Her laughter erupted, sharp and unhinged, ricocheting off the walls. “Don’t lie to me, baby. You were the one posting under every thread about how you wanted an older woman to groom you. How badly you wanted to be ruined.”

“I was sixteen!” Kashimo yelled, his voice raw and laced with despair. “I didn’t know any better—I was just joking!”

Her expression darkened, her amusement hardening into something feral and predatory. “Sixteen? You were old enough to get in my car, weren’t you?” She leaned in closer, her lips grazing his ear as she whispered, “Do you really think anyone remembers you? The boy who disappeared one rainy night, walking home from a graveyard at two in the morning?”

His breath hitched, his body going rigid as her words dug into him like barbed wire. “My mom—she’s waiting for me. She’ll be worried—” He spoke so low, like he wanted to convince himself more than her. For him, there was no way to tell the time; his mind, already broken as his skin paled without any sunlight, almost translucent now.

“You’ve been gone ten years, Kashimo,” she continued, her voice soft and almost nostalgic. “Ten years since I found you outside that graveyard, mourning your daddy’s fresh grave. Poor thing, all alone. If you didn’t want this, why’d you get in my car? Why’d you trust me? Why were you outside in the dead of the night? It’s almost as if you were begging for it.”

Kashimo’s eyes widened, his breath hitching as he fought against the tide of her words. "I... I didn’t know—” If he were a woman, he’d have given birth too many times by now, and maybe if the gods were kind, he’d have died during one of the labours, but he wasn’t even that lucky.

Her grin widened, sharp and predatory, her teeth catching the dim light like the edge of a blade. “Oh, darling,” she crooned, her tone dripping with cruel amusement. “Of course you didn’t. A weed-smoking little boy with no daddy, no friends, and no sense. Always mouthing off to your poor mother. They all think you ran away. You might as well be dead.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a mocking whisper. “Isn’t that funny?”

Kashimo glared up at her, the last embers of defiance flickering in his eyes. “My mother will never rest,” he spat, his voice trembling but fierce. “She’ll never stop looking for me.”

Her laughter erupted, sharp and cutting, echoing off the blood-slick walls. “Your mother?” she said, her voice thick with mock sympathy. “She committed suicide a few months after you ‘left her’, even taking your poor little brother with her.” She paused, watching his expression crumble. “So, no one’s looking for you, sweet Kashimo. You’re just a ghost now. Utterly left behind, forgotten.”

The words sliced through him, his chest heaving as sobs wracked his body. She didn’t stop. She never stopped. With an almost lazy precision, she forced him over the edge again towards another forced orgasm, his humiliation scorching through him like fire. His cries broken and ragged, a hateful symphony of shame and despair. It might have been the 17th of the night, but it wasn’t the worst; one time she’d raped him so many times he’d passed out for days, or was it weeks?

Y/N leaned back, satisfaction curling her lips into a serene smile. She rolled her shoulders, languid and indulgent, as though this were just another evening for her. Her fingers traced lazy patterns down his trembling chest, smearing streaks of sweat.

“Well, Kashimo,” she mused, her voice light and conversational, as though she were discussing the weather. “It’s been fun. Really, it has. But…” Her tone sharpened, her smile turning colder. “I’m getting tired of you.”

His eyes snapped open at her words, the flicker of panic returning, wild and frantic. His body jerked against the restraints, driven by the primal instinct to survive. But what did he have left? His body, ravaged by years of her abuse, couldn’t sustain the fight. Death felt like mercy now. Rehabilitation? Impossible. She’d destroyed him piece by piece, even feeding him sex addiction pills that had twisted his still-developing teenage body and mind beyond recognition.

Before he could say another word, her hand moved with cold efficiency, the blade glinting as it caught the faint light. It slid across his throat in a practiced motion, clean and deliberate. A wet, gurgling gasp escaped his lips as the arterial spray painted her skin in arcs of red, pooling beneath him in a grotesque bloom.

Kashimo’s body convulsed once, twice, before going slack. His wide, glassy eyes locked onto hers for one last moment. Panic faded into something else—serenity, even gratitude.

And then, nothing.

As his body slackened beneath her, Y/N climbed off, her bare feet squelching against the sticky floor as she stepped over his lifeless form.

She grabbed a towel, wiping the blood from her knife. Her thoughts weren’t with the body cooling on the bed. They were with Satoru Gojo—his scent of ozone and petrichor, his untouchable arrogance. It drove her wild.

She gazed down at Kashimo’s still-warm body, her expression flickering between disinterest and something close to affection. “I have my eyes on someone else now,” she murmured, thinking of Sukuna, her voice soft, almost reverent.

Without another glance, she turned and ascended the stairs, her shadow stretching long and jagged behind her as she disappeared into the dark.

---

In the following days, Y/N’s focus narrowed. Suguru became her prey. She studied his files, identifying every weakness. His vanity, his germophobia, the cracks in his self-constructed pedestal. She began taking over his sessions in secret forging Kento’s signatures, and Suguru was none the wiser, since his gaze lingered on her in their sessions, dark-hungry, his demeanor sliding between disdain and fascination. Men made it easy—they always led with their cocks.

One such session, the door to Suguru Geto’s cell opened with a low hiss, and Y/N stepped inside, her heels clicking softly against the cold concrete floor. Suguru sat in his chair, shackled hands resting lightly on the table, his dark eyes gleaming with suspicion and something faintly predatory. He was immaculate, as always—his long, raven-black hair pulled into a low, precise bun, and his tailored kāṣāya garment over black yukata robes, pressed to perfection, as though prison was merely an inconvenient vacation.

He didn’t stand as she entered, didn’t acknowledge her beyond the sharp flick of his gaze as she set her not-regular leather notebook on the table between them.

“Ah, Doctor,” he drawled, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. “I wasn’t expecting you today. I assumed your other duties had taken precedence.”

Y/N smiled as she sank into the chair opposite him, her posture relaxed, disarming. “I find our sessions... illuminating, Suguru. You don’t mind, do you?”

He leaned back, the chains around his wrists clinking faintly as he adjusted his position. “Not at all. Your company is far more tolerable than the rest of the drones in this place.”

Y/N tilted her head, her gaze steady. “Flattery, or are you merely bored?”

His lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile, but he didn’t answer.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the air between them taut with unspoken challenges. Y/N allowed it to stretch, to fester, before she broke it with a single question.

“Do you ever get tired?”

Suguru’s brows lifted, his expression unreadable. “Tired of what?”

“Of keeping up appearances,” she said, her tone casual, almost bored. “The hair, the immaculate attire, the perfectly calculated words. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?”

His smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a fleeting crack that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. “Appearances matter, Doctor. They remind people who I am.”

“And who are you, exactly?” She asked, leaning forward slightly, her voice low, intimate.

He paused, his gaze narrowing. “You tell me. You seem to enjoy dissecting me like one of your case studies.”

Y/N chuckled softly, the sound curling in the air between them. “Dissection implies a desire to understand, Suguru. But there’s nothing here I don’t already know.”

The faintest twitch of his jaw betrayed him, but his smile remained intact. “Is that so?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, her voice soft but cutting. “You’re a man who once believed he could reshape the world. Who thought his intellect and conviction made him untouchable? But here you are, chained to a table, your revolution reduced to ashes.”

His hands curled into fists, the faintest tremor running through his fingers.

“And what about you, Doctor?” He shot back, his tone sharp and dangerous. “Hiding behind your clipboard and clinical detachment. Are you really so different from the rest of them? Or do you enjoy playing the role of the omniscient observer, watching men like me crumble under your scrutiny?”

Her smile widened, her eyes gleaming. “I don’t need to watch you crumble, Suguru. You’re already breaking. I’m just here to help you see it.”

---

Their next session unfolded like a game of chess, with each move calculated and each word a weapon.

“You’ve lost something,” Y/N said, her tone light and conversational, as though she were commenting on the weather.

Suguru’s head tilted, his expression calm, but his dark eyes glinted with irritation. “Have I?”

“Yes,” she replied smoothly. “That spark you used to have. That certainty.”

He laughed, the sound low and rich, but it carried no humor. “Certainty? About what, Doctor? Enlighten me.”

“Yourself,” she said simply. “Your purpose. Your place in the world. You used to believe in something—your revolution, your ideals. Now you’re just clinging to the scraps of what you were.”

His smile faded, the tension in his shoulders coiling tighter. “I haven’t lost anything.”

“Haven’t you?” She pressed, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping into something almost tender. “You’re not the man who led a movement, who inspired hundreds to follow him into the fire. You’re... less.”

The words struck their target, and she saw the flicker of anger in his eyes, the faint clench of his jaw.

“Careful, Doctor,” he said, his voice low, warning. “You’re treading dangerous ground.”

Y/N tilted her head, her expression unbothered. “Am I? Or are you just afraid of what you’ll find if you look too closely?”

---

In their last session, she delivered the blow she’d been preparing for weeks.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you, Suguru?” She asked, her voice soft, almost reverent.

He didn’t answer, his dark violet eyes fixed on hers, his jaw tight with suppressed emotion.

“I see a man who built himself into a god,” she continued, her tone gentle, almost affectionate. “And I see how much it terrifies you that it was all for nothing.”

His fists clenched, his knuckles white against the table.

“You’re nothing but a man,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Flawed. Breakable. Forgettable. Even your ex... I think his name is Gojo Satoru. He moved on after you left him; now he’s happily married. You must be grateful that he didn’t end up with you, given your... tendencies. Dr. NK is the better man for the job. Perhaps it’s time to let go of the pretences.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Suguru didn’t move, didn’t speak, but she saw it—the crack that split him open, the shattering of something he’d held onto for far too long.

And she smiled, victorious.

---

As she left Suguru’s cell, her mind was already turning over her next move once Sukuna broke out tonight. Toji passed her in the hall, his gaze lingering on her figure. “You’re working late,” he commented.

She smiled, brushing past him. “You know me. Always busy, Dr. Fushiguro. Did you need something?”

Toji’s lips quirked as he shok his head, his eyes following her as she walked away. She didn’t need to look back to know she’d left him wanting. He was too stupid with his cock to catch her coming out of Suguru’s cell despite being the Medical Director of the facility.

Her attention shifted as she reached her office. She opened her laptop, pulling up the details about Gojo and Kento that the private contractor Shiu Kong had sent over. Her eyes narrowed as she read, her mind spinning webs of plans and possibilities for tonight.

Her lips curled into a smile. It’s only a matter of time.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I know this chapter dives deeper into the darkness, exploring the twisted psyches of these characters. Next chapter we avenge precious Nanami, Gojo, Kashimo & the unnamed child.

Next Chapter 4 - Love Like a Blade to the Throat (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

[hexbaiting]

Sliding in while I recuperate from that smoking snippet to ask about “Don’t lie to me.” (And alligator tears if you’re feeling generous!)

Thank you for the ask! <3

Don't lie to me is set right after s2e1, and I just really wanted some sweet h/c and to write about Loki's time slipping. I started this so long ago and I hadn't even looked at it until I was going through all my WIPs, and re-reading what I have I really want to jump back into it.

Snippet time:

“How painful was it? Slipping through time?” “Mobius, we’re past it, it’s over — I’m fine—” “Just answer the question. And don’t lie to me.” Loki opens and shuts his mouth, his usual chorus of I’m fine and I can handle it dying in the back of his throat. Mobius has done so much for them — risking life and limb, and skin. Mobius has taken his chances, again and again, with Loki, saving them more than once. Loki owes Mobius so much. They can start with a little honesty. “It was one of the most painful things I ever experienced.” “Worse than the pruning?” Loki pauses, trying to choose their words carefully. Was there anything worse than being rapidly disassembled and then reassembled? Was there a difference between getting pruned and having your entire body break apart and snap back together in a matter of moments?  “Different. Still awful, but,” Loki draws a shuddering breath, “different.” “Oh, Loki,” Mobius says softly. He reaches out but quickly stops himself, stuttering in his movements. “Can I — can I hug you?” Loki feels their heart clench at the mere consideration. Mobius just stares at Loki, nothing but concern bleeding through his gaze. Loki shuts their eyes as they begin to sting. They nod and lean in, silently pleading for Mobius to catch them, hold them close, keep them together.  Mobius doesn’t hesitate, scooting closer to gather the god before him in his arms.  Loki presses forward, hiding their face in the crook of Mobius’ neck. They feel arms wrap around them, careful not to be too rough. Mobius holds them as if they were something fragile, but precious — not broken. Something to be cared for. Loki’s muscles still ache, a dull throbbing coursing through their entire body. They couldn’t believe they survived being disassembled and promptly reassembled — being ripped apart and scattered through time and space.  And the time slipping felt as though they were being stretched in a million directions, only to rubber band back, snapping them into place. Loki could feel their bones cracking in and out of place, their muscles expanding and twisting in inconceivable ways.  Loki doesn’t think they’ll ever forget what that feels like. “I got you, Loki,” Mobius says, voice as soft as his hold but just as secure. A promise.

Alligator tears is simply an idea for now, and it's not dacryphilia?? but it does have to do with Mobius' being obsessed with how beautifully pathetic Loki looks when he's crying and how he longs to swoop in and stop those tears. 🤭 (it was also first inspired by the song alligator tears by beyonce lol)

I don't have much written for it, but here's this:

To see it on a screen was something else, and to have the actual thing sitting at his feet like this, well, Mobius would have never considered himself so lucky. But here he is, with Loki looking up at him with wide, wet eyes, trembling against his legs, miserable and hopeless, begging for a morsel of tenderness. It claws at Mobius’ sensibilities and dissolves his self preservation. A scheme or not, he’s seen enough of Loki to know that there is always more than meets the eye. After watching Loki scramble and fight for acceptance, affection, for a kind of warmth that could be tailor made for him, here comes Mobius, ready to take the god into his arms and offer him what so many have refused him for so long. Mobius hears a whimper as Loki presses his face into his knee, and then a choked off sob, and he can’t take it anymore. “Hey, c’mon now,” Mobius says softly. He reaches out to run his fingers through Loki’s dark curls, pulling the god’s attention back to him, deciding to play into it. When Loki looks back up at him with tear tracks down his face, Mobius just tuts and moves his hand down to wipe at Loki’s face with his thumb.

WIP list here!

[emblemxeno]

Cindered Shadows Thoughts

Btw if you don't wanna see thoughts on my 3H playthrough block this tag #playing fe3h

-Finished it in exactly 8 hours, at least 2 of which could've been an email /s

-It is truly a microcosm of my foundational issues with 3H as a whole, besides two things

-One is that exploration isn't as tedious because Abyss isn't as big as the monastery, but I guess that isn't really a point in its favor since that's the whole point lol

-The second is I feel like Byleth's dialogue and text selections with the characters is a bit better. There's less instances of , what I describe as "characters extrapolating how Byleth feels in 1-2 text boxes before actually responding to what they said", which I swear is a cause for why the main game reads as if it's 10% longer than it's supposed to be.

-IMO unique map objectives don't save map design that's pretty uninteresting at the end of the day.

The first map's layout is cool! Until it gets reused in chapter 4, where it's only saving grace is a new objective utilizing prior knowledge established in chapter 1. Clever, but still a reuse in a game that infamously spams repeat maps. And outside of Chapters 2 (a slog where you defeat enemies in waves which isn't fun in FE) and 7 (a cramped hall where you have to brace against a monster boss), the other maps are reused from the base game, even chapter 3 is a slightly modified sealed forest.

-Combat itself is so slow, I'm really just debating turning off animations in general when tackling the main game. Not only do the animations take forever, but they don't look interesting, are surrounded by washed out textures and models, and-my personal biggest grievance-have absolutely no momentum nor weight behind them. The Tellius games, from what I've seen, yeah the animations take decades, but from a visual and sound design point, fighting feels significant. 3H also being sandwiched between Echoes (the gorgeous culmination of handheld 3D Fire Emblem presentation after half a decade) and Engage (which to me set a new, high bar standard for 3D FE presentation going forward) is an extremely unfortunate situation and I feel really sorry for it.

-Music still hits though, Shackled Wolves never gets old

-Another thing that 3H does that this DLC reminds me of is the amount of -Stand Around- cutscenes there are. It confused me that Engage gets the most heat for this, when this game does it more, due to more drawn out dialogue, simpler camera angles, stiffer models with fewer animations, and an absolutely diabolical background setup. For a game with an expository selling point, it repeatedly falls short at being engaging in a visual sense, with its scenes always being saved by the phenomenal voice acting. Almost always, at least. The scenes where the Wolves are getting their blood drained while they just stand there is so jarring and bad, it's nearly funny, when it's obviously not supposed to be given the lines, their delivery, and the accompanying music.

-The story from A to B is sweet I guess, but given that the devs said the Cindered Shadows version of events is basically non-canon to what happens in the main game sours me on it. Like, yeah it's cool that the Wolves can technically be capable enough to do it offscreen on their own, but then what's the incentive then for me to recruit them beyond the player's pre-established care? There's no narrative payoff in the grand scheme :/

-Also the whole plot is "what if Yuri, Rhea and somewhat Claude/Linhardt do everything and also these other goobers are here" which became really funny, because after a while even the lines had characters deliberating the sheer amount of coincidences and melodrama that was occurring. 3H style writing shoved into an 8 hour timeframe is accelerated, exhausting nonsense.

-Sothis not being in the plot is fine, because even though it doesn't make sense why she wouldn't comment, it's not like there's anything of value she would contribute beyond her usual schtick of "bratty banter, where are my memories, i sleep now".

Not having Jeralt though? Absolutely ridiculous. I don't like Jeralt as a character (he's my idea of pretty face and that's it), but there's no convincing me why he couldn't be here but Alois can. Love Alois! But he was a device used to have the Knights on standby and nothing more, which Jeralt could've done and it would've let him have a proper impact on the ordeal with Aelfric.

Speaking of which, revisiting this DLC had me thinking... wow this love of Aelfric is veering very close to cult-like, and it's cut short after chapter 5 because we don't go back to abyss once that map's done. I'm left with wondering how the Abyss denizens would feel after knowing that their caretaker was Like That™️, which is a completely foreign feeling to me when discussing 3H's narrative since the game normally never lets it be remotely unclear how the characters or the player should feel about anything ever. So... props for that for making me flex that part of my brain! You did it Fodlan, the creepy custodian plotline that was left dangling was great fridge horror material.

-The constant suspicion throwing and animosity towards Rhea and the church is tiring as usual, and also sometimes downright baseless. Like, at one point it's said that orphans are among those who are relegated to Abyss or otherwise ignored on the surface which is flat out not fucking true, Rhea literally takes in former bandit kids and Remire orphans, what are we doing here.

-Balthus has a cringe "fight the system line" meanwhile he's an irresponsible jackass pushing 30; Constance is written like a joke; Hapi's writing is a joke; Yuri is as incomprehensibly competent and storied as ever and I love that cuz it's nonsense.

-Overall, not godawful terrible, but nothing in it that's worth coming back to in my eyes.