#will answer asks/confessions in character

[mcrdvcks]

i hate it here

chapter summary: You meet Bucky at therapy where Dr. Raynor shares a small office with Dr. Cole. You two slowly connect over mystery books and coffee outings. Until one day you don't show up. word count: 3.4k+ pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader notes: i've mentioned a few times offhandedly that i have depression (and anxiety) and i that i have attempted - i don't want pity or anything, just stating a fact. i started therapy like 4 months ago and have been doing much better! anyways, i got to thinking about how one of the only characters who has been in therapy (in the mcu) is bucky. i guess you could kinda count tony, but he was talking to bruce so idk. anyways, that's how this came along. it was kinda my version of journaling, since i suck at it. please read the warnings/tags! warnings/tags: post tfatws, therapy, allusions to depression, alpine mention!, reader has a dog, mentions/allusions to a suicide attempt, some fluff, two people finding each other through trauma, insomnia, nightmares, slight angst, depressive spiral

The Brooklyn office is small—four hardback chairs, a scuffed laminate floor, and walls the color of old oatmeal. You’re already there when Bucky shuffles in, early as usual, hood pulled low despite the July heat.

You’re curled over a paperback, thumb smoothing the crease in the spine. He recognizes the look: concentration hiding nerves. He clears his throat, drops into the chair opposite you.

Silence stretches. Tick-tick-tick from the receptionist’s keyboard. Bucky counts each tap like gunshots until— “Chapter’s not great,” you mutter, not looking up. “It’s supposed to be a detective story, but the villain is obvious by page three.”

Bucky blinks. Small talk, right. He hunts for something non-awkward to say. “Maybe the detective’s just slow,” he offers.

That earns a tiny huff of laughter. You glance up, eyes warm but tired. “You ever read mysteries?”

“Not since… a long time.” He swallows. “But I used to like Agatha Christie.”

“Classic.” You close the book, mark your place with a Metro receipt. “I’m Y/N.”

He opens his mouth—hesitates—then sticks out a flesh-and-blood hand. “Bucky.” The metal one stays shoved under his sleeve.

The receptionist calls your name first. You stand, shoot him a quick, encouraging smile. Something inside his rib cage gives a startled twitch.

---

“Still having trouble sleeping?” Dr. Cole asked. She shared an office with Dr. Raynor, you were just lucky to find a therapist close to your place.

You shrugged, “yeah. It’s just insomnia. I did a sleep test, had to put the mask on and sleep with it for 2 nights. Doctor found nothing, so...”

"Let's talk about what happens when you try to sleep," Dr. Cole said, pen poised.

"I stare at the ceiling," you answered. "Count cracks in the paint, listen to Sparky snore, think about—stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Classes, rent, whether my brother’s eating decent food at school—everything that isn't restful."

Dr. Cole nodded. "Nightmares?"

"More like reruns. Same memories on loop." You rubbed your eyes. "They don't even change; they're just… loud."

She clicked her pen. "Medication helping?"

“I guess. Not with the sleep part though. But nothing helps with sleep.”

Dr. Cole tilted her head. “What do you do between the moment you turn off the light and the moment you give up?”

“Phone. Crossword. Sometimes I Google ‘why can’t I sleep’ like it’s gonna give a brand-new answer.”

“Ever try talking instead of scrolling? Out loud, I mean—narrate the day, get it out of your head.”

You snort. “My dog’ll think I’m confessing state secrets.”

“Sparky might surprise you.” Dr. Cole’s smile is small but real. “Okay, homework: pick one night this week, no screens after ten, narrate the day to Sparky, then lights out. Deal?”

“Fine. If she tattles, that’s on you.”

“Noted.” She scribbles, caps the pen. “Same time next week?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You stand, tugging your bag onto your shoulder. The chair legs squeak; the sound feels louder than it is.

---

Bucky’s still in the waiting area, elbows on knees, staring at the floor like it owes him money. He glances up when the door clicks shut behind you.

“How’d it go?” he asks, voice low.

“About as fun as a dentist with feelings.” You fish the Metro receipt-bookmark from your book, wave it. “But I got homework.”

“Therapists love homework.” He shifts, pats the chair beside him that you’re about to vacate. “Good luck.”

“You, too.” You nod toward the closed door. “Raynor doesn’t bite, right?”

“She’s thinking about it.” His mouth twitches. “You really hate that book?”

“Detective’s got two brain cells, both fighting for custody. I’m gonna finish it just to spite him.”

“Want a recommendation when you’re done?”

“Only if it’s Christie.” You step backward toward the lobby doors. “I like the classics.”

He lifts two fingers in a mock salute. “Deal.”

The receptionist calls, “Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky pushes up, metal hand still hidden in the sleeve. As he passes, he murmurs, “see you next week, Y/N.”

Your pulse trips over itself. “Next week.”

---

Raynor doesn’t wait for him to sit. “Early again. You practicing small talk in the hallway?”

He drops into the chair. “Maybe.”

“How’s the loneliness doing?”

He thinks of a paperback clutched between your hands and the way your eyes lit when he said Christie. “Less loud.”

“That’s new.” Raynor flips her notepad open. “Let’s talk about it.”

---

A week later you’re back, five minutes early for once. Bucky’s already there—of course—thumb tapping a silent rhythm on his thigh.

“You beat me again,” you say.

“I’m competitive.” He nods to the paperback in your grip. “Finished?”

“Killer was the dog walker. I want my money back.”

He chuckles—actually chuckles. “Brought you this.” From his jacket pocket he produces a scuffed copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.

You take it, thumb the brittle spine. “Vintage.”

“So am I.”

You sit—this time in the chair beside him, not across. Your shoulders almost touch.

Receptionist looks up. “Y/N?”

You rise, clutching the book. “Hold my spot?”

“Always.” He watches you disappear behind the door, heart beating a little less like a war drum. Raynor will call it progress. He’ll call it something quieter: hope.

---

July heat’s worse a week later—New York humidity that sticks to your lungs. You and Bucky leave your sessions at the same time for once, shoulders brushing as the door swings shut.

“Raynor let you out early?” you ask.

“She thinks negative five minutes counts as progress.” He eyes the battered copy of Roger Ackroyd in your hand. “Any good?”

“Ten times smarter than last week’s disaster. Thanks for the rec.” You nudge his elbow. “Coffee? There’s a cart across the street.”

He squints at the sky. “Gonna melt anyway. Sure.”

---

The cart umbrella rattles in the breeze. You order an iced latte and Bucky sticks to plain drip, black.

“Old-man coffee,” you tease.

“Watch it, I’m sensitive.” He sips, winces. “So—you do the Sparky homework?”

“Yeah. She stared at me like I’d grown a second head, then fell asleep halfway through my monologue about rent.”

“Did you sleep any better?”

“Hour, maybe two.” You shrug. “But hey, progress.”

He nods, knocks a knuckle on the paper cup. “Nightmares kept me up. Raynor wants me journaling.”

“Journaling, narrating—therapists love verbs.” You dig in your tote, pull out a slim notebook. “Take mine. Blank pages intimidate me anyway.”

He turns it over. “Purple glitter stars?”

“Judge and I take it back.”

He clutches it to his chest. “No, no—precious now.”

Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it. A beat passes; his smile lingers. Something warm hangs between you—comfortable, tentative.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, tapping the notebook. “For the… sparkly lifeline.”

“Anytime, Barnes.”

You check your phone. “Gotta run—class in fifteen. Same time next week?”

He hesitates, then, “Actually—Raynor’s moving my slot. Thursday, four?”

You scroll your calendar. “I can swing that.” Smile. “I’ll bring a better bookmark.”

He salutes with his coffee. “Deal.”

---

The waiting-room AC’s broken. You fan yourself with your Metro receipt as Bucky strides in, hair damp from a shower that didn’t stick.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey.” He holds up the notebook—half the pages now filled. “Turns out journaling’s just talking on paper.”

“Therapists everywhere rejoice.”

The receptionist calls his name first this time. He freezes. “Switch with me?”

You shrug. “Fair’s fair. Go.”

He exhales, heads in. As the door shuts, you spot the corner of a page sticking out of the notebook—your name scrawled at the top. Your heart skips and you look away fast.

---

Bucky’s session is short—fifteen minutes. He steps out, cheeks pink.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Raynor… uh, suggested social exposure therapy.”

“Meaning?”

“Coffee that isn’t from a cart.” He scratches the back of his neck. “With a friend.”

You grin. “I know a place that sells donuts bigger than your hand.”

“Sound dangerous.”

“Live a little, Barnes.”

He offers an arm—the flesh-and-blood one. You loop yours through without overthinking.

“Hope they have purple-glitter donuts,” he mutters.

You snort. “Don’t tempt me.”

Street noise swallows the rest, but the silence between you feels easy, not heavy. Two insomniacs, two notebooks, one slow, stumbling orbit.

And maybe—just maybe—sleep won’t feel so impossible tonight.

---

You push the shop door open, tiny bell chiming. The smell of fried sugar and espresso hits like a hug. Bucky’s already at a corner table, sunglasses perched on his head, studying the menu like it’s classified.

“Morning,” you say, sliding into the seat across.

He looks up, relief softening his shoulders. “Saved you the last maple-bacon monstrosity.”

“You get a medal for that.”

“Working on it.” He nods at your iced coffee. “Still cold-brew loyal?”

“Ride or die.” You sip. “How’s the notebook?”

He pulls the purple-star journal from his jacket, thumb tapping the cover. “Halfway through. Raynor says I’m oversharing—‘but in a good way.’”

“Therapist code for ‘keep going.’”

“Yeah.” He hesitates. “I wrote about… the bridge dream. First time on paper.”

You lean in. “Any lighter?”

“Maybe a gram.” He flicks his gaze to the donut display. “Your turn—sleep narration working?”

“Managed four hours straight on Wednesday.” You raise the coffee in salute. “Progress.”

He grins. “Therapists everywhere rejoice.”

A server comes by to hand off the plates: his chocolate-glazed, your maple-bacon slab.

You rip off a chunk, point it at him. “So—social exposure therapy. How exposed are we aiming?”

“Raynor suggested a museum. Crowds, but no one expects small talk.”

“I’m free Sunday afternoon. Think you can handle the Met?”

He pretends to weigh it. “If they still allow grumpy ex-assassins.”

“Only if they don’t touch the art.”

“No promises.”

---

You both pause at a sarcophagus. Tourists swirl around, soundtrack of camera shutters. Bucky leans close. “Mummies have it figured out. Eternal rest.”

“Jealous?”

“A little.”

You smirk. “Try counting cracks in the ceiling. Works great.”

“Smart-mouth.” He nudges your shoulder. Metal—the sleeve’s rolled up. First time he hasn’t hidden it.

You glance at the vibranium, then meet his eyes. “Cool arm.”

He exhales—some tension you didn’t know was there. “Thanks.”

A kid nearby gasps, whispers to her dad. Bucky stiffens. You step slightly in front of him, blocking the view. “Ignore them. They’re staring at the arm, not you.”

“Same thing.”

You tilt your head. “To me it’s just… part of the package.”

He blinks. “Package, huh?”

“Don’t get cocky, Barnes.”

He chuckles, shoulders loosening. You wander onward, conversation dipping from art to worst cafeteria food, back to sleep tactics.

---

Apartment’s dark except for phone glow. Sparky snores at your feet.

Your screen lights: Bucky Barnes – New Text

“Tried narrating to Alpine. She walked off mid-monologue. Rude cat.” “You asleep?”

You smile, thumbs flying.

“Wide awake, obviously.” “Want to test a theory? Phone call, five minutes max. Talking’s supposed to tire the brain.”

Three dots… then your phone rings.

“Hey,” you whisper.

His voice is low, scratchy. “If this puts you to sleep I’ll be offended.”

“Then be interesting.”

He snorts. “No pressure.”

Minute one: weather complaints. Minute two: misheard song lyrics. Minute three: you yawn.

“Tired?” he asks, softer.

“Keep talking.”

He does—about the Met gift shop, how the snow-globe pyramids looked fake, how he bought one anyway.

“Why?” you mumble.

“For you,” he says. “Figured you could narrate to it when Sparky’s bored.”

Warmth floods your chest. “That’s… weirdly sweet.” There was silence for a few seconds, except his breathing. You blink, heavy-lidded. “Still there?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Don’t hang up yet.”

“Not planning to.” He pauses. “Sleep, Y/N.”

“Night, Bucky.”

Phone still against your ear, you drift. First dreamless night in months.

Bucky listens to your steady breaths, eyes finally closing. Tomorrow’s problems can wait. Tonight, two insomniacs found quiet on the same line.

---

Dr. Cole taps her pen lightly on the pad. "You seem brighter today."

You shift slightly, feeling oddly caught out. "Actually slept last night. Whole five hours."

She raises an eyebrow, gently amused. "And what changed?"

You consider the phone call, the quiet voice on the other end, and shrug. "I think talking helps more than I realized."

Dr. Cole nods knowingly. "Having someone listen tends to do that."

"Yeah." You pick at your thumbnail. "I might be figuring that out."

"Good," she says simply. "Keep figuring."

---

Bucky’s waiting outside when you finish, leaning against the brick wall in sunglasses and a worn ball cap. He pushes off as soon as you step into the sunlight.

"Stalking now?" you joke, nudging his shoulder.

"Just passing by." He falls into step beside you. "Coffee? I need advice."

"Advice?"

He grimaces. "Raynor wants me attending a group session next week. Apparently, that's my next exposure step."

You glance at him. "Sounds terrifying."

"It is. Hence the advice request."

You smile softly. "I don't do groups, but… you handled crowds at the Met fine."

"That was because of you." He shrugs one shoulder, eyes ahead. "You distract me."

Warmth blooms in your chest. "In a good way?"

"In the best way."

Silence lingers, comfortable this time. The coffee cart is in sight, heat shimmering off pavement.

"Maybe… I could wait outside the group room," you offer quietly. "Just for moral support."

He stops, turns to you, eyes bright behind the lenses. "You'd do that?"

You tilt your head, fighting a smile. "I’d even bring a bad detective book."

"Deal."

---

The hallway smells faintly like industrial cleaner. You’re on a metal folding chair, feet kicked up against the wall, paperback open in your lap, Sparky dozing at your feet.

The group-room door opens. Voices murmur, shoes shuffle. Bucky emerges last, eyes slightly wide, tension in his shoulders. He spots you immediately, relief clear.

You shut the book. "You survived."

"Barely."

"Anyone bite?"

"Only verbally." He nods at Sparky. "She allowed?"

"Emotional support dog," you deadpan. "Completely legit."

He crouches slowly, metal fingers gentle against Sparky’s fur. She yawns, entirely unconcerned. Bucky straightens, a genuine smile tugging at his mouth. "Thanks for waiting."

"Always."

You start walking toward the exit together, his pace matching yours easily. "Was it worth it?" you ask.

He exhales deeply. "Yeah. Sort of. I talked. Once. About nightmares."

"That’s huge."

"Didn’t feel huge."

"It will tomorrow."

He looks sideways at you, hesitant. "Can I… call tonight?"

Your heart thuds softly. "Every night if it helps."

"It does," he says quietly. "It helps a lot."

The sunlight fades gold over the city as you step outside. Bucky pauses, hands in his pockets.

"You know," he says carefully, "I started therapy because the government made me. I stayed because… I thought it was the right thing to do. But now—"

"Now?" you prompt softly.

"Now I'm staying because it led me to you."

You swallow, suddenly shy. "That’s… nice."

He chuckles gently, shaking his head. "Yeah. Nice."

You bump his shoulder. "Don't mock my vocabulary."

"Never." He smiles. "Call you later?"

"Better."

He watches you walk away, heart steadier than it’s been in months.

---

Your phone buzzes on the bathroom counter, vibrating against your toothbrush holder. You squint at the caller ID, toothbrush in your mouth.

Dad.

You spit toothpaste, rinse quickly, and swipe to answer. "Hey, Dad."

"Y/N," he starts, tone already tense. "Got a minute?"

You sigh quietly, gripping the sink. "I have therapy soon. Everything okay?"

He pauses. You hear him clear his throat—never a good sign. "Look, I just got your mail. Bill from the hospital came again."

"Yeah, they keep sending it even though I set up payments—"

"I read it," he interrupts, voice clipped. "You know how it feels to read 'psychiatric hold' on a bill addressed to my kid?"

You close your eyes, jaw tightening. "I didn't ask you to open it."

"You're my kid. Of course I opened it. Y/N, we never talked about it. You just went silent, moved on like nothing happened—"

"I didn't move on."

"Then explain it," he says sharply. "Explain why you'd do something like that. Was it us? Your mom? Me? You never gave us a chance—"

"Dad, please stop."

He doesn’t. "We raised you to be stronger than this, Y/N. What happened to you?"

Your chest aches. Tears sting your eyes, hot and furious. "I have to go."

"Y/N—"

You hang up, tossing the phone onto your bed. You sit down hard, head in your hands, breathing jaggedly until your lungs ache. "Fuck," you whisper, wiping at tears you don't want to fall. "Fuck."

Your phone buzzes again. You don't pick it up.

---

Bucky checks his phone again—fourth time in ten minutes. The receptionist taps at her keyboard, and the clock above ticks louder than usual. Still nothing.

He types out another quick message:

"You close? Saving you a seat."

Five minutes pass as his knee bounces. Another text:

"You okay?"

Raynor opens her office door. "Barnes?"

He stares at your empty chair, then back at her. "Can we reschedule?"

She frowns slightly. "Is something wrong?"

"I gotta check on something." He stands abruptly. "I'll call."

Raynor just nods slowly. "Alright. Call if you need anything."

He’s already out the door.

---

He knocks gently at your apartment door, listening closely. "Y/N?"

No answer.

Bucky knocks again. "Y/N, it's me. You missed therapy. Just checking in."

Silence. Anxiety creeps up his spine, icy and familiar. He tries the handle. Locked.

He pulls out his phone again, sends a text:

"Outside your door. Please open."

Nothing. He leans his forehead against the wood, closing his eyes briefly. "Please," he murmurs.

Then, faintly, your voice comes through: "It's unlocked now."

---

Your apartment’s dark, curtains drawn tight. Sparky is curled on the couch, lifting her head as Bucky steps inside. You’re sitting cross-legged in the corner of the couch, eyes swollen, a blanket draped over your shoulders.

"Hey," he says softly, approaching slowly. "Mind if I sit?"

You shake your head silently, eyes fixed on your hands.

Bucky sits carefully beside you, keeping a cautious distance. "You wanna talk about it?"

You don’t answer. He waits, watching your profile, noticing the tightness in your jaw, the subtle trembling in your hands.

"My dad called," you say finally, voice thick. "He got a bill from the hospital. From… a while ago."

Bucky nods slightly. "Didn’t go well?"

A shaky laugh escapes your throat. "He blamed me. Said… said they raised me stronger. Like I chose to be weak."

Your voice cracks on the last word. Tears spill over, quiet and unstoppable. "I didn’t choose this."

Bucky’s throat tightens. "I know."

"He asked what happened to me," you whisper, voice breaking. "I don't know how to answer that."

He moves closer, gentle and slow. "You don’t have to know right now."

You swallow hard. "I keep trying to be better. Therapy, homework, all the fucking talking—but it’s never enough." You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to—"

"Hey," he interrupts gently. "Stop apologizing."

You cry harder, trying to hold back sobs that spill through your fingers. He doesn't say anything more—just reaches out slowly, carefully pulling you against him. You tense at first, then melt against his chest. His arms circle you gently but firmly, his hand stroking your back as you tremble.

"You don't have to do this alone," he says softly, his voice steady in your ear. "I promise."

You nod, unable to speak. Sparky whines softly, shifting closer, pressing warmth into your side.

Bucky holds you until the tears slow, until your breathing evens slightly, his grip never loosening.

"You don't have to explain anything," he whispers finally. "Not to him, not to me—not until you're ready."

You sit up slowly, wiping your eyes, embarrassed. "Sorry," you whisper again.

He squeezes your shoulder gently, shaking his head. "No more apologies."

You sniff softly, leaning your head back against the couch. "I missed therapy."

"Cole'll forgive you. I skipped too."

You glance at him, eyes tired but softer. "They’ll kill us both."

"They’ll deal." He smiles gently, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "You hungry?"

You shake your head slowly. "Not yet."

"Then we'll wait." He leans back beside you, Sparky settling between you both. "We have time."

You let out a breath, lighter now. The ache still lingers in your chest, but it’s quieter, bearable. "Thank you," you whisper.

He looks at you, steady and calm. "Anytime, Y/N."

sparky is actually the name of my one of my dogs, so you can tell i'm super creative, lol. to lighten things up, here's a picture of her:

we've had her since i was in elementary, so like 12-14 years? she's also around the same age. we think she's have golden retriever, half chihuahua. i know that sounds insane but google that and look at the pictures - a few of them look exactly like her. she's a rescue, so we aren't sure about age, etc. anyways, thank you for reading!

[inkydelusions]

no because imagine spencer meeting his match with a yapper reader, except all you yap about is the silly little romance books you read. and you tell him all about the characters in them.

“omg, reid. and he just asked her who had done that to her, and when she told her he ran out to find the villain”

and he doesn’t understand the excitement half of the time. like, for example, that one time he was laying on the couch, watching a documentary, and he heard you squeal from the other room. he immediately ran to see what had happened and then you just answered that the protagonists had just arrived at the hotel and they had booked a room with just one bed by mistake.

“and that’s bad?” he asks.

“no, baby! that’s great!”

“then why the scream?”

he doesn’t get it. really. but still, he’ll sit down and listen to you yap for an eternity, enjoying the excited glint in your eyes as you squeal and flap your hands around. sometimes he’ll even surprise you and ask you about the characters you told him about.

“has he confessed his feelings for the nanny yet?”

“sadly, no. but he called her his wife in front of his coworkers so no one dared to mess with her”.

“but he hasn’t even told her he loves her?” i swear he’s so confused.

“i know, baby. i know”.

[momo-kageyama]

When the Silence Breaks

—————————————————————————

Anime: KPop Demon Hunters

—————————————————————————

Garam ( Mystery Saja ) x R.femele.

—————————————————————————

Mystery Saja is a human girl called Y/N, who is her complete opposite: hyperactive, dramatic, expressive - and who loves to sing and dance out of nowhere. The scene is full of contrast, comic tension, silent enchantment and a supernatural touch

Seeing Garam's eyes for the first time is a sweeping experience, almost supernatural, so beautiful, so impactful, that it leaves you groundless

You two realize that you love each other... at the same time. Nothing said before. Only accumulated tension, touches that didn't happen, repressed feelings - and then... boom, the two explode at the same time.

They are still opposites - you: alive, dramatic, noisy. He: quiet, observant, sensitive in silence.

But together... they are something unique.

—————————————————————————

—Abandoned subway station — Seoul underground, 2 am

The metallic echo of the failing lights mixes with the distant sound of a ghost train. Mystery Saja is there, alone, standing, in the middle of the deactivated platform. The shadows cover much of your face. His long hair falls like an opaque curtain, hiding the look that observes the space as if he already knew what will happen.

He is investigating a possible soul extraction point - a quick mission, no surprises. Until...

Y/N literally explodes from the darkness, spinning like a musical dancer.

- "I WANNA DANCE, THE MUSIC'S GOT ME GOING—!" - she sings in loud English, performing with her arms, spinning and almost stumbling on her own foot.

Mystery Saja retreats half a step. Without saying a word.

- "AH!" - Y/N stops abruptly, wide eyes. - "Young man?! Are you... hidden in the pitch or just training for the comeback?"

Silence. The hair still covers Mystery Saja's face. He doesn't answer.

She tilts her head dramatically.

- "Or are you a stalker?" - she asks, but smiles as if it were just another character she plays on the stage of life.

- "You look like an idol in disguise... But like... the dark concept. Like, very dark. Like, 'my heart is a wet cave where love was buried with coarse salt'.”

Mystery Saja gives a slight sigh - or maybe he just moved his left shoulder. It's hard to say. But he won't leave.

Y/N turns again. - "WHAT is it that you have in your hair? Is it a nest? Can I see your face? No, seriously... you're beautiful—”

Mystery raises his hand, in a calm and slow gesture, asking for silence. But it's almost kind.

Y/N for.

Blinking.

As if I were in shock.

For two seconds.

- "Do you speak with your hands???"

- "Are you like... magic mute? Because if it is, TEACH ME! I always wanted to be mysterious, like... 'she never talks, but everyone fears her'!"

She then dives into another theatrical performance. She makes a ninja gesture and begins to move as if she were in a dramatic boy group choreography.

- "Look, I learned that here watching Taemin's fancam."

And dance. In his face.

Mystery Saja doesn't move. But under the bangs, his eyes follow the movements. For a second, she swears she saw the corner of her mouth rise... almost a smile.

- "A-HA! I SAW THIS! You smiled! CONFESS!"

Total silence.

She approaches.

- "It's okey... I'll leave you alone."

Start walking, slowly.

Then sing softly:

- "But if you want to follow me, just clap once..."

PAH.

The dry sound of a lonely palm echoes.

She freezes.

Turn around, slowly.

Mystery Saja is in the same place.

But... his left hand, suspended in the air, reveals that he applauded.

- "... You're kidding me."

She smiles.

- "YOU HAVE PERSONALITY! I KNEW!"

Y/N runs to him.

- "Look, I don't know if you're a mysterious spirit, a misunderstood dancer, or a K-pop demon fallen into my world - but I officially declare that you will be my new project! 'Revealing the cute side of the mysterious emo'. It's going to pump."

She raises her cell phone.

Mystery Saja simply... turns her back.

But it won't go away.

And she understands.

He doesn't want to be seen. But you also don't want her to leave.

Then she sits on the floor, crossing her legs.

It begins to imitate his silent gestures.

Mirroring the arms, the shoulders, the head tilted.

After a few minutes, he turns around again.

Just watch her.

And slowly, very slowly, puts his index finger on his chest - a universal gesture that says:

"You're... different."

She smiles. Dramatically, of course.

- "You too."

———————

The subway lights fail again.

A ghost train crosses from behind, cutting the darkness with its greenish glow.

When the light returns, Y/N is alone.

But on the wall, painted with black fog and demonic magic, a mark appears:

A symbol of theater - half sad, half smiling.

She laughs.

- "There, emo silent... I liked you."

���————————————————————————

—Several meetings over the weeks, in secret places in Seoul

- The alley lit only by neon

You appeared dancing out of nowhere, with a pocket radio playing a Korean trot remix. I was trying to do a choreography that "mixed musical diva with capoeira fighter".

- "Do you see this kick? It's to send the negativity away!"

You're cute. The foot escapes.

You almost fell.

He catches you.

Without saying anything.

Just safe.

You expect a scolding. Or a chuck.

But Garam only holds it for a second longer than necessary.

And then, with a light touch on your hair, he fixes your messy bangs.

You blink, surprise.

He walks away.

But something stayed there.

————————

- The forgotten sanctuary at the top of the hill

You arrived late, disheveled and singing loudly:

- " LET LIFE TAKE ME - LIFE TAKES ME!"

Garam was already there, meditating.

He just sighs... but doesn't leave.

You dance around him. Make voices. Imitations of doramas.

- "Master Garam, why does the heart suffer so much?"

He raises an eyebrow.

And with a theatrical gesture, you collapse on your own arms pretending to cry.

He doesn't laugh.

But that day, when you finally shut up for 10 seconds...

He drew a small symbol on the stone, with demonic energy.

It was a little animal.

With weird hair and open arms.

A caricature of you.

You saw it.

- "Is it serious that you made a chibi of mine???"

He just turned his face.

But you saw the tip of his ear fly fly.

——————————

— Summer rain, deserted street

You showed up with a transparent raincoat, sunglasses and a flashlight.

- "IT'S THE PARADE OF THE STARS IN THE FORM OF PEOPLE! BAM!"

He jumped in the puddle of water.

The water splashed even on him.

Garam stopped.

He looked at the wet body.

Then, for you.

You froze.

- "E-ita. Sorry, it was... it was number 14 of my water soil!"

Silence.

So...

He passed by you.

Wet, calm.

And for the first time, he said something with a hoarse and low voice:

- "You don't match silence... but I like to hear what you don't say."

You crashed.

- "Wait, wait, do you speak?? YOU SAID IT!"

You stumble in emotion and fall on the wet floor.

Garam extends his hand.

And when you hold...

He holds on tight.

Firmer than before.

—————————————————————————

She's chaos. I'm silent.

She shows off to the world. I run away from him.

She dances without fear. I was made to stay still.

But when she smiles... I move unintentionally.

He starts watching you from afar when you're not together.

Find videos of you dancing on the street, making bizarre reels, imitating idols.

Laughing alone.

Being alive.

And without realizing...

He starts to smile.

—————————————————————————

- Secret stage

You drag him to an abandoned stage in the basement of a cultural center.

- "This time, it's your turn. Come dance with me."

He hesitates.

You're getting closer.

- "You don't have to be perfect. Just feel."

And you dance.

Slow, this time.

Dramatic.

He observes.

Take a step.

Then another one.

And finally, dance with you - not like a trained idol, but like Garam: silent, elegant, intense.

And in the end...

With the bodies stood, almost glued...

He leans his forehead against yours.

The eyes still covered by the hair.

And whisper, so low that only you hear:

- "You move me."

—————————————————————————

The night was quiet. An absolute silence hovered over the roof of the abandoned temple, where you and Garam had met, once again.

He was as always: still, his dark hair covering half of his face, his dense bangs protecting his eyes like a sacred veil. He was pure enigma. Untouchable. A marble painting.

You danced.

As always.

Not to impress him.

But because his body didn't know how to stay still.

Because the world was too intense not to be lived with movement.

And then... you stopped.

He felt.

Something changed in the air.

You turned around, slowly.

He was there.

This time... closer.

And with a slow and thoughtful hand, he moved his hair away from his face.

He revealed his eyes.

From that ethereal tone, impossible to name.

They radiated a dark light, sparkling like an eclipse.

It wasn't a color. It was a sensation.

Time has stalled.

You forgot what it was like to breathe.

The body frosted.

The heart melted.

The legs failed.

And then you whispered - low, honest, shocked with yourself:

- "... damn it."

- "I came."

An even greater silence fell.

Your face burned.

- "I MEAN... METAPHORICALLY! MY BRAIN CAME! MY... MY HEART!"

You threw yourself on the floor.

He shermed.

He hid under his own blouse.

- "OH MY GOD, DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD?"

Garam didn't say it.

But when you dared to look again...

He was smiling.

Not openly.

Not largely.

But the corner of his mouth was there.

Raised.

Subtle.

Accomplice.

And for a moment - just one - he tilted his face and murmured:

- "You always say exactly what you feel."

- "This is rare."

You shrank more.

- "AND YOU ALWAYS SHOW UP WITH THIS DEMON BEAUTY FROM VERSACE!"

He just smiled a little more.

Then, he knelt next to him.

Without saying anything, he stretched out his hand.

You faced it.

Then he laughed.

He put his hand on his.

- "If you show me those eyes again, I'll scream."

- "Like 'scream in five octaves'."

He replied, whispering:

- "Then scream."

—————————————————————————

—An old rehearsal room, covered with broken mirrors

The wooden floor creaks. The air smells of memory.

You're there.

Alone.

Or at least, you think you are.

You turn in the center of the room.

Make poses. Steps without music.

Dance with your breath.

When it stops, he realizes:

He's there.

Leaning against one of the columns, between cracked mirrors.

Watching you.

As always.

But today... he's not still.

He walks up to you.

Without looking away.

The eyes are visible.

Again.

- "Garam..." - you start, with a low voice, not knowing if you're going to speak or cry or sing a romantic song from the 90s just to break the mood.

He stops one step away.

Take a deep breath.

You too.

For a second, the whole time exists between you.

Everything that was felt and not said.

The hands that almost touched.

The looks turned away.

The unspoken "thank you".

The dances you pretended were just a joke.

He raises his hand.

You too.

Fingers almost touch each other.

And then, at the same time, in a weak, nervous, sincere whisper:

- "I love you."

You say it together.

Silence.

A shock.

His eyes widen.

His lips open in a nervous laugh.

- "DID YOU ALSO SAY? I SWEAR IT WASN'T PLANNED, IT WAS JUST—”

He pulls you.

With delicacy, but urgency.

And for the first time, Garam really hugs you.

With the whole body.

With all the feelings.

You feel his chest rise and fall.

Feel his silence saying everything.

And with your head on his shoulder, you say, softly:

- "My heart also dances, okay?"

He smiles against your hair.

And answer:

- "Now he dances with me."

—————————————————————————

—A hidden terrace at the top of an old building, night of clear sky

The city lights are flashing downstairs, but up here everything is quiet.

You and Garam are sitting side by side, without touching each other.

The wind messes up your hair.

His bangs fall over his eyes - as always.

You stayed there for a long time just... existing.

You talked about everything and nothing.

He made faces, imitated an idol getting sick on stage, danced twice without any music.

He laughed. Really.

A light laugh. A rare sound.

And then... silence arrived.

But it wasn't uncomfortable.

It was full.

You look at him.

He's already looking at you.

His bangs move with the wind.

For the first time, you see his eyes completely, without shadow, without filter.

The color - still impossible to describe - shines with something new.

Desire. Affection. Passion. Fear.

You whisper:

- "If you kiss me now, I'll explode."

- "Seriously. Become emotional confetti."

Garam doesn't answer.

He just leans.

Slow.

Mesmerizing.

His hand touches your face as if you were made of glass.

The touch is almost a whisper.

But his heat burns.

You hold your breath.

Time stops.

His lips touch yours as if they were testing the limits between dream and reality.

And then...

He kisses you.

Not in a hurry.

Not with despair.

But with depth. For sure.

Like someone who finally understood what the silence was screaming.

Your fingers close in his clothes.

His hands hold your face as if they wanted to keep you there forever.

When the kiss ends, you still have your eyes closed.

The heart hammering.

You laugh.

Shorty.

Panting.

- "It's. Confirm there: did this happen or was it a fanfic that my freaked out mind wrote in real time?"

He leans his forehead against yours.

And with a deep, low, hoarse voice:

- "If it's fanfic... I want the next chapter."

—————————————————————————

"Picnic on the roof"

You show up with a colorful towel, a bright pink lunch box and giant sunglasses.

- "Today we're going to eat in heaven!"

Garam only raises an eyebrow.

- "I know you don't need to eat, but it will be romantic. So pretend."

You sit on the roof of the Saja Boys headquarters. You serve heart-shaped onigiris, which clearly came out crooked.

- "I tried."

He takes one.

Eat. In silence.

Then, slowly, draw a heart on the top of your hand with your finger.

You die inside.

But smile. Silly.

And says:

- "You're cuter than me, and that annoys me."

—————————

TikTok banned (but he showed up!)

You are recording a video dancing "Feel Special" in the bathroom of Saja HQ.

- "Go, Garam, just a little step!"

He crosses his arms. Neutral.

You pout absurdly.

Pretend to cry.

Throw yourself on the floor.

He sighs...

And then, he enters the board discreetly, just taking that little side step.

The video goes viral.

The fanbase explodes.

"WHO IS THE GUY WITH THE HAIR IN THE EYE WHO DANCES LIKE A HANDSOME GHOST?"

You answer in the comments:

"MY BOYFRIEND. KISSES. HE'S REAL."

Garam just looks at the screen with a neutral expression.

But at night, he shows up in your room.

And whispers:

- "I liked dancing with you."

———————————

"Kisses hidden between the shows"

Between one rehearsal and another, when everyone is focused on the big screens...

He passes behind you, silent.

Just put your finger on your hand.

You turn around.

He pulls you into a dark corner.

And kisses you in a hurry, as if the world were going to end - but only for him.

Then he leaves as if nothing had happened.

You go back to the zonza stage.

- "DID SOMEONE WRITE DOWN THE KISS SIGN??"

—————————

"Rain and laughter"

One night, you are caught in a storm.

You dance.

He... leaves it.

You pull him by the hand.

- "If getting wet together is like... soul pact, you know?"

He just looks at you, wet, hair stuck to his face.

- "Do you want my soul?"

You answer:

- "I already got it. When I saw your eyes for the first time, remember?"

He holds your waist.

Kiss you right there.

In the rain.

In the middle of the street.

You scream with joy.

He holds your hand.

Strong.

Hot.

—————————

Short extras :

• You imitate him perfectly in front of the Saja Boys (with your hair covering your face and everything). He doesn't react. But then, he leaves a note: "I liked it. Your version of me smiles more. Maybe I'll learn from her."

• You steal his sweatshirt. He doesn't complain. Only show up the next day... wearing your cropped with bread print. You faint laughing.

• When you're sad, he doesn't say anything. Just lie down next to you and hold your hand. You cry. He's still there. Until the world comes back.

—————————————————————————

Garam's secret room - dark walls, starry ceiling with magical projections, amber incense in the air

You enter his space for the first time.

He never let anyone in there.

But today... he opens the door.

His hands touch your waist, guiding you inside.

Calm, as always.

But there's something different in the air.

In his eyes.

You feel it.

His body is too hot.

The short breath.

He closes the door.

You turn around, with a joke ready on your lips:

- "Is it my impression or is it getting hot here-"

He shuts you up with a kiss.

But not like the others.

This... doesn't ask for permission.

He takes it.

With the mouth, with the hands, with the body.

You retreat until your back hits the wall.

He holds you by the hip.

With his mouth on his neck, he bites.

You moan - surprise.

- "Garam...?" - you try to ask.

But what comes out of his throat is not a word.

It's a low growl.

Pure desire.

The mask fell off.

The silent, delicate man... is burning inside.

You laugh, nervous.

- "I-I thought you were shy-"

He tears his doubt with his hot tongue on the curve of his shoulder.

Your clothes fall.

Slowly.

Then in a hurry.

He lays you on the bed - huge, dark, fragrant with him.

His eyes shine with an intensity impossible to face.

You try to deviate...

But he holds his chin firmly and says, for the first time with a deep and raw voice:

- "Look at me."

And you look.

And see there everything he never said:

The desire, the love, the hunger, the devotion, the control that he kept for so long...

Exploding now.

He touches you as if he were decorating your body with his hands.

The fingers walk with demonic precision.

The mouth devours, then caresses, then bites again.

You moan loudly.

He smiles - satisfied.

Like a predator who waited for the right time.

You pull it, try to invert...

But he holds your wrists.

Firmly.

With possession.

- "Today, you are mine."

And you feel it.

His every movement, every attack, is firm, deep, burning.

He studies you, feels you, marks you.

There is no more silence.

The bed creaks.

The air smells of body and sweat and desire.

Their names come out as prayers.

Hours later, when you're lying on top of him, trembling body, heart racing...

You whisper:

- "You... you're a savage..."

He just runs his fingers through your hair and answers, panting, with a hoarse smile:

- "You set me free."

——————————

His body still trembles on top of him.

Sweat runs in slow lines down your skin.

The hair stuck to your face.

You are completely surrendered, surrendered.

But Garam...

He doesn't look away.

He's lying on his back, hugging you as if you were the most precious secret he kept for too long.

You whisper, with a tired smile:

- "Did you have this monster inside you all the time?"

- "And you just let go now?"

He puts his lips on your shoulder.

- "I didn't know it was a monster... until you opened the cage."

You feel your skin shiver.

He turns you slowly, putting you underneath again - in no hurry, but with intention.

His eyes burn.

But now it's different.

It's slower. Deeper.

He's hungry again. But now, emotionally.

His mouth runs through his body as if he were apologizing for everything he didn't say before.

His fingers trace the contour of your face, your chest, your belly...

He kisses every curve.

And when you moan softly, almost unconscious, he smiles.

The most real smile you've ever seen in him.

- "I like to hear your voice... when you're not pretending anything."

You answer:

- "And I like it when you talk. Even if it's just to drive me crazy."

He smiles more.

And then, slowly, it climbs over you again.

The hands hold your thighs.

The eyes glued to yours.

You ask, almost in defiance:

- "Again?"

He answers, with the deepest voice he's ever heard from him:

- "How many times can you stand it?"

——���—————

Hours later...

The dawn turned early in the morning.

You're wrapped up in his black sheets.

The soft body.

The soul flying.

Garam is sitting next to you, touching your fingers one by one.

Watching you.

You joke:

- "Are you going to curse me now? Like, arrest my soul with that demonic touch?"

He leans over.

Kiss your forehead.

Then the lips.

Then the center of the chest.

- "No. I'll just keep you here."

You hold his hand and touch your heart.

- "Too late."

—————————

Small post-first time moments:

• He watches you sleep. For the first time, he sleeps next to you without fear. And even in his nightmares... when he feels his hand holding his, he returns to the present.

Bath together. He takes you to the dark and warm bathroom, with steam and essences. Wash your hair patiently. You sing all the time. Just touch your forehead to your wet back and say:

- "Being with you is like listening to an infinite song."

• Kisses that break routine. In the middle of the day, in the middle of a corridor, out of nowhere - he pulls you, kisses you hard, without explanation.

You just say:

- "Garam, you're making me unaccustomed."

He answers:

- "It's the least. After what you showed me."

—————————————————————————

His dark room, the night, just the two of you

Garam is close to you, the air loaded with tension.

He looks at you with those hypnotic eyes, full of fire and desire.

His body is tense, like a predator waiting.

You feel his warmth, the unique, almost wild perfume.

He advances, whispering in your ear with a hoarse voice:

- "I can't... you drive me crazy."

You smile, hold his face firmly and say:

- "Garam, be quiet."

He blinks, confused for a second, then raises an eyebrow.

- "Quiet? Do you think it's easy, when I want you like this?"

You caress his hair, making him take a deep breath.

He tries to control his voice, but can only growle low, almost a moan.

You joke, biting your lip:

- "You look like a dog in heat, did you know? If it continues like this, I'll have to hold you on a collar."

He gives a mischievous smile.

- "If it's up to you, I'll accept the collar."

You laugh and press an intense kiss, almost telling him to shut up.

He surrenders, but his eyes say:

- "But I'll come back, and with more desire."

—————————————————————————

Inspiring name in the post of:

@filijester

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Music flows from unseen speakers. The boat rocks slightly as Nick makes his way back. You crane to see him as you lay on the beach blanket, the sun beaming down on the lazy stir of the waters. 

He lowers himself next to you and sighs. He bends his arms behind his head. You can’t help but notice how the muscles bulge, not just his biceps but his chest. He’s so perfect. 

He slowly turns his head to look at you. You wince and give a sheepish smile. He shifts onto his side, keeping himself propped up on one elbow and tickles along your side. 

“Come here,” he moves closer, his hand crawling along your stomach. “You look so good, baby, you know that?” 

“I... do? I mean—You do too.” You flutter your lashes as you stare at him. “Sorry, I...” you giggle and it sends a flurry through your guts. “I’m sorry, I—I—don’t know what to do.” 

You cover your face, mortified at the confession. He grabs your left hand and gently moves it away. You drop your other and stare up at the sky, just below the glare of the sun. He guides your hand to his chest. 

“You don’t have to do anything,” he drawls. “You just chill. Be you.” 

He pets your cheek with his knuckles. He leans in even closer. You lock up as your eyes meet his. They are even bluer than the sky. You gulp and he tickles down your throat. 

“Princess,” his lips brush yours. “I need you so bad.” 

“Oh,” you bat your lashes. 

“Can I have you? Pretty please?” He begs. 

“Ummm...” 

“All of you? Please. It hurts, baby. You don’t want me to hurt, do you?” He rubs his thumb along the front of your throat, his breath fluttering over you. 

Your heartbeat pounds like thunder. You press your fingertips into his chest and nod. Your tongue sticks the roof of your mouth and you cough out your answer. “Y-yes.” 

“Yeah? You want me too?” He rubs his nose against yours. “Tell me you do.” 

“I... I want you,” you pet his chest. “Nick, really, I do.” 

“Mm, I’ve dreamt of you saying that.” He growls and slides his hand up to the side of your head.  

His thumb and index form a vee around your ear as he cradles your skull. He tilts your head and kisses you. He plunges his tongue past your lips and groans as you close your eyes. Your heart races as the noise of the slapping waters and the music fade to a drone. 

The world zeroes in on you. Your skin is on fire, your blood is ice cold, and your nerves vibrate. You slip your hand up around his shoulder and moan into his mouth. You’ve never felt anything like this. You can feel everything so much. 

He turns his body as he smothers you. He slides his arm under your head as he turns his chest parallel to yours. His fingertips massage your scalps as he drinks you in. 

His pushes his pelvis against you, rocking slightly. He hooks a leg around yours and pulls it away from your other. He trails his hand down your neck and tickles along your chest. He gropes you as you feel along his neck, the tendons taut with his hunger. 

He lifts himself and plants his knees between your legs. He holds himself just above you as his lips slip away from yours. He kisses your cheek and jaw, pecking along your neck as you squirm. His breath sends shivers over you as he descends. 

He traces your collarbone with kisses and buries his face in your cleavage. He kneads you through the fabric and teethes at your skin. You moan as a whirlwind swirls behind your rib cage. You can hardly breathe. 

He nuzzles you as he follows the strap of the bikini behind your neck. He tugs until the ribbon slackens. You gasp and try to catch the top before it falls away. You cover your self as he licks the curve of your tit. 

“Princess,” he rasps and you look down at him. His eyes blaze up at you. “You said I could...” 

“I... yes,” your arms are stuck for a moment. They won’t obey. Finally, you peel your hands away. He purrs and dives back in. 

He flicks his tongue around your nipple and you squeal. The sensation tangles in your core. You heave and arch your back. 

You catch the back of his head and urge him on. Your fingers twine into the thick strands of his hair. You look down at him, lifting your head higher to see him, the silver threads in woven through shining in the sun. There's a flicker of doubt though it fades into the flames of his touch. 

He nibbles on your pebbled bud before he parts and tends to the other. You moan and drop your head down. You bend one leg as your cunt clenches needily. He laps and licks and nips as you melt into the blanket. 

He fondles your other tit as he drags his mouth lower. He leaves a smear of saliva along your stomach, teasing you as he wanders back and forth, nibbling at those places that make you twitch or whine. 

He traces the edge of your bottoms with his nose then tugs with his teeth. You gasp and wriggle as he snarls. He pushes the tails of the coverup away from your thighs and loops his thumbs in the ties along the side of the suit. You quiver and reach to stop him as a glimmer of doubt fogs your eyes. 

“Nick...” 

He hushes you as he pulls until the knots loosen. 

“Nick, please... I’m... scared,” you puff out. 

“Baby,” he slowly drags the suit down. Your hands shoot down to cover your pelvis. He tuts and catches them, pulling them away. “Why you scared? Huh? I’m not hurting you.” 

“I... I...” you stammer. 

You shiver even as the sun beats down and speckles your flesh with sweat. Even as you feel flames consuming you from within. Even as his warmth floods into you. 

“Hush, baby, I got you.” 

He pushes himself back and gets on his stomach. He frames your pelvis with his hands, his thumbs petting the short tuft of hair along your vee. He hums and bows his head, inhaling your scent and exhaling it back on you. His breath dampens the wiry curls. 

He buries his nose into you, rolling his head, and tilts back as his tongue swipes along your lips. You gape down at him as his eyes flick up to meet yours. He purrs as he delves deeper, his cool tongue gliding between your hot folds. 

You bite your lip and drop your head down as you moan. The melding of hot and cold flows through you, unfurling from your core. You twitch and dig your nails into the blanket beneath you. 

He spreads his tongue wide and drags it up your cunt, tasting you with a hum. The rumble that rises from his chest stokes the swelter inside you. You arch your back deeper, pushing into his mouth and push your heels down into the floor. 

His mouth laps loudly as he groans and growls rise from him. He feels around blindly and takes your hand. He puts his on his head. Instinctively, you urge him on, clutching him as you rock your hips. 

His tongue flicks around your clit and he teases lightly with his teeth. He seals his lips around your swollen bud and sucks. You cry out and spasm. You heave and thrust your chest out, your body contorting like an ocean tide. 

You yank on his hair as he tends to you. His hand crawls up your thigh, his other slipping beneath your bottom as he gropes you. He tickles your leg up to the crease of your cunt. 

He moves his head in tandem with his tongue. He eats you up as he pokes along your entrance. He rubs you as the slickness glosses over his finger. He grunts as his finger dips into you, as if surprised by how easy it is. 

He pushes in, just the tip, then draws back out. He smears around your juices then delves back in. A little deeper. He pulls in and out, further with each plunge. You quake and clasp onto his head with both hands. 

His tongue circles your clit as the pressure pulses in that one spot. He curls his finger inside of you, rocking his hand slightly as the weight thrums. You gulp and gasp, fighting to catch your breath.  

You tear your hands from his head and slap your palms on the floor. You lift your head and shoulders and squeal as the tension bursts and spills from your core. He keeps going, guiding you through your orgasm as you writhe and whimper. 

You fall back down, panting, legs quivering, heart thumping. He turns his head back and forth, rubbing his beard against you as he hums. He drags his chin along your folds and slowly raises himself up to look at you. The dark hair along his jaw glistens with you. 

“Mm, princess, you’re so sweet,” he growls and licks his lips. 

He looks down, his finger still inside you. He pulls it out and flicks it between your folds. He trails back to your entrance and presses another fingertip there. He wiggles two fingers into you. You groan and reach weakly to stop him, barely grazing his forearm. 

“Please,” you murmur. 

He pushes in to his knuckles. You bend your legs as he kneels between them, watching his hand as he wiggles his fingers inside you. He turns his hand and puts his thumb to your clit. You squeak. 

He tilts his hand steadily, falling into a rhythm. He squeezes so the heat twists between his fingertips. He bends over you, hand still moving, and he kisses you. You can smell and taste yourself on his lip. You shudder and run your hands along his shoulders and down his arm. You squeeze his bicep and moan into him. 

Your walls clench him as you cum again. You nearly bite his tongue as the waves crash down and consume you. Your turn your head and he presses his lips to your cheek. He chuckles as he feels you clinging to his fingers. 

“Baby, you’re doing so good,” he slithers. “Huh, that feel good?” 

“Yessss,” you drone as your lashes flutter. 

“Mmm, good girl,” he kisses you before he sits up again. 

He slides his fingers out of you and wipes your juices down your leg. You lay weak and quivering, the coverup is wide open around your naked body, the bikini hanging below your chest, the bottoms crumpled between your thighs. Each breath rises and falls heavily. 

He raises himself on his knees and hooks his thumbs under his waist band. You stare. You can’t look away. He stretches it away from his body and around his rigid length. He pushes them down his thighs and stands to strip entire. 

His dick bobs before him as he looks down at you. You stare at it. It’s... well. You think it looks pretty big. You peek down at your body and put your legs together. You don’t think it will fit. That though makes your stomach ripple. Inside? 

He gets back to his knees next to you. He takes your hand and pets your knuckles. He kisses them as he caresses your palm. He examines it like something precious as he pushes it flat. 

He guides your hand down to his dick as he kneels beside you. His chest strains as he curves your fingers around him. Thick, firm, the veins swollen and hard against your palm. He pumps you down and back to his tip. He quakes against the motion. 

“Mmm, princess, do you feel how much I need you?” He growls. 

You blink and nod as he keeps your hand moving slowly; down, up, down, up. 

“Slow, like that,” he purrs. “You keep going, baby. Gotta make sure we’re both ready.” 

He drops his hand away from yours and looks down. He watches you play with him. You see how his stomach tightens as he braces his thigh. He groans and chews his lip. 

Your gaze falls to your hand. You’re enthralled by the sight of what you’re doing to him. You squeeze harder and he groans. His breath juts out of him in short puffs. His nails dig into the muscle of his thigh. 

“Yeah, like that,” he goads. “Just a little more...” 

[archivesctrccio]

religion was taught.

୨ৎ pairing.. butcherqueen x reader.

୨ৎ warnings.. bad ending(?), religious guilt, major character death.

୨ৎ words.. 614.

✎ᝰ. jinx notes.. I don't know what I was planning with this one? 😿 but I liked it. I wanted to write something very dramatic, but short.

In a town that smelled of smoke and old confessions, built on the bones of women who dared too much, girls were taught to sew silence into their skin. To cross their legs. Bow their heads.

And never—never—question authority.

You lived like a ghost inside your father’s chapel. Your mother had died giving birth—"a blood price," the priest had once muttered, drunk and grieving. You never forgot it.

By day, you prayed. By night, you bit your tongue until it bled.

Then came Lottie—the poet with ink-stained fingers and eyes that had seen too much. She moved into the old cottage near the edge of town, a place people avoided. They said the trees whispered there. She heard it. She didn't care. She just wrote.

Lottie met you during a sermon. You looked up from your hymnbook and she was staring—not the way men did, but as if she were a story worth reading.

You spoke for the first time under the old willow near the cemetery.

She asked you what you prayed for.

You lied.

She didn’t press.

You met in secret. In fields. In attics. In the hush between heartbeats.

Her lips tasted like ink and defiance.

She kissed you softly at first, like asking a question.

Then harder, like demanding the answer. And your whole body shook with guilt.

“You don’t understand,” you said, eyes wet. “I’m not supposed to want this.”

“But you do,” Lottie whispered.

And then came Shauna.

No one remembered her arriving. One day the pews were empty, the next, she sat in the back, watching. Her beauty was impossible—wrong in a way that made your heart stop. She smiled with teeth too sharp for this world.

you knew what she was the moment your eyes met.

The devil didn’t wear horns. She wore torn jeans and grief like perfume. She looks like someone you might have loved in another life, or maybe this one. Her beauty was unnatural—wrong in a way that made the hairs on your neck rise.

Her smile wasn’t kind. It was knowing.

“You think your shame is holy,” Shauna said to you, the first night you were alone. “It’s just fear dressed in a cross.”

you began to love them both. Lottie made you feel alive. Shauna made you feel like fire. Between their arms, you were something more than a priest’s quiet daughter. You were whole. But nothing that holy survives in a town like theirs.

One morning, Lottie’s cottage burned. They said it was an accident. It wasn’t.

Shauna found you trembling in the ruins, smelling of ash and prayers.

“I tried to be good,” you sobbed. “I tried to kill the part of me that loved her.”

Shauna touched her cheek. “You don’t kill love. You bury it alive.”

The next Sunday, you walked to the altar while your father preached. You looked at the crucifix, then turned to the congregation.

“I am not sorry,” you said.

Your father struck you before you finished the sentence.

You woke up in the chapel’s basement, tied and shivering. There were prayers above you—shouted, desperate. And there was Shauna, sitting in the dark with glowing eyes.

“I can save you,” Shauna said. “But it won’t be the kind of salvation they preach about.”

“I lost my soul,” you whispered, as if it were a secret, or a sin. "the day i choose love."

So you took Shauna's hand.

By morning, the church was nothing but embers.

And if you walk near the ruins now, the wind sometimes carries a poem:

"She kissed the devil to be free,

and burned the cross that caged her heart.

God never came. But she did."

taglist: @moesthoughts

[madhels-enby-boyfriend]

Things I wish made it from the Chicago to the Broadway version, ranked in no particular order:

-“and then I’ll win 😎” (at the end of that was then, this is now). I feel like that added such a great insight into what Helen’s ultimate goal is, to win this perpetual game/competition she has with Madeline, that’s far more important than her own happiness or whether or not she actually loves Ernest. It’s what the song ends on, the most important take away, Helen wants to win. It’s another little reminder that Helen isn’t just a helpless victim in this, but also is actively trying to do any and everything to make Madeline jealous, to win this game.

-Madeline’s little sword in Tell me, Ernest for no particular reason, it just made her even more insane and I love a crazy woman

-Helen’s little baret at the start of the show cause it made her look even cuter

-“Let’s buy a boat in Hawaii and name it ‘she’s dead’! I think it’s cute or is that too on the nose?” (Let’s run away together). It makes Ernest panic singing “let’s buy a boat in Hawaii and name it ‘we’re murders’” (Confrontation) so much funnier to me and I love a little throwback (even if it’s only like 5 minutes later).

-I know I’ve said this before but the conversation they have after Ernest fixes them up, where Mad confesses that she’s always been jealous of Helen, it gives her character a little more depth and gives her a motivation beyond “admit you called me trash behind my back my whole career” (Hit Me) which makes little sense cause in Tell me, Ernest, Tell me, Ernest-reprise, and at the start of the show we watch Helen do it right to her face. They also talk about old times and we get a glimpse of what they were like when they were a little less toxic and happier and it also helps provide an answer to the question why Helen keeps going back to Mad (other than being in love and obsessed with her). Like she clings to these memories and maybe even hopes that it could be like that again. In that moment she even asks: “Mad, why couldn’t it have always been like that? We had such fun.” In that same conversation Hel apologizes and Mad is like ‘why are you apologizing, I’m the one that was a bitch’ (paraphrasing) and like there we see the first little moment of growth, like she’s owning up to it. Honestly I just miss that entire conversation like it’s a much needed softer moment with still plenty of humour in it and I love a glimpse of young madhel. Anyway I will forever be in mourning about this.

-“I don’t wanna go back in the bag 🙂‍↔️😨” “You want people to see you like this?” “Put me back in the bag!”

-H: “I’ll go get the car.. do you have the keys? 🙄”

E: “I don’t have them.”

H: “Well I don’t either.”

*Madeline’s arm shoots out of the bag to hand Helen the keys*

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely think the Broadway version is better overall, and I’m happy about most changes, but the Chicago one was the first one I watched so it’s a little sentimental for me (also I do think that one conversation could have added something to the story).

[lilyw0lf]

I think I'm missing some context, but I've been seeing a bit of controversy about the LU and LoZ fandom this past couple of days and I'm pretty sure that this issue comes from way back.

And I just want to say that most of the people that I've met in this fandom are so sweet and welcoming. Maybe I was just fortunate to interact with the right people, but I know for sure that those little interactions have been what makes me love this fandom so much. I think a healthy community is even more important than the source material when it comes to shape one's vision of a fandom, at least for me.

I must confess that I've been a lurker for most of the time that I've been here, mostly because my own fear of giving my opinion or asking questions that could seem dumb and not wanting to go out of my confort zone. That said, I couldn't have been more wrong.

If you are new to a fandom, and not just LU or LoZ, any fandom, or even if you've been here for a while and you are just a fellow lurker I want to tell you:

Don't be afraid of interacting with other people

Don't be afraid of giving your opinion

Don't be afraid to create

Don't be afraid to share

And don't be afraid of asking questions

I can't promise you that you won't encounter a jerk sometimes, but mostly you will find great people willing to share their own opinions and knowledge with you. Who knows, you might meet some of your greatest friends that way.

The interactions between people are what define the hearth of a comunity. And that's why I want you to always try to be polite and treat everyone with kindness first.

Don't impose your own headcanons to anyone, hell don't even impose canon, people love to create and go wild with their own imagination and if that makes them happy let them be happy.

You can always share your knowledge about the games, LU or whatever you want, but please do it politely. The other person might not realise that their take on a character or story is not canon or they might know and just want to ignore it. And that's alright too, at the end of the day we are here to have fun. You can share your own headcanons if you want.

If you don't like something or a person is just being straight rude, then you can always block them, you have all the right to do it. But please try to make sure you don't become the one that's rude with others without reason.

Also about the games, you don't have to have played to every game to interact with the fandom, you don't have to have played to any of them if you want. You can just have read the comic and that's totally fine, like I said earlier if you want to know about something just ask politely, really don't be afraid to ask. And to the people that answers please don't be rude about it. Most people don't have the money or the time to play every game, but that doesn't mean that they can't learn about them if they are interested.

Don't assume anything about anyone, for all you know you could be talking with a literal child that just found something that seems cool and is so excited to learn more about it or to share their own stuff with others. And how would they feel if the first reaction they got to their question or opinion was a negative one? And not just children, anyone who wanted to interact with a fandom and just got rude reactions would probably just want to go away and not even want to keep learning about the thing that had them so excited. So please, please always try to be mindful with others, you don't know their circunstances, kindness shoud always be tried first.

And mostly to new users but this goes to everyone, about taging no LU stuff as LU, please if you are not sure try to check the original tags before reblogging. It takes just a few seconds and is the best way to avoid confussion and innecesary arguments. On the other side, if you see someone misstaging let them know, but please do it politely, they might be new and not understand how the tagging works.

What I want to say with all of this is please always try to be kind, everyone has their own circunstances. Don't let issues like these that can be easily avoided rot the core of a beautiful comunity. You'll find some people that are just jerks, is unavoidable on any group of people, but don't let them make you become one of them, just block and keep living your life. Most people are sweet and great and it's a pity if you miss out on everything good just because a few idiots.

[sillydeimos]

in your eyes (or smth) how did Hank and Jeb get together, and stuff

aouh. in my mind this question has like ten different answers all depending on the day. i will attempt to be brief, (1/356) under a readmore just because im shy (kicks at the ground) (edit: oh god i started rambling)

obviously(to me anyway) it's a slowburn kind of romance, the worst but also best kind. it makes sense because i think these two have gone several years of one-sided despising, one sided not caring, forming into somewhat mutual obsession. my dark evil woke opinion is that jeb would absolutely come to the realization of liking hank (romantically) first and being so mad at himself for it, his hubris and complex mixing together into some concoction of... romantic feelings. he honestly struggles with it for a long time, not even sure if that's what he's feeling or if it's some variation of hate-fueled obsession just changing his brain chemistry and now he's overthinking things. basically jeb has a gay crisis and hank is standing to the side thinking about selling a car or some shit.

i've always thought that since jeb is always forward and confrontational, that maybe he wouldn't really have a problem with telling hank these feelings, as awkward as it would be. but the other part of me thinks that maybe jeb has this secretive nature weird impulse to hide things if he thinks he'll get hurt for it (prolly leftover paranoia from nexus)

honestly when i think about it more i feel like i don't really have a concrete like, 'when' it happened, it feels like one of those things that they sort of naturally slip into overtime, a weird desire to want to be around each other and... NOT kill each other and bicker (well, they still bicker but it's a lot less leading to stabbing each other. hey that's progress.)

i do like to entertain the thoughts of jeb dramatically confessing hank maybe while they're stabbing and killing each other or something and hank like just doesn't really know what to say to that. it sounds so mean but i feel like even in any context hank just doesn't know what to say to jebs feelings besides just "...okay." mute indifference. but not rejection!! it intrigues him more then anything, makes him ask questions like if he can pull out all the threads from jeb's brain he can figure out the shape of him in his mind.

kind of a very "i'm in love with you but i don't even like you." at least from jeb's side anyways. not to say that hank is wholly unemotional and harbors no feelings whatsoever... but i always get extra extra worried i'll write hank out of character and get a bad grade in hank writing.

[jessicas-pi]

OOOOH an ask game? Don't mind if I do! (I'm allowed to ask this anonymously, right?)

Characters: Sabine and Ezra (what can I say, I am a hopeless Sabezra shipper 💕) and background Kanera would be neat

Prompt: Percy Jackson AU! (if you're into Percy Jackson. If you're not, just something mythology-based)

I must confess, my entire knowledge of Percy Jackson is summed up more or less in this one post, so that's nooooot really my area of expertise 😅 HOWEVER!!! I do in fact have a mythology-ish based AU well ok technically it's an AU of a semi-mythology-inspired film that's been spinning around in my head for a while and it's got both ships in it so here ya go! :D

---

This had been the worst week of Ezra's whole life.

(Well... second-worst week, maybe.)

(That whole Pompeii deal had been a real bummer.)

His half-brother and closest friend was dead. He was on the run for his life, searching for a goddess who was also almost certainly dead. He'd almost drowned himself on the way to the island Kanan had told him to find. Then one of the native residents had dragged him out of the ocean—and promptly took him prisoner. Now he found himself being led through the city with his hands bound in front of him, on his way to who-knows-what.

The architecture was cool, though. It reminded of him the time his parents brought him to visit Rome, way back when.

A yank on the rope binding his hands made him trip on his own feet, and he stumbled.

"Keep up," the scarily buff, armored, middle-aged woman holding the other end of the rope ordered.

"I'm keeping up!" Ezra argued, feeling more than a little annoyed at all the fuss. "You don't have to drag me! I just came here to—"

"We know," the two warriors on either side of him said in unison, their voices menacing and irritated.

Right. Maybe he'd been repeating himself a bit.

Ezra kept his mouth shut as they led him through a city that looked like it had been raised from the glory days of Athens—though admittedly the glory days of Athens were before his time—and into a small amphitheater.

A woman with sleek black hair and a furred cloak was standing on the other side, arms crossed, looking down imperiously at him.

Her.

It had to be her.

Forgetting himself for a second, he stepped forwards past the women warriors and approached the queenly woman.

"Hi! I'm Ezra. You must be—"

A hand seized his shoulder and forced him down onto one knee and a fierce, feminine voice barked:

"You do not approach the Queen as equals!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" he winced, offering a bow that he hoped would placate the woman. "I'm Ezra. A friend sent me here."

The Queen looked down at him for a second longer, then nodded to one of the scary ladies out of his line of sight. "Bind him."

"Wha—bind me? I'm already tied up! And I'm—what the—"

Another rope was looped around his torso and drawn tight, and Ezra nearly jumped out of his own skin as it started to glow. "Ah! Is that supposed to happen?! What is this thing?"

A new voice—female, like all the others, but startlingly youthful, and right behind him—spoke, answering his question.

"The lasso of Hestia compels you to speak the truth."

"I am speaking the truth, darn it!" Ezra nearly spat, craning his neck to look up at the girl on the other end of the rope. She'd dropped to one knee to loop the rope around him, and was at eye-level, just behind him. "I didn't come here... to... lie...e...e..."

He trailed off as he got a good look at her face, and did a double take, then grinned.

"Oh, hey! It's you!"

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Uh, thanks for saving me, by the way," he said, the words spilling out of him unexpectedly. "I didn't get a chance to say that before you tied me up." He blinked a few times, squinting past the bright sunlight directly behind her, and blurted out— "Wow. You're really pretty."

She ignored his words and looked up at the Queen with a dry smile: "Well, it's working."

The Queen stepped forwards, descending a step towards him. "Who is this friend you claim sent you here?"

Words choked in his throat, and the ones that came out weren't the ones he meant to say.

"My brother."

The Queen raised her eyebrows and said nothing at all.

"My—half-brother. One of them. I have—a lot of them. Or—had. They—mostly died. We all have the same father."

The girl holding the freaky glowy rope spoke up. "You're a demigod, aren't you?"

He swiveled his head to stare up at her in astonishment. She tilted her head to one side impassively, but explained her conclusion.

"No mortal has eyes like yours." She raised an eyebrow. "Zeus?"

Ezra pushed past the surge of anger and nodded once. "Zeus."

"My condolences," the girl said, and she sounded genuine. "What disguise did he use on your mother? Swan? Bull? Sentient flame? Another god?"

Ezra scowled. "Does it matter?"

"Not really, but I'm making a list of reasons we're glad he's dead, if you want to contribute."

"In that case, he impersonated her husband."

Her eyes widened and she whistled softly. "Oh, that's low."

"I know."

"You must be one of his youngest," she said, resting an elbow on her knee and tilting her head to one side, holding the rope loosely in one hand. "You can't be more than two thousand."

Ezra managed a laugh. "Ah, I stopped counting after the first eight centuries."

"And you've been living out there this whole time? On your own?"

"More or less. Also, you probably shouldn't hold the rope like that; I could escape really easily."

"You said you weren't here to hurt us."

"I'm not. It's just the principle of the thing."

She gave him an amused look. "You couldn't take me, anyway."

"Not with all those knives, no. Hand-to-hand..." He shrugged. "I might."

The girl leaned a little towards him, a spark in her eyes to match the half-smirk on her face. "You wanna try me?"

Ezra returned the look with a grin of his own. "Why not? I've got time to kill."

The Queen cleared her throat loudly, and Ezra jumped. He'd forgotten, momentarily, where he was. The Queen and most of the warriors were staring at them with unimpressed and occasionally disgusted looks—and the rest of them were looking away, clearly trying not to laugh.

Well. That was embarrassing.

"If you're done..." the Queen said, her glare directed more towards to girl than Ezra.

The girl winced and looked away, mumbling: "Sorry, Mother."

Mother?

The Queen was this girl's mother?

Then that meant the Queen wasn't the one Ezra was looking for.

Ezra cleared his throat and tried again. "My brother sent me here to find someone. My brother told me that if anything ever happened to him, I was supposed to go to Themyscira and find... ah... Hera."

There was a soft murmur of voices around him and the crowd shifted, and he could swear he felt the glowy rope tense slightly.

The Queen shook her head. "Hera is dead, just like the rest of the gods."

Ezra nodded, and tried to gesture with his arms, forgetting for a second that they were bound. "That's what I thought, too! But Kanan always said, go to—"

"Kanan?"

The singular voice gasped aloud from the back of the crowd, and instantly, all else fell silent.

The gathering of women parted, and a single warrior moved forward—shining in golden armor, with dark hair twined back in two braids and luminous green eyes.

Immortal eyes.

Even the Queen moved back as the woman brushed through the crowd and knelt before Ezra.

He looked at her, and knew.

"You did survive," he exhaled. "You escaped the slaughter of the gods, too."

She shook her head.

"The Queen of the Gods is dead. But she created me as her own—and I have her name." She seemed to swallow some emotion down. "You came here to find me?"

Ezra nodded.

"Because—something happened to Kanan?"

"We were trying to protect a town from soldiers. We hadn't realized how many there were. Kanan—held them off. He didn't..."

Hera squeezed her eyes shut and nodded her head, and the Queen's daughter reached out, touching Hera's arm with gentle sympathy.

Ezra got the feeling there was something going on that he didn't understand.

"You... knew... Kanan?" he asked hesitantly.

"Once. Long ago." Hera exhaled slowly, and opened her eyes. "Before Themyscira was sealed away... I was his wife."

[dilly-dahlia]

hi everyone! welcome to my milestone event!! I recently reached almost 300 followers and decided it was about time to celebrate that

first and foremost i want to thank everyone that has followed or interacted with me. it truly means the world to me that y'all are part of this community i have and enjoy being here. i'm over the moon that you guys like my writing and the silly stories because i love writing and coming up with silly stories :)

FANDOMS: aphmau, epic the musical

DATES: June 23 - Aug 9

event masterlist | main masterlist

before you jump in, check out my blog rules !

event rules !

✿ first and foremost, all of my usual blog rules apply

✿ this event is open for any character x reader!

✿ if you only give me the name of a character then i won’t answer your ask! I need a little more than that to get going for this event, which is why I’ve added prompts in the first place

✿ if you want more than just the vague prompt then add it! tell me if you want it to be angst or fluff or hurt/comfort or whatever other trope strikes you

✿ there is also not a limit for each prompt! more than one person can recommend the same song as the different fics will likely be titled differently, so don’t worry about any spots already being taken!

✿ i will not be a machine in churning requests out guys. i’m still a person with a life and i want to take time putting effort into each fic so they’re crafted with love and turn out the way i want. that takes time, so don’t rush me. and if you know anything about me, it’s that i like to take a lot of words to get to the point

✿ lastly enjoy! this is an excuse for me to indulge further into my hobby so make it an excuse for yourself as well :)

THE PLAYLIST !

below is a list of songs accompanied by vague prompts that I think are good fits for the music. just send an ask into my inbox—be sure to include the character and universe you want it written for, as well as any other intricacies (ie. what kind of reader, what season, etc.)! and if you want to request a song listed but have a different idea for the prompt, add that to your ask! also, these are full length fics

Beautiful Stranger Laufey - two strangers. the possibilities in front of them are endless.

so american Olivia Rodrigo - you’ve never been more in love than when they point out the little things.

Strawberry Mentos Leanna Firestone - you realized they were the one when they got you your favorite candy. or, alternatively, what they did for you to realize you were in love.

Good Looking Suki Waterhouse - learning about your partner. the little things—what makes them so irresistible to you.

Welcome to New York Taylor Swift - moving to a new place always has its highs, and you love all of them.

Silver Lining Laufey - through thick and thin, the two of you will follow each other no matter what

Backyard Boy Claire Rosinkranz - your classic “boy next door” vibes. that youthful love that always leaves an imprint on your heart.

Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince Taylor Swift - rivals to lovers. everyone can see the chemistry. everyone but you and them.

add your own! - in your ask, recommend me a song followed by your own prompt! be sure to add the character you want it to be written for and any tropes you want.

THE FOOD !

below is a list of different things to make headcanons about. these are just vague ideas, so feel free to put a little spin on them. again, make sure you specify the character(s) you want and the universe.

general dating headcanons

if they were in an au, what would they be like?

how they confessed

alternatively, who confessed first?

first date

love languages

when and how did they realize they like you?

how they react to something

send in your own!

THE CONVERSATIONS !

this is sort of a freebie category where you guys can ask me any questions about myself or anything else! anything you wanna know about me like music tastes, favorite movies, hobbies, about what i’m planning to write, plans for my rewrite, etc. this is just an open category!

alright! i hope you guys enjoy this event and once again thank you so much from the bottom of my heart for showing love and support. it truly means the world to me because it makes me believe i have a genuine shot at the things i’m passionate about. so thank you

[crappy-tsbs-confession-blog]

Some dumbass (who I'm not allowed to name for legal reasons, but let's just say his name starts with a ☀️) decided to make one of these shitty little confession blogs. Whoo-hoo good for fuck-all him and their happy little family.

Well, some other lovely striped individual decided that would be a "great idea" and help us "connect with the community". Unfortunately, other's on the staff agreed and so now I'm here to make sure they don't burn this to the ground. Can't trust those idiots as far as I can throw them.

I don't wanna be here any more than you want me to be here. I don't care. I'm here now, this is supposed to be "good for revenue" or some stupid thing like that, and stars knows we could use the publicity. So let's set up some ground rules so everyone plays nice.

The Rules

No name-dropping. No vaguing. No harassment.

You can vent about discourse, but if I don't like the vibe you're giving I'm gonna call bullshit. "Treat people the way you want to be treated" or some shit.

I am under no contract to keep my opinion to myself.

Harassment in reblogs/comments/etc will be screenshotted and then you'll be blocked. Don't do it.

Don't claim something is canon if it isn't. And vice versa. Don't claim something that's canon is "just someone's headcanon"

I'm not gonna entertain any bullshit behavior, if you're gonna be here I expect you to act like an adult.

You can send asks about myself, I don't really care, but keep in mind that I am not the same Eclipse from your silly little show. Even if there are similarities we are from two different dimensions. Do not assume you know me personally just because you know him.

Ships and characters will be tagged appropriately.

#tsbs confessional - confessions #shitting in the playground - character and ship hate #prying eyes - asks about myself #plex things - posts about the plex and such

Lore Archives

Connections: Computer - Bloodmoon - Charlie - Earth - Finley - Foxy - Ballora - Killcode - Lunar - Miku - Moon - Nexus - Orion - Puppet - Ruin - Sirius - Solar - Solar Flare - Solstice - Sunrise

[krazieka2]

I've played the Fire Emblem Husbando Dating Simulator Games

[luck-of-the-drawings]

"I think this is the most inhuman; and human, that I've ever felt.." MUCH CAN HAPPEN IN A YEAR. IN FIVE YEARS. A DECADE. imagine how much can happen in a century. just ONE (1). How will you grow? what phases do you find? even in 5 years, you will find patterns.

[magpod-confessions]

Posting here because I, quite frankly, fear the short Jon anon.

I picture Jon as being average height and the perception of how tall he is changes based on the context. Like:

season 5 monster Jon: 5’8 is tall

While being kidnapped: 5’8 is short

(Not in a magic way but in a his demeanour makes him look smaller/bigger depending on the situation way.)

Oh this is fun as hell. I like short Jon a lot but this is rly fun

[sludgekludge]

What's your thoughts on Octavia?

she sure does exist

ok real talk, she's inoffensive, but not really a character archetype i care for, the moody goth teenager. i don't hate her though and her situation strikes a chord. brandon (i believe? correct me if im wrong) calling her a cockblocking bitch or whatever was like. kind of insane and offputting. she's in a really sad situation with a shitty dad but the narrative is so determined to defend stolas over everything and now she's in the wrong for being upset over it? gonna use this to jump off and ramble about stolas abandoning his daughter at every turn because i don't really have much to say about via on her own and i've wanted to complain about this like, forever

like 'stolas is a good dad!' when he:

actively has an open affair in front of her that seems to have kickstarted constant fighting between her parents. stolas does not seem to comfort or communicate with octavia over this whatsoever until she literally runs off crying over it in loo-loo land. even then, he's still fixated on specifically blitz protecting him. go look after your fucking daughter instead of whining about the bodyguard you don't need, dude.

tangentially, invites his affair partner (a stranger that is playing a part in actively disrupting octavia's life and relationship with her father) to what is meant to be a daddy-daughter day (ignores the fact she's not having a good time and then acts surprised when she tells him such) and flirts with him sexually in front of his (underage) daughter. seems to ignore octavia's worsening mood in favour of blitz until the aforementioned tears. has little to say for himself when confronted but assures her he won't abandon her. lol. lmao, even.

promptly forgets about something important to her and abandons her to once again in a foreign place to have sexual banter with his affair partner. is an all-powerful demon who could've pulled blitz away from funny sitcom shenanigans at any point to go look for octavia, but has to be reminded by blitz (sexily, for some reason) that they should go look for their daughters after the sitcom shit is cut short by accident. maybe via can't exactly be killed or hurt but literally anything else could've happened to her while she, a presumably quite sheltered teenager, was running around the human world for the first time by herself. she has to get a pep talk from a stranger (the daughter of her fathers affair partner, by the way) about how her dad might be a fuckup but totally loves her, despite having just spent the last afternoon fawning over blitz instead of worrying about octavia. this stranger is also the only adult bothering to look for her in any capacity. octavia would have spent the entire afternoon lost and alone if it weren't for loona being the only one to give a shit.

'what about my daughter', noticeably just kind of goes home with blitz after everything in mastermind and makes no effort to even call or text her. 'erm he was probably traumatised and exhausted-' literally everyone was just under the impression blitz was going to die. i'm sure they're all traumatised and exhausted. stolas lost his powers and his stupid ass house for a little bit, not even forever, over an affair he actively exploited a power dynamic to consciously have, not caring about how it effected his daughter, or the potential future consequences thereof. hitting the impeccable 'i wont abandon you my daughter who i definitely care about' then instantly forgetting she exists 2 seconds later because he of a hole he dug for himself. the point is he once again prioritises blitz over via. was it that easy to forget about her?

tangentially, if you want to believe that stella is an abusive mother (we haven't seen it in the show but i wouldn't be surprised if they wanted you to perceive it that way) then stolas is doing all of this while allowing stella to have octavia. alone, might i add.

via is objectively right to worry stolas is going to abandon her for blitz because he Does. she doesn't appeal to me as a character persay but her situation is miserable enough that i can't bring myself to really dislike her

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Who has gotten the most valentines asks so far?

Ok now that it's over I can fully reveal that the top three are as follows

3. Baji/ Shinichiro (a tie)

2. Mikey

And our no1, Kazutora! So happy for him!

(Also rip to Takuya who is literally the only character of the main cast who didn't get asked at all)