#BUT HE CHOSE INSTEAD TO “’PLAY THE GAME’ (so to speak) INSTEAD OF FREEING HIMSELF

[kaz3313]

(More Emesis Blue Thoughts): Thinking about the fact Solider(Jane) was going to give up but chose instead to take action. Thinking about how after he chooses to kill the man he was employed under (where all his Loyalty for years has lied. Why he is “Solider”. His entirety) he isn’t seen again. He got through- as painful as it was. He has changed. He will not be the same. But he lived.

[yasssgiveusnothing]

Radiohusk Analysis: Husk Cares or Nothing Makes Sense (Part 2)

Husk cares about Alastor. It makes no narrative sense otherwise.

Let's talk about it!

Husk goes out of his way to help Alastor when it would be in his best interest to not care AT ALL about that man:

Husk goes to Al to warn him of Mimzy and ARGUE with him for Al's benefit.

Husk gets frustrated when Al doesn't heed his warning and thinks Al will get hurt.

These screenshots are from season 1 episode 5.

Here's the scene:

Let's delve deeper into it!

Narratively, that whole scene serves three purposes:

1. To tell the viewer Al is also on someone's leash.

2. To tell the viewer Husk worries and cares about Alastor.

We are shown Husk going out of his way to help Al, only for Al to tell Husk that he does not need to worry because Al has everything under control. We then see Al was correct as he jovialy kills and consumes his enemies without effort. In other words, what the viewer learns from this scene is that Husk needlessly worries about Alastor's well-being.

3) To draw parallels between Angel & Valentino and Husk & Al.

You might be thinking, Exactly! If Husk and Al are just lke Angel and Val, why would Husk care for Al or vice versa?!

Vivzie has been pushing this narrative that Al and Husk are parallels for Angel and Val this entire season. I don't think there are enough words to describe how this parallel doesn't work, but I'll try anyway.

A) Angel does not care for Val's well being.

Angel would not go out of his way to help Val like Husk helps Alastor.

B) Val does not care for Angel's well-being.

Val doesn't need to bribe his soul contracts to work with him.

Val straight up gives Angel no free will. (Unlike Al who does not force Husk to attend the bar, instead chosing to bribe him).

If Angel gives the slightest of attitude, Val does not hesitate to get physical immediately. (Unlike Alastor, who not only lets Husk shove a finger into his chest, but let's him speak his mind and does not immediately maim him for disrespecting him.)

C) Husk is not afraid of Al.

A man scared of Al would not argue with him or his benefit, nor go up to him and jab a finger in his chest. And yes, Husk was scared of Al when Al threatened him, but Husk fucking started it! He literally made a jab at the guy where it would hurt! If you made a jab at your pal and they start foaming at the mouth, you'd be scared too, but also know you lowkey deserved it and shouldn't be surprised it happened. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Al and Husk sit together without Husk shitting himself. Could you possibly imagine Angel sitting next to Val without wanting to disappear through the floor? Nope!

D) Al trusts Husk. Refer to my previous theory for more information.

E) Al does not regularly assault or overwork Husk.

Husk chills at the bar all day with access to infinite alcohol. This is the closest Husk will ever get to Heaven.

Alastor has not assaulted Husk ever. Unless we're calling the time Alastor pulls on Husk's chain and makes him fall to the floor an assault. Which, sure, fine. But that ONE push that left NO INJURIES was the only time Al has ever gotten aggressively handsy with Husk. And funnily enough, Husk was the first one to put hands on the other.

This 'assault' in comparison to the treatment Angel gets from Val pales CONSIDERABLY. In fact, the two duos are NOTHING ALIKE beyond there being a Overlord owns your soul dynamic, but with Radiohusk, that dynamic barely takes place as Alastor treats him more like a trusted pal than an object to be abused.

I also want to quickly go over how I feel Husk is out of character for the second half of this scene.

Husk is perceptive. He understands other people extremely well, which has been shown numerous times throughout the show as he reads the entire main cast and Mimzy. He is also a gambler, which means he knows when to bet and when to fold.

So you expect me to believe that Husk would say THAT to Alastor and expect him to take it well, especially when Husk knows it is a sensitive subject to him?

And Alastor's reaction is kinda valid. I mean, someone who you trusted with this information weaponizes it against you by spitting it back in your face! If Angel can have a meltdown over being someone's bitch, why can't Alastor? I mean, Angel throws a broken glass bottle at Husk's head, but Alastor pushes Husk and suddenly Al is as bad as Valentino?

With this, I conclude thtat:

Husk cares about Alastor

Alastor cares about Husk

Angel & Valentino's relationship does not parallel Alastor & Husk's.

Husk was out of character during the second half of that scene and was possibly a result of Vivzie desperately trying to parallel Valdust with Radiohusk.

[archives-of-a-hidden-writer]

Something New

Thanos / Choi Su-Bong X Reader

》Typing... |

》 [Entry No.022 - Something New]|

》 Loading Archive Entry "Something New" |

》 Location of Entry: Archivial's |

》 Tip: Feel free to support the Archiver |

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》Notice: Cataloged Entry, Part: I II III (IV)

》 Summary: Instead of the rebellion occuring, you both find yourselves fighting for your lives as the players who chose 'o' attacked those who have wanted to live. |

》 Warnings: Spoilers to Squid Games S2, killing, blood, death, no major character death don't worry, reader can fight, swearing, injuries, Reader is player 457, Nam-gyu being a Reader-Hater part idk, OOC. |

》 Archive Entry Loaded ◇

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Chaos, absolute chaos.

You were abruptly awakened by a sudden scream throughout the dormitory that was followed by the flashing lights.

Still feeling the aching pain in your shoulder, you still got up. Looking around, you were stunned to find the blood war is not yet done as what looks like the 'o' players started to attack the ones with 'x', seemingly acting on revenge for what happened in the comfort room.

You also realised that a certain tuff of purple hair isn't in sight. Shit, did he get hurt? More so, dead?

You shook that thought away. He can't be dead. He can't be damn knocking on Death's door again.

■■■

Trying to get away from anyone, you went further into the bunk beds as the players were more on the middle and other sides of the dormitory.

You can fight them off, but in no mood nor energy to, especially whilst being injured and having no idea where the fucker you saved is.

It was then whilst searching, you see Nam-gyu approach you.

He was a friend of Thanos, but you always had a bad feeling about him as he never was really the type to converse with you previously, more so, the glares he'd sent out towards you after each voting.

You were about to speak out until he suddenly lunged at you, slamming you back at the wall and grabbing you by the neck with one hand while the other on your wounded shoulder.

"Hey there, bitch. Had fun playing with boss?" Nam-gyu sneered, squeezing both your neck and shouleer, earning a choked scream from you as you tried prying his hand off.

"You really had him around your finger, huh? Yet, you didn't decide to be close to him until he was going to die. Fucking player." He continued, bringing you close before slamming you back onto the wall.

You were choking, and fuck his grip is hard on you. What's worse is the vice grip he also had on your shoulder. God, that's going to be a new wound.

But right now, you couldn't even think straight as air slowly run out inside of you. You're going to pass out.

"Night night, bitch. Now boss don't have to worry shit like you," you heard Nam-gyu mocked at you as he watched as you run out of breath.

Fucking hell, where is this fucker anyway?

■■■

Meanwhile, Thanos got caught in the mayhem of players killing others. He wasn't meant to be there, but he was dragged as someone who survived the fight that occurred inside the comfort room.

As he squeezed himself through the people, shoving some as they attempted to fight, he soon saw beyond his line of sight was you, being choked by none other than his friend.

"Nam-gyu! What the fuck!?" Thanos screamed, surprising and taking Nam-gyu off guard as one, Thanos is mad, and two, mad Thanos just called him his name instead of some mispronunciation. With Nam-gyu being distracted by Thanos' scream, you took this opportunity to strike.

You moved swiftly, locking Nam-gyu in a headlock with your leg before slamming his head into the bed pole near you, making him let you go. As he let go, you kicked him off of you, letting him roll a few steps down.

You took this once more to get up, heaving heavy breaths as you run to Thanos who immediately swung you behind him, seemingly protecting you from Nam-gyu as the said man slowly got up, grinning wide as he clutches his now bloodied head.

"Really, man? All that for a bitch like them?" Nam-gyu sneered, pointing at you. You could see in the corner of your eye Thanos clutching and loosening his fists. "They didn't even side with you throughout EVERY DAMN voting," Nam-gyu continued, "Why change, man? Why change for a fucked up whore like them?"

That lost it, Thanos ran at Nam-gyu, slamming him down onto the stairs below and began to punch him, over and over again.

As this occurs, you notice a few players approach you. Fuck, they probably recognized you as one of the players who voted to leave.

Forgetting your injury –That's probably and already healed and good shape by now– you started to push and fight against them. You are not leaving anyone to hurt you anymore as you slam and kick anyone who dared.

■■■

"You were my friend, Nam-gyu... Fuck," Thanos sighed as he got up from Nam-gyu's now beated up body, he's probably dead already due to the amount of blood and beating.

It was then it hit him about you, shit, he mentally cursed. He left you as his anger over his once best friend took over.

Turning back, he, who thought you're not in the well being to fight, was instead greeted by you beating the ever living fuck out of anyone who dared to attempt to fight you.

"Damn..." is what he could let out as he watched you, his feelings only growing stronger in him.

Like the drugs he took, something he can't fully get away from, but unlike the drugs, it was something he would be unable to let go of.

He soon jumped in a fight with you, covering your back as he covered yours.

"Let's go!" Thanos screamed as he called your name. Well, what his pronunciation of your name was. "Yeah, let's go," you sneered back, the cold and indifferent wall of yours cracked for a moment as your words send shocks through his body.

A true drug he will never get over.

■■■

You two fought until pink guards entered the dormitory and started shooting bullets at the roof, calling everyone's attention.

The gunshots ultimately stopped everyone from killing each other as the lights turned on fully to reveal every single person that had died to the masacre.

The two of you stood back, with you pulling Thanos away to prevent yourselves from getting shot, presumably.

Everyone soon calmed down and the seemingly manager of the guards spoke, "A lot of players had died due to the occurings this night. Any player who dares to continue will be eliminated. Please stay where you are as they clean up the bodies," the guard spoke as if the dead bodies where nothing but colateral damage and as guards with circle masks enters the room with boxes to collect the bodies.

You could only sit down onto one of the bed as two guards walked passed you, claiming Nam-gyu's body and placing him down inside the gift-designed coffin.

As they took the body, your hand subconsciously rubbed over your neck, evident bruising from when Nam-gyu had almost choked you to death earlier. If Thanos hadn't called out to catch Nam-gyu off guard, you'd be dead from the lack of oxygen, and if weren't for oxygen, it would probably be to Nam-gyu crushing your windpipe with his hands.

Lost in thought, Thanos noticed you rubbing your neck and seemingly out of it. He then slowly sat beside you and held the hand that was rubbing your neck, ultimately bringing you back to reality.

"Let me see it," he spoke, inspecting the bruising that evidently made his frown worse.

"It's fine, at least I'm not dead..." you replied, looking away but not removing your hand in his.

"You almost were," he spoke out, poking at your cheek, his old chaotic self coming back to life so quickly even without those drugs he takes.

"Didn't you also almost die? Back there in the bathroom?" You retorted back, playfully swatting his hand away as you roll your eyes at him.

"Well, touche... But at least my wonderful knight was there," he spoke back, slowly getting closer to you as he made smooching sounds with his lips. You can only groan and jokingly push him back.

And there it was, a soft and smooth laugh from you. The wall has cracked yet again, that cold and indifferent wall of yours, and he did it all by himself, and for only him to see and hear.

Noticing his sudden halt and stare, you raised an eyebrow at him, "What got your tongue all of a sudden?" You asked, and he simply smiled and replied, "Your laugh is wonderful to hear, my love," Thanos answered, not a single ounce of mockery nor playfulness in his voice, nothing but adore and love.

You scoffed and turned away, but you didn't do anything as he came close again and pressed a kiss on your cheek, just like what you did before with him.

■■■

The sound of the piggy bank above being filled echoed through the dormitory. You and Thanos stared as it fills up, along with the other players who are still alive. It was then showed how much has been added and how much would it be for each player alive.

"Fuck, damn..." you could only sighed out as you stared at the digits, that's more than enough for you.

Then, the guards announced the voting. It was then you realised something, you and Thanos.

You wish to leave as you are well aware there's more to come and harder shit will occur if we continue, but you don't know whether or not Thanos would want to do the same as you or continue the games.

You were already tired, and you couldn't take any more shits happening. You might as well die next game if it were to happen.

Only a few players left, including you and Thanos.

And now, the choices will depend whether or not many would want to leave or continue. You dread that Thanos would wish to continue.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

》 Archiver's Notes: Finally added this as there are at least four more entries I have in typing(half I believe isn't in the membership yet), so yeah.

[haliotropes]

SAVIOUR COMPLEX (Mark Hoffman x F!Reader) (Pt. 15)

(Part 14) (Part 16)

Rating: M

AN: IM SO SORRRYYYYYYY when I tell you life has been busy I mean BUSY. But here's part 15!!! Please forgive me!!! Please!!!!!!!!

Warnings: canon-typical violence

After everything, after all this time, the surmounting self help and therapy and books and house plants and hobbies and keeping yourself happy and distant, the first and only thing you can think,

What did I do?

What did I do what did I do what did I do?

What could you possibly have done to deserve this? Waking up on a concrete floor that's covered in dark stains of questionable origin, though you have some sickening inkling. The low lighting, distant hum of electricity, metallic tang to the air…you know exactly where you are, even if you don't know why.

You know even before the voice crackles to life over a speaker above you.

“Hello y/n. I'd like to play a game.”

Despite your premonition you still choke on a sob. You didn't even have enough time between awakening and the reveal to have false hope. That this is a mistake.

“This is no traditional game, however.”

Dramatically, a blinding spotlight switches on. It reveals cell bars surrounding you, next to you, and then you hear the groan of Mark waking up, iron bars between you.

“You've taken Mark Hoffman as your lover despite the mounting evidence that he is a killer…”

Mark stirs, finds your eyes.

“...And he is.”

No. No no no no no no

But even Mark's eyes speak the truth.

“He killed Ted, and many before him, and he will continue to do so, unless you stop him.”

You can barely hear the continued directions. Distantly, you're aware of the question of who is plotting this show if Mark is the Jigsaw killer, but all you can focus on is the hollow point of betrayal that's widening in your chest as each second ticks torturously by. And with each tick, Mark isn't denying any of it.

“However, my goal is twofold. If you survive your test, you will be able to bring Mark Hoffman to justice. You will let the world know what he has done.”

So what are you guilty of? Love? Being fooled yet again? Were you willfully ignorant? No, that couldn't be it. You knew what you knew and nothing pointed to-

But it did. At the end of it all, you know what a coin toss looks like. You had a 50/50 shot. You just chose wrong.

Still, is that a death sentence?”

“If you do not survive your test…Mark Hoffman will have one more thing to hate himself for, and he will be exposed.”

And Mark does look like he hates himself in this moment. But not as much as the hole in your chest is filling with hate for him.

“The only difference is your survival.”

He could be getting framed. It could be a massively complicated and constructed lie to set him up for failure, prison, death.

Then deny it. Please. Before I hate you beyond repair.

His silence is earth shattering.

“Here is your task….

You will have three minutes once your cell door unlocks. In the room with you is a phone. It is simple enough. Make a call. Turn Mark in. Free yourself of this misfortune you continue to find yourself in.

But.

You will have to survive Mark Hoffman.”

Your head turns and, similar to that night after you saw someone outside your bedroom window- presumably whomever is speaking to you now- you realize with a terror instead of comfort Mark's build. Despite his injury, which seems to have been somewhat repaired, he can easily take you.

Why have you so suddenly accepted your task? So easily accepted Mark's guilt and, by association, yours as well?

Because it does make sense. And unfortunately, yet again, you're reminded of the one rule you seem to consistently forget throughout your life.

People lie.

“If you do not make the call by the end of the timer, a lethal gas will deploy, killing you both. Live or die. Make your choice.”

The cell door clicks and for an indeterminate moment of time, you and Mark stare at each other, both of you crouched to the ground. The air hums with the vibrations of tension, almost animalistic. You don't know for certain what he'll do, but you know what you'll do. And so does he.

You don't bother to look at the door before you bolt to it. It flies open and your legs carry you fast towards a table where the phone sits. You're smaller and uninjured so you're faster than he is. The sound of him cursing and bounding towards you sends your heart into a vice panic. He'll break you if he gets you. You'll die here. It's been him all along. He won't spare you if it doesn't mean escape.

Your hand extends to the phone but you're knocked to the ground just out of reach. He's barrelled into you with his good shoulder. You brace for further impact but none comes. Mark stands over you. Behind his shoulder, a timer ticks down in bright red numbers.

“You want us both to die?” You wheeze, still trying to recover the air that was knocked from you. “You don't want to kill me. And prison doesn't have to mean death for you, either. Not with them,” you point towards the darkness of the ceiling, referring to your captor.

Mark huffs and shakes his head. “I can't let you make that call.”

You push yourself to stand. A minute gone.

“There's no other option. Mark. Please. Let's set this right.”

“I didn't kill these people, and I'm not going to jail for it. They'll kill me.”

“And then we will both die! I don't care what you say. I'm ending this.”

You go to the phone, entirely convinced he won't stop you. But right when your hand grips the receiver, Mark has his arm around your neck in a chokehold. Instinct screams at you to free both your hands to counter but you have the good sense to consider the phone in your hand a weapon. Your free hand shoots up to scratch his face, pull his hair, distract him as you pick up the base to the phone and bash it against the side of his head. He releases you, stumbles back.

You push yourself forward. Try to move away as best as you can and punch in 9-1-1 at the same time.

“911, what's the location of your emergency?”

“I don't know, I-”

Pulled again. Forced to the ground and the headset flies from your hand. And suddenly, in a way that is wholly surprising to you despite it all, Mark is straddling your chest. The phone cord is stretched taut in his hands.

“There has to be another way out of here. I don't wanna hurt you.”

He sounds like he means it, but you can't take that chance.

“You already have,” you whisper.

“Whoever put us in here killed Ted, don't you get that? Probably Jigsaw accomplices, like Amanda Young. They'd have to be twisted enough to do this to us.”

Any fight you're giving begins to settle as you digest his words, their logic wedging its way into your brain. The possibility of him being framed seeps back into your mind.

“I didn't kill Ted. I promise.”

He's seeing you work through this in your mind. But something about that sentiment sticks.

“Mark-”

“I don't know how to prove it to you-”

“Mark. Are you a murderer?”

“No, I didn't kill any of those people.”

He's working his jaw. He's growing impatient.

“Will you let me up, please? The cops have likely traced the call by now. The only thing we can do is wait.”

He hesitates but eventually shifts so you can stand. The phone still lays discarded on the floor but you doubt it matters anymore.

“I didn't kill-”

“Any of those people. I know.”

You've made it abundantly clear.

Maybe Mark didn't kill Ted. Maybe it wasn't him in these recent murders. But there has to be a reason Gibson and Perez believe he's capable of the past Jigsaw killings.

The possibility now, the mere likelihood puts you on edge. It doesn't really matter since the police will be here soon. But you keep your distance.

You hear the sirens. Mark is staring holes into your head. You inhale, exhale. He's still in his bloodied clothes, gripping his injured side, hair in his face, breathing ragged.

From here, he certainly looks like a killer.

[mandi-cakes]

Next up, in sharing my BG3 Tav children…

My bardlock, Miguel de Navarre. Or rather, His royal Highness, Prince Miguel Luis Antonio Fernando Santiago de Navarre. However, since BG3 only allows so many letters in a tav's name, It's simply Miguel de Navarre. He is a nonsense boi.

I've had this lad sitting on my list of playable DnD characters for a long while, and I figured, since it was likely going to be a long while before I can use him in an actual DnD campaign (as is the case with a lot of my PCs), I'd at least play him in BG3. For a little of his backstory prior to using him in game--and remember, this is outside of BG3:

Miguel is not originally from Faerun. Instead he is from another continent entirely (where exactly IDK, I made up his home country and named it after a real world place that is off the coast of Spain). He's a disgraced Prince living in exile, who was cast out for making the royal family look bad. He'd been bedding everyone from castle staff to foreign dignitaries, and ditched his betrothed at the altar (an arranged marriage he didn’t want). Thus he was disowned, and is even forbidden to speak his mother tongue. So Miguel travels from place to place, and makes his living as a bard. But, being of royal blood with lavish taste, and a desire for the finer things in life...Miguel eventually found that affording those things as a singular bard was really hard to achieve. How is one supposed to afford a cushy place to bed down at night when public taste for good music and poetry is so subjective? Or nonexistent... And coin is hard to come by... Migs was going to need somebody to care for him in the way he felt he deserved... Yes, he was aiming to be somebody's sugarbaby. Of course he would, he's a prince, he's not going to take care of himself. In time, he encounters an archfey who promises to do just that--not in the way you think, though. Yeah, Miguel is a bit of a whore--he's a bard--but not everything has to be about sex, ok? (I'm laughing as I write this) Not that he scores all that much anyway. Hell, not even he's patron wants Miguel like that. The situation is more like, 'work for me, and I'll provide you with what you want or need'. However, the downside to Miguel's patron is that it's Hyrsam, the Satyr Prince of Fools. Of course, he would attract Hyrsam as a patron... Miguel is 100% free range himbo.

Look at him, this absolute baby, with those puppy doge eyes. Such idiot. Much fool. Wow.

Anyway.

In terms of characterization, I put Antonio Banderas and Puss in Boots in a blender, and out came Miguel.

For Manner of dress...possibly a matador inspired aristocratic outfit, or as close as I could get. Big, fancy hat with a big and fluffy feather plume. Like, is he a matador, a prince, or just a fancy pirate? Either way, he is extremely ostentatious. However, the outfit that I had in mind for Miguel doesn't exist in BG3, so I've had to make do with what I could get once I was in a position to upgrade his wardrobe.

So fancy. Like others before him, twas tempted by the other himbo of the vampiric variety.

But, ultimately, Miguel chose Gale. Can't resist the Rizzard of Waterdeep.

*sigh* Look at them... (ಥ﹏ಥ)

I love these two dummies together.

I'm still playing Miguel's run, so I'll update this once I'm done.

[adleryoung]

I chuckled as I watched Zandar mutely hail a young rabbit she found playing at the edge of the woods. The tyke screamed and ran away. Heh heh! Maybe he thought she was a ghost!

Next Zandar found a pair of rabbit femmes gathering acorns in a clearing. They too ran away in a panic. Maybe the rabbits would be so terrified they would abandon their dumb little town! It would serve them right!

But as Zandar approached Bunkirk, a group of mels came out to meet her with guns and pitchforks. They demanded that she explain herself, and of course she could not, so they immediately assumed she was a witch.

Lowfolk! Honestly, what is wrong with them that makes them act this way?

They coiled a length of rope around Zandar, tied it tight, and marched her into town.

I didn't care HOW Unseelie she was, I couldn't let a bunch of ignorant lowfolk treat my queen this way! Those rabbits had gone too far this time! Now I was free, and I could actually do something about them!

There wasn't much time, so I quickly threw together a simple disguise and covered it with a glamer so the rabbits would think I was one of them. I also needed to bring a swarm of Ixies for backup in case things went sour … but a cloud of large insectoids buzzing around would surely draw attention. I had to think fast, so I conjured up a baby carriage and had the Ixies hide inside, under the blanket.

Thus prepared, I pooked into the outskirts of Bunkirk and hurried toward the town square where everyone was gathered.

"What's all this?" I demanded.

"We've caught a witch, Squire," one of the rabbits replied, as if he had known me all his life. My disguise was working perfectly so far!

"Really?" I replied. "What makes you think she's a witch?" I would have to be subtle and get these bumpkins to examine their assumptions without directly challenging them. If they began to suspect I wasn't a real member of their community, then the game was up!

"She came out o' the haunted wood!" the same rabbit answered, after respectfully removing his cap. "Everybody knows that place is full o' goblins an' skunk elves!"

"Sure an' she looks might skunky to me," a femme added.

"She certainly does look like a skunk," I observed cautiously as I stepped through the crowd to get closer to Zandar.

"You chose this," I whispered, to remind her that it had been her own decision to leave the safety of Albric Tor.

Instead of apologizing or asking for help, she HISSED at me angrily and insolently!

"Hey!" one of the rabbits yelled as he prodded Zandar with a pitchfork. "Show respect to Squire Young!"

SQUIRE YOUNG?? Did they somehow know my name, or was that a lucky guess?

"He's a good man!" declared another.

"Him a widower an' raisin' that baby all by himself," a femme added, using her own imagination to fill in the blanks in my disguise. Lowfolk sure are suckers for a basic glamer!

"Good people, please," I insisted, still determined to try and save the situation. "The fact that she is a skunk does not prove she is a witch."

"She's either one of 'em, or she's been with 'em," various members of the crowd called out. "She came out o' the woods! An' look at what she's wearin! She won't talk! I ordered her in the name o' the Deity ta speak, an' she just stood there starin' at me!"

"Well now, that is suggestive," I admitted in a conciliatory tone. Turning to Zandar, I asked her, "Have you nothing to say in your own defense?"

The spell on her collar would have allowed her to speak to me, but instead of trying, she simply glared at me with an expression full of malice.

"How peculiar," I sighed after what felt like a long pause. If Zandar didn't want my help, that was her choice to make. They wouldn't be able to kill her at any rate, because of her strange geas … but at least I could try to dissuade them from burning her at the stake. "I believe hanging at the crossroads is the usual procedure, but you might want to consult a priest first."

"Thankee Squire," said the first rabbit who had spoken to me. "That's just what we'll do."

I turned and walked away as quickly as I could without raising suspicion, as I heard the rabbit say "What d'ye think, Father?"

I rounded the corner and pooked away just as another voice answered, "I'll go with what Squire Young said."

[zorkaya-moved]

"miss bodyguard, how very safe i feel with you." silken, honeyed falsehoods; safety is an alien feeling to aventurine, one he neither feels nor strives for in his endless pursuit of risk. most likely, she knows he jests, he supposes. safety would require trust, a commodity in rare supply among the ipc and its lapdogs. nevertheless, as if acting out the part of the gallant royal defended by their valiant knight, aventurine reaches for her hand. the gesture is dramatic, a flourish as he grasps her fingers in his own and presses a kiss to the back of her hand. his gaze does not leave hers. "i hope we can continue to cooperate."

@starspurn

Words of honey are often filled with poison, but the [bodyguard] remains receptive to them. After all, if her [liege] wishes to feed her poison, she would drink it without interrupting the eye contact. He may wish to use her as a weapon, and so be it. It is more intriguing to see hw he operates with a tool because it shows his willingness to survive, to move forward, to show ambition. Is there a desire to live if there is fear of death? It's a question best asked from the Apostle of Origin, but it's still a mystery and she is just a "bodyguard sent by diamond to guard another Stoneheart". A sacrificial beast to slay to prove loyalty or just to see if this man's [luck] will prevail when skill (Jade, Opal) could not.

Can luck beat skill? Can luck beat immortality? Can luck free Diamond from a cursed existence?

Oh, if luck truly meant salvation within death's embrace, then Aventurine would be praised for far more than he'd understand. Not just for loyalty, but for freeing his superior from a burden he cannot yet get rid off. The time is ticking, but time means the roots of frigid cold would dig deeper. And yet, the Stoneheart holds her gaze and shows nothing of his truer self. He is a liar, he is an actor, and he is a gambler, but Zarina watches him impassively, not allowing any ounce of emotion to be shown on her face. They both play a game of lies, pretending to be someone they are not and pretending to play gratitude when it is nowhere present.

They lie and they lie and they lie.

And so, she puts on a mask of a calm and collected bodyguard. The opposite of himself. The one who is seemingly absent in terms of emotions. A perfect tool to follow orders, but still one who speaks her mind and who is more 'honest' compared to others. Will he hate her if he were to learn the truth? The selfish choice, the fact that the beast chose him next to see what other stones serve under Diamond's watchful gaze. Perhaps, it was because she liked his eyes or... because she saw potential, survival and experience that no one from Stonehearts gave her. The desperation, borderlining on despair yet clutching onto hope (luck).

Will he be mad to know his 'valiant knight' is a 'dragon in disguise'? And that Diamond wished not to deal with her and make her a problem of another, allowing her to choose whom she'll protect after Jade's failures. Will he angry to learn that she could've walked away instead of lurking here? And that she remained because it was not yet time. Will be disappointed to figure out one day that what was given to him was an Emanator, an Apostle of Origin, and that she could truly become what he needed her to be if he requested? After all, this life was just a game. A long, terribly long game of life. A game until the script of Finality will kick in for her to return to stars.

"Our cooperation is only possible if you wish for it," she speaks, her tone awfully monotone. If he wants to play roles, she will happily keep up hers. But somehow, it feels all too similar to something from the past. Zarina pushes that thought away. "Your word is my order, Mr. Aventurine. Anything you wish of me shall be granted. As long as it does not interfere with my oath to protect you." Oath, is it? Truly, like a gallant knight. A knight for a gambler. A truly marvelous crossover of genres. "If you wish me to put on a mask for others to think I'm someone else, I will do so. Use me as you wish, I am now in your hands." Not Diamond's, Jade's, or Opal's.

As she takes her hand away from him, Zarina does a step back to put a distance between them as if showing him that she wishes to keep him 'comfortable'.

"To kiss the hand of your bodyguard is not befitting of a man your status," she brings her hands back behind her back, straightening up while looking straight into his eyes. It doesn't help that she stands a bit taller than him, her golden gaze examining but lacking any bright light. If he wants to lie and play a role, she will do the same. "I do not wish to taint your reputation. I am only a chip in your hands."

More like an ace up his sleeve, but does he know of it yet? Oh no, not yet.

[hauntedheroines]

The Juror - What if?

What if instead of coming back to the U.S after dropping Oliver in Quatemala, Annie stays in order to escape the Teacher only to be surprised to learn that he has tracked her down?

In the heart of Antigua's vibrant market, amidst the cacophony of haggling vendors and tourists, Annie's heart skips a beat as she spots the Teacher. Frozen, her mind races with panic and disbelief. He moves towards her, a predator cloaked in nonchalance, his eyes briefly meeting hers before he pretends to admire a nearby stall's offerings. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he begins, gesturing towards the colorful textiles, his voice eerily calm. "The craftsmanship here... It's almost as intricate as the webs we weave, Annie." Annie, struggling to maintain composure, replies tersely, "What do you want?" He smiles, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Just to remind you, there's nowhere you can go that I won't find you. But don't worry, I'm not here for unpleasantness. Consider it... a courtesy visit." His words hang heavy in the air, a veiled threat wrapped in civility, marking the beginning of a new, terrifying game of cat and mouse.

Annie can't decide how to proceed now that she is sure Vincent will find her anywhere. Vincent will stay in Quatemala as long as it takes to convince her of what he already knows: that they are inevitable. Vincent’s approaches her in public places always startling Annie with his casualty. He has this misplaced feeling of betrayal because she was able to leave the USA and also frustrated that she let her fear dominate her - that she didn’t stay and faced the situation straight forward- when all he has been teaching him so far is to see beyond fear.

An encounter in which he quickly passes by her murmuring the time and place he wants to meet and she is afraid to do anything else but comply.

Annie weaves through the bustling streets of the local market, her senses heightened, always on the lookout. Without warning, Vincent appears beside her, his presence chilling yet oddly comforting. He leans in, his voice a mere whisper against the clamor of the crowd, "Tonight, the old forest clearing, at the stroke of midnight." Before she can protest or inquire further, he's gone, dissolving into the sea of people as if he were never there.

A private beautiful place in the forest. For Vincent is like a husband whose wife left him having a heart to heart as to why she decided to do that. Annie knows that it’s insane to think of them as such, but another part of her agrees with him: she should have stayed and fought, that she never thought of herself as a coward. The scene would play out like this:

Under the cloak of night, Annie finds herself drawn to the forest clearing, each step weighed down by a mixture of dread and an inexplicable longing. The moon casts a silver glow over the clearing, where Vincent awaits, his figure a solitary shadow against the backdrop of ancient trees. Vincent, seeing Annie approach, reveals a hint of vulnerability, a side of him she's seldom seen. "I knew you'd come," he says, his voice softer, tinged with something akin to hope. Vincent: "This place... it's peaceful, isn't it? A stark contrast to the chaos we find ourselves in." Annie: "Chaos seems to follow wherever we go." Vincent, softly: "Perhaps. But you chose to leave... to run to a place where I hoped you'd find peace. Did you?" Annie looks away, the silence speaking volumes. Vincent, more to himself: "I never wanted fear for you. Only clarity. Only truth." Annie, her resolve hardened, confronts him. "I did everything you told me to. Louis Boffano is a free man, and whatever prestige you could gain from him, you've got it. So what else do you want from me, Teacher? I've nothing left to give." Vincent's response is laced with complexity, touching on his feelings of betrayal and his misguided belief in their inevitable bond. "I wanted you to see... to understand the depth of what you're running from. It's not just me, Annie." As they stand in the moonlit clearing, the air thick with tension and unspoken emotions.

I'd love to see an angry Annie lashing out on Vincent despise her fear. And Vincent is unbothered by her tone because she looks fierce and beautiful when she is like this. She is so powerful, his Annie. All that power she didn’t even knew she had.

Annie, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and sorrow, "You took her from me," she starts, her eyes ablaze, "Juliet... my best friend. Because of what? Your twisted sense of control?" Vincent watches her, unflinching, a hint of admiration in his gaze. "Annie, she was a threat to our... situation. You must see that. Annie steps closer, her anger undiminished. "She was innocent. And you... you're a monster." Vincent, unfazed, simply responds, "And yet, here we are. You, standing before me, more alive and fierce than ever."

Annie finds out Vincent has rented a place just a few blocks away from her own. Pretending normalcy as if he is just the new friendly neighborhood. Annie tells him to stay out of their lives her first thoughts is that his goal is to drive her mad, but she realizes during confrontation that in his deluded mind this is their fresh start.

He believes that, over time, he can demonstrate his ability to offer her a normal life filled with safety and love. This revelation stuns Annie.

Vincent, under the guise of a friendly stranger, approaches Turtle who is enjoying a quiet moment alone at a local café. Feigning interest in Turtle's insights about local attractions and safety for expats, he subtly shifts the conversation towards more personal topics.

Vincent comments on the importance of close relationships when living abroad, cleverly probing for details on Turtle's connection with Annie and Oliver. Turtle, proud and protective, speaks of their bond as a family unit without blood ties, emphasizing the support and safety they provide each other. Vincent listens intently, masking his jealousy and gathering valuable information on the nature of their relationship and Annie's current state of mind.

Vincent: "It's the sense of community that really makes a place feel like home, doesn't it? Must be nice, having people close by who care."

In his next encounter with Annie, Vincent hints a little on the jealous he feels towards Turtle. Annie catches up on it and first is angered by the audacity of feeling entitled to jealousy. But next she realizes Vincent could might as well hurt the only friend she has left out of spite.

Vincent: "It's curious, the company we keep for comfort. Some offer more solace than security, wouldn't you agree?" Annie, catching the underlying jealousy, is taken aback by his presumption. Annie: "The only threat to my security is standing right in front of me." Vincent, unfazed, continues to probe, hinting at his jealousy without making it explicit, setting the stage for Annie's realization of the danger Turtle faces. Annie, her voice laced with fear and realization: "You wouldn't..." Vincent stares quietly.

Now imagine a scenario in which Vincent protected her from the rest of the mob and they have just escaped an adrenaline filled life or death situation. Every time it feels right to do so Vincent takes the opportunity to kiss her. The few times he did it, her heart beat too loud on her own ears. It was always softly an invitation to open up to whatever effect he had on her if only physical for now. But the kisses lasted seconds and she was always the one to break it. Now? Now Annie is channeling her feelings of impotence into that kiss. This time her adrenaline fulled body responds to the kiss and dominates Vincent and reclaims some sense of control against the man who took it away. Vincent would rather it would be out of love - he already loves her so very much. And one day, it would be. But for now let Annie takes what she needs. Let her unload her anger on him

[plaggscheeseblog]

Plagg's Choice

"Plagg wait." Viperion's voice was calm and stoic. Everything Klarion said was a nightmare veiled in a paradise.

Viperion could see the temptation on his face. He empathized with the kwami but the price was too high. "If there's something you need, something I can do for you, I'll do everything in my power to help. Please, don't do this, people will get hurt." Innocent people like Juleka.

Plagg looked back to him as he tried to use his second chance. Nothing. Escaping Klarion's magic was near impossible.

Luka was smart and capable to survive without him. Chaos would ensue, but people always died one way or another. What made his regaining autonomy matter?

"You're a good kid." Plagg smiled.

With that he flew over to Klarion with a big grin, "Hit me brother!"

Within seconds, Plagg's world looked smaller than it had. He felt strange and long. He looked at his humanoid hands and felt his face with a grin. The awe in Luka's eyes confirmed this was real. "Holy-- wow my voice is deep." He started saying words in ranging tones. finding his voice fascinating. "This is strange."

Plagg knew exactly what Klarion was offering, a new game with new stakes. He would eagerly take it if it gave him this opportunity; the devil only knocks once, and heaven wasn't going to offer him a better deal.

He ran out of the room and looked for a mirror. From out in the hall he shouted, "God Damn you do fine work!" If it was possible, he would gladly run into his own arms on a beach.

He explored he face and chest, then wondered how well his magic worked. Looking at a vase, Plagg whispered, "Cataclysm." He touched it, igniting the house in an explosion. Nothing was left but the remaining half of his house, and what was left of his front yard.

"I-I was checking my pockets for loose change." he strung together an excuse with an innocent smile. Nobody was hurt, so what was a little structural damage every now and then.

"Plagg, what have you done?" Viperion was horrified. This was wrong, this was incredibly wrong. He had to find a way to reverse this.

"Oh, come on, I can still help you guys with trouble. Gabriel is rotting in jai, and the Miraculous are safe." He shrugged, "but I'm free!" He danced, relishing in his freedom.

Plagg didn't want to waste time, the city was at his fingertips and he and Klarion could explore. He didn't apologize twice, instead he chose to run toward the city life.

He didn't wait to see if either of them would follow. He wanted to see everything with his new eyes.

Plagg ran as fast as his legs could take him. Flying was easier, he didn't get as winded but it was still fantastic. Stopping at a crosswalk, he tried to catch his breath and orient himself. That's when he saw her in the crowd across the street. Impossible, she couldn't be here. His heart stopped and his blood froze. He had to be sure his eyes weren't playing tricks. When the light turned green, Plagg ran toward her but got caught in the flood of people. Plagg tried to weave and bob through the heard, but, to no avail. He lost sight of her. By the time he reached the other side she was gone amid a crowd.

Plagg didn't give up. He knew he saw her, but, how? His chest seized at the possibilities. He walked the direction he guessed she was headed, watching the crowd pointedly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her in a bookstore. Plagg sucked in a breath and entered the small shop. He walked through row after row, until he was in the same isle as her. She was eying books on Chinese language.

He couldn't find the words. How do you ask someone if they were real. She looked like a dream yet, she couldn't really be here.

"You're interested in classic language?" Plagg said in Mandarin. Curious if she knew the modern dialect.

"Oh uh, I'm sorry I don't speak--" She began but Plagg shook his head.

"It's okay, I'm fluent in French." He laughed. I'm, He stumbled on a name, "Kami." The first word off the top of his head and he picked that.

She shook his hand and forced a sheepish smile. "Juleka Couffaine."

Plagg's blood drained from his face. There was only one way Juleka was standing in front of him. Luka did the unthinkable. The one rule that even Plagg himself would never break. What he did to become human was bad, but, this....

He smiled nonetheless, trying to act normal. He had a million questions but they all left his mind in that instant. Plagg made small talk, uncomfortably long and dreadful small talk.

When Juleka said goodbye and walked away, Plagg wanted to chase after her. To tell her who he was and that they needed to find Luka. No, he'd wait. He couldn't do anything rash. He didn't know the limits of his body, the social cues of being a human.

Plagg cursed under his breath and left to trail her from afar. He had to do something. It was on the tip of his tongue, spells, guardian magic that banished the undead. He didn't think she was undead, but regardless, it wasn't right.

It was coming back to him too slowly, the memories of Master Khan's teaching and his penchant for burning young concubines eyes out.

He was back there. The memories felt tactile.

Goryeo, a great kingdom even as it gracefully decayed.

Every night Plagg tuned out the screaming girls in his current master's chambers. He flew out into the darkness of the inner city walls. The screams of young girls from Kublai Khan's room could still be heard, but, not as bone chilling as before.

Plagg searched the large inner walls for his friend. It wasn't forbidden for Kwami to be known to royal guards, after all, the Kwami were just that. A different kind of sentry.

"Jun De," Plagg called and flew onto his shoulder. He laid down and beamed carefree.

"What are you doing out here?" Jun De chuckled and went to sit on a barrel to take his break. It was dinner time, the first meal he'd had all day.

Plagg made himself comfortable. "Oh you know, master fell asleep and I couldn't get any shut eye with him snoring." He lied. Not wanting to tell him what horrors went on in Kublai Khan's bedroom.

Small rations. A rice ball with some meat and a tiny cheese wedge. "You'll get in trouble my friend." He laughed, disregarding the fact he'd actually take the punishment. Accused of treason. It didn't scare him. Nothing could be worse than seeing your only daughter barely 10 years old be taken as a tribute to some old man.

He handed Plagg his cheese wedge. "Well, you can sleep here for a while." Jun De watched Plagg eagerly eat and slowly ate his own ration.

Jun De didn't know this, but, this had been the only food Plagg had received from his master in days. He ate it reluctantly, seeing how little the soldier had. He handed half of it back, "it's okay. I had a big ol' wedge earlier." He lied. He wasn't good at lying.

"No, you eat up." Jun De reached up and scratched behind Plagg's ear.

Plagg sighed, wishing Jun De were his holder instead. The idea lingered in his head. If he could get the Miraculous, then, Jun De could save his daughter. Plagg hated seeing a child in the hands of Kublai Khan's crusty old advisor Ling. The sorrow behind Jun De's eyes hurt just as bad. They didn't need honesty, they knew what this world was like. Plagg wished he could make it easier. They were quiet throughout his break, content to be each other's presence.

It was cut short when another guard ran toward him. "There's an intruder on the south wall."

Jun De didn't question it. He watched the guard run toward the north wall. He jumped up, saying softly. "You should head back, kitten."

Plagg knew he should, he froze in place as Jun De ran off without him. He looked back where guards ran toward the palace. He slowly flew back. He would be in trouble for running off. Reaching the palace steps, he snuck past the guards and into Master Khan's room. His green eyes went numb to the scene around him.

Everyone was fixated on what laid outside. When he felt the call of the Miraculous, he was once again readied for battle. Another assassination attempt.

Plagg couldn't clearly recall the events that followed. When he laid his green eyes on the scene before him, his heart shattered. Everyone was dead, their throats slit. Jun De was crumbled over his daughter's broken body.

Plagg was numb and unable to move. Slowly, their bodies turned black and crumbled to ash. Kublai Khan killed them with his own power. He killed one of his best friends and his little girl.

His punishment didn't seem bad those next several months, not compared to his guilt and grief. He would have given anything for Jun De to be his holder.

A thought occurred, a long shot that posed risk, but, what had he to lose now? Plagg snuck off, leaving to find Sass.

He found sass with the younger prince who was reading. Sass sat in a tree above him watching the ducks play in the pond. "I need your help." Plagg begged. He explained it all from the start. The sadistic torture Khan inflicted on these young girls, Jun De and his daughter's struggle, and what he himself had been enduring. He tried to convey just how evil Kublai Khan was.

"We can't reset time, the result always have dire consequences." Sass sighed apologetically.

"This is a dire situation." Plagg insisted, all but sobbing to convey his feeling. Sass reluctantly agreed and took Plagg back to when Jun De was still alive. He followed Plagg into Khan's room where he kept the Miraculous. Sass and Plagg hovered over Khan's sleeping body. Plagg looked at Sass and went for the ring. Plagg inched it off his finger, trying not to wake him. His heart raced. This was his only chance. If he failed, Sass couldn't do this again.

Khan stirred, waking up. Plagg and Sass shot a terrified look to each other. Plagg almost had it.

Sass cursed and flew down biting Khan's hand. He shouted, then fell unresponsive. "Hurry!"

Plagg ripped the ring off and rushed off with Sass in toe. "What did you do to him?" He asked as they raced for Jun De's house.

"With any luck, something fatal." Sass said and circled back toward his holders home. He didn't need a conspiracy to start.

Once Plagg found Jun De's home, he rushed into his bedroom and shouted, "get up and get ready." He startled Jun De who shot up in bed.

"There's no time to explain, put this ring on and grab your daughter. You need to get out of here." Plagg began attempting to pack for him, failing miserably in his small state.

"Slow down, what's going on?" Jun De said.

Plagg stopped and grabbed the ring, dropping it in his lap. "I escaped and am giving you the Miraculous. You and your daughter need to run before she becomes a tribute."

He hurriedly explained everything, leaving out key details such as their death. Ultimately convincing him he needed to run.

Together the three of them escaped.

Plagg got his wish, the fought off palace officials as one team. Somehow Khan lived and now was on the hunt for his Miraculous.

He was happy with Jun De and his daughter. They lived on the move endlessly, but they made it work. Plagg came out of his shell around Jun De and his daughter, putting the horrors behind him. The next few years were good. They moved south and found a place to lay low.

Everything had a price, including a second chance at life. Mongol soldiers burst into the small house they occupied. The dead of night and Plagg was on high alert as Jun De ran to his daughter's room. With a sword in hand, he whispered, "It's time to go, get up. We have to move." The house tiny, leaving them only seconds to run.

Calling on his miraculous, he used his cataclysm to blast a hole in the bedroom wall leading to the outside. They got outside, only to find themselves cornered. He cursed under his breath and raised his sword, keeping his child behind him.

He stayed on the defensive, striking, dodging, parrying and counterstriking. He could keep up with two swordsmen, but, more were closing in on them. He grabbed her and leapt for the roof, an arrow struck through his knee. He barely made the climb. He looked at his knee, growling at the pain. They both wouldn't make it, he wouldn't make it. He took off his ring and gave it to his daughter who started crying.

Plagg frantically looked between the two and flew into Jun De's arms trying to fight back tears. There was no time for good byes or a new plan. Only to run and Jun De couldn't run anymore.

"You were the best master I could ask for." Plagg said.

"Protect her with your life." Jun De as he clenched the ring in his daughters shaking hands. "Raise her right." He leaned in and kissed her cheek, "you listen to Plagg and be good. I love you." He looked over his shoulder as the soldiers used ladders to climb up. He forced himself to stand with a cry and readied his sword. He looked back as his daughter called on the miraculous power. Jun De smiled at how strong she looked, then caught her fixation on the soldiers. He shook his head, "go now!" He shouted and limped forward to hold back their enemy.

She ran, but every step made her sick as she heard her father being cut down behind her. Only when she thought she was safe did she detransform and break down into a sob. Plagg tried to comfort her. He looked around, but saw no sign of immediate danger. When he was sure they were safe, he sang a tune Jun De would sing to her when she had nightmares and held her.

Plagg shivered and continued to trail Juleka, the nostalgia was bone chilling.

They used Duusuu to create a sentimonster of Jun De and lure out Yue. Convincing her he had survived that night. Plagg shook the ending from his mind. Bringing the dead back-- even as a sentimonster-- was the worst thing one could do.

Jun De died for a third time, this time, by his daughter Yue before she was killed by Mongol Soldiers. He failed his master's one simple request, to keep her safe.

Luka was setting himself up for heartbreak if not worse.

Plagg found himself in the care of another soldier, one who opposed the Mongol's influence over Korea. Rin, Plagg remembered Rin well. He would be carved in history as the King Who Lived Forever.

Plagg reached Juleka's apartment and stood outside the building. He didn't know what to do or say. To address Luka after everything and be a hypocrite, or to talk to Juleka and find out what she knew of this situation. He settled for hypocrite. He left and went back to Luka's home to wait for his return.

[bxbu-chuu]

Kendall loves to play videogames.

He honestly doesn't know how they became such an important part of his very strict routine but he knew how it all had started. It was a couple of years ago, while hanging out with Stewy, they were at his apartment just sitting around and talking, something they didn't get to do that often- at least since they graduated college. He probably was feeling shitty about something he now can't even remember and ended up calling Stewy, knowing he never would say no to him.

After about half an hour of comfortable silence while a movie played on the ridiculously sized flat screen, more as background noise that anything, Stew pulled out something from his bag and Kendall took a few seconds to recognize the blue and red controllers.

"Is that- what? Is that a fucking switch? My daughter plays with one of those dude. Are you fucking playing animal crossing or- or what?"

Stewy basically ignored him, barely acknowledging his words by sighing while he turned on the console. Kendall scooched closer on the sofa, curiously looking at the console to see a home screen with various games displayed, Stewy chose a game named The Legend of Zelda.

That name didn't mean anything to him, he had only recognized the console because he bought one for each of his kids when it came out. Even if he considered himself somewhat knowledgeable in current trends and slang- out of what he could admit was a desperate attempt to appear cool to others- the videogame world was something no amount of late night googling could make him understand. He wasn't that old, but videogames had always felt like something from outside his world, they felt like something that wasn't meant for him.

"What even is a fucking Zelda dude? How do you have time for this shit? Don't you have things to do?" He insisted, parcially out of curiosity, but mostly wanting Stewy to stop ignoring him.

"It's not like I spend all day sitting around playing this, Ken. We all have some free time, you included." Kendall's eyes were fixated on the screen, watching the character run around a Nordic looking field, but he could tell Stewy wasn't looking at him as he spoke. "You are like- obssesed with you own missery man. You're like a badly written, one-dimensional movie character." Stewy laughed at his own joke and Kendall wasn't paying attention to the game anymore, but he also didn't look at Stewy, or reply to him either. The previous comforting silence between the men had turned tense, and it lingered for what felt like a couple minutes to Kendall but realistically speaking was just a few seconds. "I'm not saying you're boring, but you so spend all your free time thinking about how shitty your life is or doing drugs to stop thinking about it. There's more out there, get a hobby "

Stwey's tone had stayed relaxed and playful, not really thinking of the conversation as anything more than a slightly more intense that usual banter, but what he said stuck with Kendall for the next couple of weeks. At first it manifested in petty resentment, Kendall didn't call or text Stewy at all for the next few days, not replying to his friend's texts checking up on him about that very serious, life altering problem he can no longer remember. He had specifically said he wasn't calling Kendall boring, but to be completely honest that's what it felt like to him, which in retrospective is probably why Stewy had specified in the first place.

After a few days, instead of slowly wearing off like this sort of thing usually did, the anger turned into self -pity and Kendall spent the next week mopping around his office and asking every poor soul that happened to pass by the glass door if they thought he was boring or not, which admittedly wasn't his proudest moment. After many "uhms" and awkward silences he decided enough was enough and started researching consoles on his work computer.

He didn't want to get a switch, even if it would be a nice way to bond with his kids. If he was trying to find his own personal interests maybe copying exactly what his only friend did wasn't the best way to go- he already tried that in highschool. After some googling and a rather enlightening subreddit deep dive he decided on an Xbox and made the purchase.

It took some trial and error at first, he tried playing FIFA despite never having an interest in soccer and unsurprisingly it wasn't very successful, he tried some shooter games and quickly decided maybe online gaming wasn't his thing, he even tried playing Minecraft because Iverson was obssesed with it but he kept getting lost and couldn't find a way back to the houses he built.

He was close to letting it go, forgetting about it completely and telling Stewy he could shove his unsolicited advice up his ass. The console had been abandoned next to the TV, untouched for a couple days. Kendall alternated between looking at it with disappointment and scrolling through the news he was reading on his laptop when he saw a little ad pop up on his screen after clicking on an article. After his research he got a lot of ads for different games and consoles but none of them really caught his eye, except this one. A cartooney city landscape that looked scarily similar to the view outside his window and a bright text that said "City Skylines, build your own city". It sounded stupid. Actually no, it was stupid. Why would anyone want to spend their time creating fake cartoon cities on a computer? He sat back on his chair and thought about the joy of looking around at the gigantic buildings around him and feeling unimportant, about the satisfaction of perfect squares forming one big city. He clicked the ad.

The first night he downloaded the game he stayed awake until 2 AM, building and perfecting a city he had named "Kentown". When he looked at the clock on the bottom of the screen and he realised what time it was he couldn't help but be a little surprised, he had been sitting there for hours, he hadn't felt so relaxed in ages.

When he found out he enjoyed slowpaced, single player games he quickly started to discover other games he enjoyed, platforms, farming and city-building were his favorite and he slowly started to add new consoles to his collection, besides his now beloved PC.

He always followed his routine strictly, it's what's always kept him grounded since he was a little boy, despite always feeling like he was watching his own life from outside like an spectator, not really able to control it in any way. Soon he found a spot for videogames in it, right after his shower and before bed and sometimes on Sunday mornings if he didn't have the kids. He's not really sure if it's sad to admit it or if he would ever actually say it out loud, but it gave him something to look forward to at the end of the day.

And just like that. it became one of the most constant things he had, even when everything around him was changing and breaking and coming back together again and again and again. When he lost his job after the no-confidence vote, when he lost his family after the bear hug, when he lost himself and he lost Stewy after the accident, when he was trying to slowly piece himself back together again, when he set everything on fire once again on that press conference. He knew he could go back home and forget about himself, get lost in a world that wasn't as difficult as the one he was living in.

So now that it's his 40th birthday and Naomi is softly caressing his head with her fingers, he's not surprised when finds himself asking her if she can bring him his switch and stay with him while he plays. She nods and gives him a smile before carefully putting a pillow under his head to replace her thigh and walking into the bedroom to find the console. He sighs, he feels sad and numb but he also can still appreciate the kindness and gentleness she's been showing him all night, even after complaining about her birthday gift, Kendall doesn't think he deserves her.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he reaches under the blanket to get it, there's very few people he has notifications on for, so it must be important in one way or another. The thoughts about not deserving Naomi intensify when he instinctively looks up to make sure she's still out of sight when he reads Stewy's name on the screen. Kendall's pretty surprised to see that he texted him, after some deliberation he had decided not to invite him to the party, fueled by fear of getting rejected and not being able to cope with it. He opens the text.

"Happy Birthday. Come get your gift when you have the guts to talk to me"

Attached was a picture of what Kendall easily recognized as Stewy's living room table, he had done enough lines off it to know it by tact alone. There were two controllers on it, one plain and black -the one he had always seen Stewy use- and the other a familiar shade of green with a letter K on it, he smiled a little.

"That's some corny shit dude"

"I guess I'm feeling sentimental, birthdays have that effect on me sometimes"

Kendall typed a couple of replies, from "Thanks" to "I miss you" to a long paragraph apologizing for everything that had happened between them, but in the end he just tucked the phone back in his pocket and waited for Naomi to come back.

He had meant to go visit Stewy earlier, he really did, but as usual his own life had different plans than him and now he's standing at Stewy's apartment door, still wearing his white shirt and his sand stained pants, completely jetlagged and exhausted from the flight back from Italy.

Kendall's met with a familiar poker face and a delightfulyl messy head of brown curls when Stewy opens the door, wearing his pajamas.

"You wanna show me who that Zelda chick is now or what?"

[somuchbetterthanthat]

I’ve already made a post that’s,, basically exactly this, but I saw a tweet about Chidi in the Good Place and for the some reason - bear with me - this made me think of anxiety and destiny, and then anxiety and soulmates, and then anxiety and the Web, and then the Web in general with Jonah and Jon and co. 

Like, Chidi on the show is obviously a character ridden with anxiety, and you can see at the very beginning of the show how much having a soulmate /delights him/. And I, who er, relates a LOT to Chidi’s anxiety in general, have also a deep, deep fondness for soulmates and destiny stories. It took me several years in fandom, and getting to know a bit of the aro feelings and community to understand why one might even think of soulmates as a more horrory trope than in any way romantic. 

And then thing is, obviously I can’t talk for every people with anxiety, but I can so clearly see WHY the concept of destiny -- to speak more broadly than soulmates -- is so, so reassuring to someone who has trouble making choices because they’re scared of making the wrong one. Because if you have a destiny, then you can’t.. actually made the wrong choices. No matter what you choose, you have path and you will be led to this path. It frees you of responsability - not of consequences, but at least you can it you were destined to be this or that or have this, not /it was my fault I made it happen/. 

Now, the cool thing about the Web, I feel like, is that at first glance, it SEEMS to offer you a destiny, a path, a soulmate. Horror or not, it goes ‘here are your threads, and we’ll get you where we want”. They literally knot people’s fates together. OR SO IT SEEMS. Because when you look closer, and okay i’m basing this a lot on Annabelle’s statement as ever here but: them chosing you is not just about control and responsability or lack thereof. It’s about QUESTIONING IT, again and again and again. It WORSEN the anxiety. Do I have a choice? Or was it all predestined? Do I play into their fate for me if i do this, or i don’t? Look at Gertrude and Agnes!!!! The web bounded them together, but instead of this leading a sort of reassuring constant, it made them ALL THE MORE WARY, to the point /they only met once/ on of the off chances that meeting up earlier would set a web plan in motion. They didn’t know what the bond would do! they questioned the bond their whole lives probably! Both Agnes and Gertrude might have assumed if one died the other wouldn’t survive, and even that turns out wrong!!! 

And again, again, I feel like that’s part of why Jonah, as long as he never doubted and trusted that everything he did /was/ his choice, that he refused destiny and set on going on /his own path/ couldn’t fully fall for the web, even if he ended up playing the same game they were in canon. Because he might have been wary of the spiders, but he trusted only himself and, more importantly, his own will, and therefore they couldn’t put the seed of doubt in his mind. (Of course you could argue they didn’t /need/ to, here, since they had the same end goals - sort of - for a while)

Compared to Jon, who, beloved, my absolute beloved, was in constant crisis during the show, especially in season 4, about his own responsability in all this. He’d been set up for it, for sure, but it’s just. Nngh. The contrast! The contrast! of him asking if he was destined for this, like Agnes was destined for this! The fact Annabelle specifically played on this when she gets him to speak for her! 

Webholding Jonathan Sims, my beautiful, favourite love.... 

EDIT: AND ALSO, like, Jon is so specifically good for them because his constant desire to BE absolved of those responsabilities (he doesn’t eat trauma because he wants to, but because he’s made to! it’s not his fault!) is at CONSTANT ODD with his inherent self-loathing and constant guilt and impression that he is responsable for /absolutely everything/. Of COURSE he was perfect for the web like! OF COURSE!! 

[randomshipperhere]

Watched the twitch stream w/ Jack and here are some notes

It’s interesting that Jack was supposed to be an actual character in the show and Mark still hasn’t told him who it is. I wonder if that character is supposed to be part of the noir-verse since I think that’s where Jack would fit

Watching Corridor Crew helped Mark understand VFX better. That’s really cool!

The dummy truly is the MVP

Their friendship is so cute. Mark feeling bad for not being able to watch Jack’s HDWGH Documentary because he was busy and Jack assuring him it’s alright. Awww

ISWM Premiere stories!!! He pulled out from a hat a name of someone present there and that’s how they chose where to go

As always the crew is left confused but following their oh so great leader lol

Talk about the original plan for the How Did We Get Here Tour

Mark giving Jack advice about ADHD stuff

lol Mark pavlov-ing himself with candies. Reminds me of that one Distractible episode

Work stories! Having done a job or two in my life it really is boring. My brain is always just itching to do something or else I get sleepy even if I had an ample amount that day.

Wade is the reason we got the Pokemon smash or pass video.

ADHD stories

All the Way getting a gold record.

Schmoyoho’s Space is so cool is in the show. Minor spoiler is it’s going to be more prevalent in Part 2

Guess I’m gonna relisten to the jazz music in the film noir-verse

I Don’t Want To Be Free story time. I vaguely remember the place but I do remember the part of the story where they had to memorize it in less than an hour from the AHWM explanation stream

A boar spear?!

Sheesh stories about the US seriously scare me. You guys can have weapons and firearms????

Mike the butterfly knife guy

Speaking of knives, my dream of the day was just Amy posting more pics of herself on set and one of them she was doing a cool dynamic pose like Zoro when he has his swords out but instead of swords, its knives. Followed by a cute one of just her messing on set.

TF2 mention from Mark 😭 I miss playing that game. My laptop literally plays at 10fps and lagging so much and I just had to delete it.

Having watched the amazon self defense video recently I do remember that “tactical whip”.

Jack focusing TOTM. Good on you for taking things slow this time ‘round.

I’m sorry guys but I’m more of a tea person in general. Unless its really sweet I just don’t drink it (and is it really coffee at that point?)

Charlie (moistcritikal) mention :DDDD reading the live chat reminded me there’s that unfinished business about the pole dancing challenge! Right! That was a thing! I hope they collab at some point

That 59:00 speech onwards. I want to give him a standing ovation. Maaarkkk that was super duper sweet! He truly gets it

Jack outright calling Mark a himbo. Bro, Mark’s ego is getting stroked because of you.

And it’s not alright for my heart because well, it’s like an open secret. You just don’t go saying it out loud even if we all know it. But it does make me incredibly happy. I should clip that sometime but I’m tired right now.

Mark thinking of a 2nd nudes calendar... uhh... hmm...

The boner cast bois doing a collab soon-ish? starting with Big Foot maybe??

Gosh hearing them just chatting and catching up is so nice~

[syrips]

it's a great question but becomes even more interesting when you know that mid to high leveled creatures are aware of Strahd (even more if they read about books published about strahd/barovia, at least two that you find yourself). Cazador has enough connections that he can probably send communication to barovia, or even speak to mist wanderers / vistani (which Raphael has a connection to, for wine) to get in contact with him. or even the most obvious Sending spell which can be sent through different planes

so back to the question, why didnt he go to Strahd? it's clearly the blunt and obvious option, right?

but let's take note of who Cazador chose instead - an archdevil, one that can attempt to fiddle with law, order, and contracts; why would Cazador choose someone not Strahd?

because, Strahd, being a "Devil"-like being himself, knows how to play the rules as well. Strahd would not only find a way to make Cazador inferior to him, but potentially bind Cazador to be Strahd's slave - a position Cazador shames, detests, and fears more than failure - despite him clearly showing no remorse for those Cazador himself mistreats.

Cazador, the 'perfectionist', would rather risk failure and attempt to ascend without Strahd because - Strahd would only ascend Cazador to a position where Cazador is even less free. the only way for Cazador to ascend without Strahd, is to find a devil-like being who knows the rules, who knows how to twist words and studies terms and conditions, one who will not make Cazador a slave - but rather someone who would agree to a deplorable trade, rather than (noticeable) ownership over Cazador. and someone who clearly wants souls more than a slave - an Archdevil.

i dont know much about the Archdevil, but i know enough to know that this one does not care about who fulfills the ritual, which shows a beautifully ironic/obvious exploit in Cazador's contract - the Archdevil besting Cazador at his own game.

My take on the Cazador discourse.

How did this fucking guy get the Vampire Ascendant offer from Mephistopeheles when there's a perfectly good Strahd von Zarovich is right there in Barovia and a much better grab in terms of skill! 😤😤

[badboyjuyeon]

mind reader

Pairing: Chanhee x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: “One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do you see your crush flinch.” 

prompt credits to writing.prompt.s

Eyes glued to the clock, you counted down the seconds before class would start. 

It’s not that you particularly enjoyed English or any of the books you were discussing. Your teacher constantly droned on and on and, with practice, you had finally mastered the art of tuning his voice out. 

So it wasn’t exactly the class that you looked forward to, but a special person within that class.

And that person was Choi Chanhee, who had just entered with his bag slung lazily across his shoulder. Though his hair was ruffled and he was sweaty from gym class, he still looked as radiant as ever. He flashed his signature smile, the one that melted your heart, and waved at Changmin who had saved a seat for him.

Pretty people “herd” together, so it’s not a surprise that he often hung out with Younghoon, Sunwoo, and Changmin, the other popular boys that stole the hearts of every person in the school, including yours. You accepted that this crush would not go far because of his popularity, and you were perfectly content with just enjoying his presence. 

Before seeing him fifth-period four days of the week, you had only ever seen him in the hallways. You never had any real reason to talk to him, and given the chance, you’re not sure you would even try to hold a conversation with him. You know you would just become a stuttering mess and embarrass yourself. So instead of making any real efforts to do something about your crush, you just made sure to come to class a few minutes early so you could secure the seat that gave you the best view of him. 

Your English class was currently doing student-led discussions and your teacher claimed arranging the seats in a circle would help the students interact more with each other. You hated student discussions but had no complaints sitting in a circle, as it allowed you the perfect excuse to steal glances at Chanhee from any angle. 

Currently seated within the circle that seemed more like an oval, all of the students tried their hardest not to unintentionally make eye contact with the person sitting across from them. Your teacher introduced the topic the class would be discussing and you doodled at the corner of your page, letting your hand move on its own accord. Your doodles often reflected whatever you were thinking of, so your page was filled with drawings of the pink-haired boy you were currently infatuated with. 

The person sitting next to you spoke up, reminding you that you were still in class and needed to contribute to the discussion. 

You spoke once to satisfy the participation requirements and tried to ignore the feeling of everyone’s eyes on you. That feeling was 10 times worse knowing that Chanhee was one of the people that was looking straight at you. You avoided looking in his direction, knowing that you would completely freeze up at the mere thought of him. His eyes were finally off of you when you finished speaking, but that didn’t stop your heart from racing. It would take another five minutes before your heart would return to its normal pace. 

Having participated, you were now free to be alone with your thoughts. 

Running out of creativity to doodle, you decided that you would play a game with yourself to pass the time. This game never failed to amuse you during all of the boring classes you’ve taken. You scanned the room to see what some of your peers were doing. Younghoon was currently speaking, Chanhee was dozing off into space, the girl from your biology class was very clearly trying to flirt with Sunwoo, who was ignoring her. 

You decided that Sunwoo would be the first person you tested. This game consisted of you trying to find out if anyone in the room could read your mind. 

Sunwoo if you can hear me, write down something in your notebook. 

You took notice of Sunwoo’s immediate actions, which would prove if he could listen to your thoughts. 

He picked up his pen. 

Your eyes widened as you waited to see what he would do next. 

He started fiddling with the pen mid-air, and it never ended up touching the paper. 

Sunwoo was not in fact a mind reader. You moved on to your next test subject. 

You shifted your undivided attention towards Younghoon, who had just finished speaking. He was staring at his notebook, the corner of the page curling underneath his fingers. 

If you can hear my thoughts, look at me within the next three seconds. 

You counted down and waited to see if he would prove himself to be a mind reader. Younghoon raised his head and his eyes scanned the circle. 

You sat up in your chair as you waited to see if he had heard you. 

Unfortunately, his eyes did not land on you as he chose to focus on the classmate that was currently speaking.

You slumped back down into your chair. This game was not as fun as it used to be. Either no one was a mind reader or they were too good at pretending not to hear you. 

I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME AND I’LL CATCH YOU. 

You screamed in your thoughts, looking around to see if anyone noticed. 

Chanhee, who was still staring into space, suddenly flinched. 

What the f-

And then Chanhee’s eyes met yours. 

You immediately shifted your gaze to focus on the notebook on your lap. He never looked at you if you weren’t speaking, the timing was all too suspicious. You made sure not to look up from your notebook for the rest of class or think about him, just in case.  

After the teacher dismissed the class, you hurriedly packed up your belongings and rushed out of class. But your shoelaces did not cooperate, and you knelt down to tie them. You heard a soft voice call your name from behind you. A voice that you knew all too well. 

Why was Chanhee trying to talk to you, today of all days? 

There was only one answer. Chanhee was actually a mind reader and he knew about your crush. He was coming to confront you. You quickly shoved your shoelaces in your shoe and ran out the school building, not looking back. 

Chanhee watched as you dashed out the school doors, the notebook that had fallen out of your backpack in his hands. He was sure he called your name loud enough but he reasoned that you probably hadn’t heard him with how hectic the hallway was. He placed your notebook in his locker and reminded himself to give it to you before the next class. 

You slammed your locker shut, startling the student next to you. You lost your notebook for English class that you’ve reused since freshman year. Sighing, you headed into English class with a substitute notebook and the motive to pay attention, since you didn’t have any of your notes. You searched for the one person that could instantly lift your spirits. 

“Chanhee?” Your teacher called out during attendance, waiting for his response. 

You quickly glanced around the room to see where Chanhee was seated, but to your dismay, he was nowhere to be found. 

On the bright side, you could think about Chanhee all you wanted without worrying about whether he could hear your thoughts. You breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in your chair. 

“Present.” 

Hearing the familiar voice, you looked up to see Chanhee standing in the doorway, out of breath, as he rushed towards his seat. You dared not to make eye contact with him again.

You wondered why he stopped to call your name after the last time you had class. There was a chance that he wasn’t actually calling your name and that you might have just imagined it. 

But you were quick to dismiss the theory that it was all in your imagination when Chanhee called out to you again after class. The hallway was rather empty and you couldn’t use the chaos as an excuse to avoid him. You nervously turned around to face him. This was technically the first time you spoke to him. 

“Hi, (y,n) right? Is this your notebook?” He held out a notebook that looked a little too similar to your missing English notebook. “I think you dropped it after class yesterday.” 

You took the notebook from him and sure enough, it was yours. Finding your lost notebook should have filled you with satisfaction, but that was the last thing you were feeling. The doodles of him scattered throughout the pages flashed in your mind. You immediately snapped the notebook shut. 

“Thank you so much.” You managed to say, hoping that he hadn’t flipped through the notebook. 

He gave you a small smile, unaware of your internal panic. “No problem.” 

Not knowing whether to continue the conversation or not, you also smiled, before turning to walk away. 

“Oh, and by the way, I know what you’re thinking...” 

What- there’s no way. How would he know what I was thinking? Oh my god. Is he an actual mind re-

You stopped in your tracks, grateful that you were turned around so he couldn’t see the sheer look of horror on your face. 

You faced him and prepared yourself for what he would say next. 

“...You’re probably wondering how I knew it was your notebook.” He looked down at your notebook, which you held protectively against your chest. 

Not expecting the words that came out of his mouth, you giggled. The question hadn’t actually crossed your mind, so it was good to know that he was NOT an actual mind reader. Your name was not on the cover, so it was a valid question to wonder. 

“I wasn’t wondering but, now that you mention it, how did you know?“

“I recognized your art style from the doodles on the cover. You’re really talented.” He continued to speak comfortably as if you had known each other for years. Your art teacher often hung up your drawings in the art classroom for everyone to see, but you were surprised that he had recognized your art style. 

“Thanks, that means a lot to me.” You finally found the courage to hold eye contact with him. You were confused as to why he kept continuing this conversation when it could have ended much earlier with little-to-no words involved. 

The corner of his lips lifted into a smirk and a mischievous spark glinted in his eyes. He cleared his throat, “I like my eggs scrambled in the morning...if you were still wondering.” 

Eggs scrambled in the morning?

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion as you tried to remember why that expression sounded so familiar. Or why he claimed you would be wondering that. 

Chanhee bit back a smile, as he saw your expression change from confused to panicked in a matter of seconds. Your cheeks turned as pink as his hair. 

You were just joking when you claimed that Chanhee was a mind reader, but now you were starting to think that it wasn’t a joke anymore. How do you like your eggs in the morning? That sounds exactly like something you would think.

 “What...how did you...“ You struggled to form a coherent sentence. 

Instead of answering, he just shrugged and backed away, before heading to his next class. He left you standing in the middle of the hallway unsure of what to believe.  

Remembering the notebook that was still pressed against your chest, suddenly it clicked. He had seen the last page of your notebook. 

The last page was where you wrote absolute nonsense to relieve your boredom during class. You used to write notes back and forth with your best friend back in freshman year. She would talk about her crush on Changmin and you would talk about yours on Chanhee. 

That means he read all about your crush on him. Of all the ways you imagined him finding out, this was the last and most embarrassing way ever. There was no way to save yourself in this situation. 

chanhee is so gorgeous

changmin is SO FINE 

i wonder how chanhee likes his eggs in the morning 

i want changmin’s number so bad

You cursed your younger, boy-obsessed self for setting you up like this. You groaned, any chance you had with Chanhee was officially out the window. 

Rereading the page, you noticed that there was a new addition to your conversation with your friend. The unfamiliar handwriting did not match yours or your best friend’s, and the ink seemed to be fresh. 

idk about changmin’s but i can give you mine: XXX-XXX-XXXX

p.s. i want you to draw me like one of your french girls

[ushidoux]

Good Teacher - Sugawara x Reader

Summary: You meet Sugawara on an online dating app expecting something tame, but get more than you expected. (~3.1k words)

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, some features are described ***, dom/sub dynamics, collaring, daddy kink, breathplay, dacryphilia, spanking, edging, toy use, restraint use, sub drop

A/N: Again, this was a commission so some features are described!! Otherwise, please enjoy my first longer BDSM fic.

---

Being alone in your bedroom at 9pm on a Friday night may have felt like a loss on any other day, but today, with your phone buzzing non-stop and every neuron in the sexy parts of your brain firing, you could not think of anything else you would rather do.

Well, actually you could think of a few, and most of them involved slipping out of your pajamas and slipping under your new flame.

Sugawara Koushi.

A name like that sounded sweet. Maybe even bland. Safe.

When you’d swiped right on his profile on the tamer of your social media apps, you’d expected someone mild-mannered and easy to speak to. He was an elementary school teacher with soft features, white hair and a cute mole under his left eye. He couldn’t possibly be as forward as the other guys you’d dealt with over the years. A tame, responsible choice.

You’d started texting back and forth quickly, with polite, formal introductions which progressed to cute messages and long phone calls, and you’d even managed a very chaste first date where he’d picked you up at 8pm on the dot and taken you to a fine restaurant on the water.

You normally would have expected to be dicked down that night, and had paired sexy lingerie under your silky mauve dress for exactly that, but you weren’t too surprised when he left you at your doorstep with a peck on the forehead.

The only unsettling thing about the kiss was the way his eyes had lingered on your lips, just as his fingers trailed the curve of your jaw as he tucked your hair behind your ear. It was too practiced, too… dominant.

You suspected he was holding something back.

And he was, because once you’d ventured to call in the middle of the night, a little bit tipsy and yearning for a little bit more than a smile and a gentle touch from him, you’d broken some sort of dam.

He’d called you a needy, desperate, pretty little slut, desperate for Daddy’s cock but needing to prove herself that she was willing to ride with Daddy’s very, very strict set of rules first, and you’d practically cum at the sudden turn of his voice.

Now anything was fair game.

I have… particular taste. Are you sure you can keep up, princess?

The warmth between your legs and the image of full balls and a weighty, rigid cock told you, you would absolutely be ready for anything he had in store for you. 

Yes, daddy. I’m up for anything you want.

You, of course, couldn’t see the wide smile spreading across his face on the other end, as he palmed his cock slowly while reading your texts and admiring your nudes, and texted back:

We’ll need a shit ton of rope.

---

Sugawara’s hands are much larger than you’d anticipate, and rougher, and you wonder how much of it is due to high school athletics or from the fact that he’s quick to slap or spank you at any chance he gets. Your skin is sometimes red, sometimes bruised, and always marked, and it’s exactly the way you like it.

The first time you have sex, he starts you off as though you are the most shy of virgins even though you claim that you’re not exactly inexperienced.

“I wouldn’t want to break you, pretty girl,” he teases, as his hands worship your body, tracking down your waist to the center of your legs, and patting your cunt softly. Today, he’s promised to focus on your pleasure only because he wants to “break you in.” You wonder how many he’s “broken in,” then you realize you don’t really care. You’re his one and only princess right now, and you intend to be for quite a while. 

The pleasure of being a good dom is that he can choose to serve - he can choose to be doting and he can choose to be harsh with punishment. Since it’s your first day since you’ve entered this contract with him, he’s decided to focus on the catering part of his personality, and familiarize you with his desires.

The rose-gold Turian collar on your neck compliments your skin well, he takes note, as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth and leans you against him while you are seated on the edge of the bed and he’s kneeling just so before you, fingers deep in your cunt.

“You’re gonna keep that pretty little thing around your neck, aren’t you, pretty baby?”

His fingers move so fast that it’s hard for you to speak, and the arm that’s wrapped around your waist and keeping you flush against him is tightening the longer he continues. He’s a lot stronger than he looks, you know from every heavy spank he’s given you.

“I-I will, daddy, every day and every night,” you pant out, your tongue lolling as his fingers curve upwards and his lips leave your nipple with a soft pop and make their way to your quivering mouth.

“Good,” he whispers as he bites your lower lip. “You’re so obedient… I like that in a little one,” he affirms.

---

He’s kind when he teaches, patient even. 

He’s also generous; he gifts you with your first corset, a dark, lacy and tight thing that almost takes your breath away initially, especially when he tightens it onto you himself. Even if it’s constraining, you feel empowered from the very moment you look in the mirror. Your breasts sit high, and you spin once in a gesture of delight; he kisses down your neck as you admire yourself.

“This is only to get you used to a little bit of restriction,” he reassures, as he pulls you into his lap. “But I can’t deny that you look breathtaking.”

---

Since you’ve been so bold as to take his breath away, it isn’t too long until he decides he wants to see what you look like when you’re truly struggling for air. After all, the little shiny thing around your neck catches his eye way too often for his comfort, and his pants suddenly feel too tight for a casual grocery store run.

Your safeword is red, like the blood that courses through your veins as his fingers tighten around your throat.

He thumbs your pink, puffy lips, and it would be loving if he wasn’t calling you a stupid little cocktease.

“Pretty little bambi, prancing around like you’re free to be with anyone other than me.”

The breath that tickles your face is a taunt, because you’re slowly getting lightheaded, barely able to focus on the long index finger he’s commanding you to suck. 

The pressure he puts on your neck is varying; for moments you can draw a single staccato breath, which encourages him to press his lips to yours and absorb you in a kiss before he reapplies pressure; his naked body presses against yours, rolling painstakingly slow. He hasn’t even entered you yet.

Breathplay, he calls it.

You gasp as his cock slips into your wet entrance just as fast as his hand leaves your throat, and he too draws a deep breath as he fills you to the hilt. 

He lets out a soft laugh as he caresses the hair that is sticking to your face, and readjusts himself yet again - of course, he’s also better endowed than you’d expect him to be - before he picks up speed and chokes you again.

---

“I… Kou-”

“Daddy,” he stresses, unphased as he continues to press a small clitoral stimulator to your tender, overworked bud.

“D-Daddy~” you cry out in a soft, drawn out whine, and you shift a little bit because the ties that keep your ankles attached to the legs of the chair, your pussy exposed and vulnerable with your crotch wide open, are starting to dig into your skin. But you can’t move all that much, there’s additional rope around your waist that keeps you against the back of the chair and you think the soft satin that keeps your wrists behind you is probably overkill, even if you have to admit you like the color.

“Yes, sweetheart~” he whispers in a voice accented with assertive sweetness, his eyes still lowered and focused on the heave of your chest as he watches you drip before him.

“I-” 

You scream.

He’d angled the toy upwards, and somehow within the small bundle of nerves he’s targeted an even more precise cluster of endings - there’s a flash of white you see before you cum practically violently, lurching forward so rapidly that he has to keep the chair steady so that you won’t fall over on the pretty little face he adores.

It’s possibly the fourth time he’s had to ground you in the past hour, and it’s an act of mercy because he had been edging you repeatedly, forcing your pussy to clench desperately around nothing but air.

The way you gush and spray so lewdly onto the chair, onto the floor, onto the hand he plays on your sopping wet pussy reminds him he chose very, very well.

---

It’s nearly silent and it’s dark now, far too dark for you to see. 

Your Koushi has prepared you for this next step lovingly, sometimes not so lovingly over the past couple of weeks to build up to this.

The blindfold that obscures your vision is soft and slightly sweet smelling, as though spritzed with a floral scent about a day ago prior to this. Again your hands are bound, but he’s used lined handcuffs instead of ties, and your wrists are before you, not behind you. 

But you’re lying on your belly, a spreader forcing your thighs apart. He must really love the way your pussy looks staring him in the face.

“You seem to be a glutton for punishment, princess,” he says, accenting his words with a hard slap on your inner thigh. You gasp, but his hands linger tighten, and are then followed by what can only be the press of his tongue against the stinging portion.

“Daddy, I’ll behave, I’m so sorry,” you moan as his hand grips a generous portion of your asscheek.

But you won’t behave, because you’ve learned that Suga likes just a touch of bratty behavior and that gets him quite physical with you. He knows this just as much as you.

He slaps your ass fervently, the slight jiggle drawing a pleased sigh from his lips.

“You’re a silly little slut, though…” he starts, rubbing a hand along the length of your thigh, “how can I trust any of your promises?”

His finger travels to your open center, and when he sees you tense up, he stops.

“You need a firm hand to guide you always…”

His right hand curves again around your cunt and his middle and ring finger finds its way into your slippery hole, while his index taps your clit and his little finger (he’s dexterous like this), taps ever so lightly around your asshole. 

You shudder.

“Arch your back, you little cumslut. Make it easy for daddy.”

As you inch backwards slowly using your elbows and knees to rise up, his right hand continues to move with you, but then his other hand lands heavily on your other asscheek.

It breaks your concentration and you almost fall because it takes quite a lot more energy than you would expect to move this way with your hands bound and your legs spread, but you persevere. 

For him.

Before you can whine once you’ve gotten into position, he withdraws his hand from your cunt.

“No!” You find yourself shrieking before you realize. You can’t have him edge you again, he’s absolutely cruel, you can’t…

“Oh, I thought I called the shots here, princess,” Sugawara reminds you, voice honeyed and cruel. You can feel his fingers weave into your hair and the warm tip of what must be his cock prod at your entrance.

“Sir, please~”

“Beg.”

He spreads you open with a hand massaging your ass, again tapping teasingly all around your vagina, but he won’t push in to give you the pleasure of having his cock inside you.

Your heart is pounding with desire.

“Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please fill me up, daddy!”

That statement of desire earns you an inch, an inch that makes you swallow saliva hard and your muscles tense with need and want.

“M-more, more please!”

“You’re so demanding. I would say your eyes are bigger than your pretty little pussy, but you can’t see, can you?”

He laughs, but he pushes in further another inch, than another, moving painstakingly slow, slow enough that you’re biting your lower lip until blood is drawn. The stretch is achingly delicious but it leaves you starved for more.

You’re begging and whining, and soon you’re trying your best to sink onto him further but he’s got you restrained for a reason.

“Greedy little bitch,” he murmurs, but he kisses your neck lovingly as he fills you to the hilt.

The unmistakable noise of flesh hitting flesh and minimal friction fills the room but you care less about sound, only about the slap of his balls against your cunt as he thrusts into you from behind.

More. Deeper. Faster. Harder.

He’s a master at drawing desire out of you, you wonder if you even needed these toys and ties and other accoutrements. You’re already so utterly wrapped for him. 

---

There’s a movie playing on your screen that you had both been pretending to watch, cuddled together on the couch, your legs resting across his lap. You had barely gotten through the opening credits before he pulled you onto him fully and had you straddle him.

“You want a snack, pretty baby?” He whispers, as though it weren’t just the two of you staring in each other’s eyes.

Your eyelashes bat and you nod.

He doesn’t break eye contact while he reaches for a strawberry, fresh from the farmer’s market you’d strolled through this morning, from a bowl set on the table. 

This one is drizzled in chocolate, and he runs it along the length of your collarbone, eye contact still heavy and unflinching before he dips down to catch it in his mouth.

It hangs out halfway from his teeth and he cues you to take it from him mouth to mouth. You split half of it, letting the sweet tartness permeate your senses.

His arm hooks around your waist and pulls you in close as he presses his lips against yours. You weren’t aware of the glob of strawberry-flavored saliva he’d collected until he draws away, tilts your head back and tells you to open up wide so he can spit directly into your mouth.

---

“Swallow.”

Suga’s relentlessly pounding an erect, frustrated and thick cock into your mouth, past your teeth and down your poor throat, and he’s close to his release now, you can tell by the way he’s now pressed your face so far against him that his carefully cropped pubes prick your face.

He’s warning you beforehand, and you’re thankful for the warning because when he cums with a soft, almost angelic moan, his penis jerks inside your mouth ever so slightly, and there’s a gush of hot, slippery liquid that slides down your throat.

You breathe through your nose. He tastes sweet, maybe it’s because of the strawberries from just earlier today, but nevertheless it’s a pleasant liquid you gulp down around his cock.

He loves the way your throat feels when it clamps around him, especially when you initially gag once accepting his cock.

You’re perfect.

“Come up, darling,” he bids you, pulling you up from your position on your knees.

“Are you gonna fill me up, daddy?” You mewl softly as he lifts up and carries you before laying you on your back.

“Yes, pretty baby, but let me taste your juicy little cunt first,” he says before he dives in between your legs.

---

“You’re so good for me, you know that, don’t you?”

He kisses your neck softly as he holds you close to him while you lay in bed together. It’s close to 1am and he’s focused on aftercare, caressing your arms and waist and the curve of your hip gently. You’re facing away from him, not because you’re upset, but because you’re exhausted.

He’s worried you’re having a sub-drop; after all, he’s spent the last two hours slapping your face and calling you disgusting. He wonders if you forgot to use your safe word.

You’re new to this and he’s put you through a lot in the past few weeks.

“Sweetness,” he whispers, directly into your ear. “Look at me?”

You turn, cheeks still flushed from particularly hard slaps. His heart aches a bit for you, because those sweet lips are pulled downwards into a frown and he’s not sure if those are fresh tears that wet your eyelashes. 

He kisses your eyelids then rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Are you doing okay, my princess?”

You nod and reach for his face with your fingertips. Your dom softens under your touch because you are so precious to him. His fingers close around yours and he kisses your forehead.

“The most important thing is your comfort,” he asserts. He taps the collar around your neck that suggests in some way that you are his and he is yours. “You can take this off at any time.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into his chest. It’s been fun and it’s also been freeing to have him take care of you. There’s a soft haze that wafts around your brain lately as you surrender to him. You are in love with him, deeply, in such a short amount of time.

“I would never,” you say, finally. 

His heart skips a beat.

“Unless you want to buy me a nicer one, of course.”

He chuckles. 

“You’re a feisty little one, aren’t you?” He remarks. He’s glad to look down at you and see you smiling again, eyes bright and brown. He reaches for your ass cheek, then raises your leg so that it lies across his hip. 

Your eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Well, that’s why you picked me to teach, isn’t it?” You raise an eyebrow, and the cheeky grin on your face is enough to make him get absolutely hard again.

Of course, only if you’re up to the task.

Suga bites gently on your lip again, his hand on your thigh. 

“I didn’t expect you to learn so quickly.”

“Maybe you really do have the gift of teaching,” you reply, as you stick your tongue into his mouth.

[ayamturd]

trapped│bench trio hc

warnings: mentions of imprisonment, exhaustion, ranboo lore, angst

prompt: (requested) “can i request a platonic!bench trio x teen!reader (individually) where they find out you got trapped in the prison with dream?”

pairings: in-game platonic! tubbo, tommyinnit, ranboo

a/n: i tried to experiment with writing more dialogue for this hc, pls feel free to always give feedback!

wc: (1.6k) - m.list

tubbo - 

“No.”

“Tubbo, I’m so sorry but i-”

“You’re wrong,” Tubbo cuts Sam off, shaking his head widely in refusal to the news. He slowly backs away as Sam tries to approach him. “They’re not- no. They can’t be, Sam, there must be some mistake.”

Sam is at a loss, his concern for the boy present, and attempts to raise his hands cautiously out with soft eyes; Tubbo is in panic, and he needs him to calm down.

“Tubbo…”

“I just saw them yesterday, surely-”

“Tubbo, please.”

Tubbo would refuse to accept that fact for what it was

can’t stand to look at the prison, the sight of it haunting him

will ignore the topic altogether and try to change the conversation if someone mentioned you

if they were persistent and didn’t pick up on the fact that he didn’t want to think about it, he’d snap

people always assume that Tubbo is a happy, emotionally driven person; while they’re not completely wrong, he’s extremely closed off to his trauma and knows how to put up a convincing front

that being said, the idea of you trapped with someone who is at the core of his past pain is unsettling to him

he’s trying but failing to pretend like everything’s okay, because everything’s not okay and he feels helpless to the idea that he might be at fault for it all again

make no mistake, he does care for you, but the fact that he cares so much makes it where he doesn’t want to believe something so awful can be true

Ranboo will quickly pick up on what he’s trying to do, and will go along with it for his sake; everyone deals with their trauma and hard news differently, Tubbo especially

Tommy, however, is too upset to notice and reacts impulsively to Tubbo’s reaction

they both clash: Tubbo refusing to address what happen, and Tommy emotionally sensitive when believing Tubbo doesn’t care

his anxieties would build up until one day he just falls apart

“Tubbo?”

They had been walking and collecting more material for their most recent build when Tubbo stopped, Ranboo pausing once realizing he had fallen behind. 

“Tubbo, what’s wrong?” Following his line of sight, Ranboo sighed once seeing your house; despite looking untouched in the time you’ve been gone, something just felt off when knowing you weren’t there. Ranboo patted his shoulder gently before tugging him away.

“Let’s go, man. They’re probably out right now.” There was a beat of silence, and Tubbo eventually responded in a weak voice. 

“No.” Ranboo picked up on the hostility in his tone and spoke with caution to his obvious upset.

“...Tubbo?”

“They’re gone,” Tubbo croaked, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes as he bit his lip roughly. Ranboo tried to console him, but it didn’t help stop the pain. “They’re trapped and I- I just can’t…”

Ranboo was at a loss for words, for Tubbo couldn’t hold it in any longer. 

he misses you, and doesn’t want to accept that there’s a reason he should miss you

tommy - 

“You’re lying.” Ranboo glanced down, his fingers fidgeting together harshly as he struggled to come to terms with the news himself.

“I’m not,” he mumbled, his voice weak in comparison to Tommy’s usual blunt tone. “I’m sorry but it’s the truth.”

Tommy’s breathing hitched from Ranboo’s words, the truth quite evident in his wavering tone and the fact that this was no joking manner. 

Eyes wide, Tommy was frozen to the truth and fear that slowly washed over him, life practically spitting in his face for how cruel the world could truly be to those young on the smp. 

“I know this is really hard to process but we have to be hopeful that everything will turn out okay-” With a shove to Ranboo’s outreached hand, Tommy turned and bolted away, his emotions running high and the situation too painful to admit. There was no ‘okay’ in this reality, you were stuck with Dream and they couldn’t do anything about it. 

Tommy was angry to say the least

he channeled his fear into his drive, but knowing you were trapped with the manic that broke him down and manipulated him for weeks on end completely offset his focus

he didn’t want sympathy, he wanted to get you out of the damn prison

while he’s usually caring to how others may feel and adjust his attitude to them, he couldn’t care much besides the amount of anger he manifested

he’d snap at anyone that tried to console him, yell at others that seemed like they showed no real concern over your absence, and most of all, he’d blame those that tried to downplay the situation

Sam was the center of his rage; Tommy couldn’t stand the thought that Sam sat there and possibly did nothing to prevent your current state

Tommy would close himself off and push everyone away; it felt wrong to act like nothing was wrong when you weren’t there

he can’t stand the idea that everyone’s okay when you’re not, and it follows him to the point where he wishes he was in your place instead 

“Tommy.” Puffy’s stern voice startled him, and he flinched with tired eyes from his spot above on the small hill. 

“You shouldn’t torture yourself like this.” 

Tommy clenched his jaw from her words, her concern valid but useless to his main reason standing watch over the prison. With a shake to his head, he tried to wave her off. 

“I’m not,” he mumbled, “I need to be here.” With a sigh, Puffy crouched down next to him and moved his chin towards her, eyebrows furrowed as she took in his tired eyes and the bags that hung beneath them. He was pushing himself too much. 

“But you don’t, Tommy. You shouldn’t be the one to burden yourself like this.” Trembling lips and narrowed eyes, Tommy broke down. Puffy was quick to grab hold of him, trying to steady his distraught state when he lost his footing. 

“Why couldn’t it have been me?” he cried, his eyes squeezed shut as he dug his head deeper into Puffy’s arms. “Why isn’t it me?”

Puffy couldn’t do anything but squeeze the boy tighter. 

Tommy was a force to be reckoned with when things involve his friends, and the fact that he couldn’t help you essentially tore him to bits

ranboo - 

“Are you alright, Ranboo?” 

Ranboo looks ahead, but avoids Sam’s wavering eyes as indelicately as he can. He doesn’t want to show his real emotions to the news; he doesn’t want Sam to feel worse for the situation as is. 

“Y-yeah, yeah, I’ll be alright. Mhm.” Nodding stiffly, Ranboo’s voice pitches higher than what it usually is, but he pretends it doesn’t faze him while rubbing his hands anxiously together. 

His head snaps up when Sam speaks, his ears twitching once recognizing the painful guilt in the creeper hybrid’s voice. 

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry I let this happen.”

“It’s okay, Sam. I don’t blame you.”

While Ranboo chose not to look directly at Sam, he emphasized his point a final time, his thoughts lost in thought of the real guilty party.

“I don’t blame you at all.”

oh Ranboo

he would be concerned for other’s reactions to the news, first and foremost

he’s the type of person to put people above his own needs, he puts other’s take on the news before his own

will comfort Tubbo to the best of his abilities by distracting him

though Tommy tries to push everyone away, Ranboo will find ways to help, whether that be letting him yell his heart out when he’s upset or putting a blanket over him when he passes out after watching the prison overnight

you were one of the few people that understood his main values and always treated him well; he’s close to you, and would have probably told you about Dream’s internal torment over him

because of this, knowing that you were trapped with Dream made him feel like he had some involvement with it, that he’s at fault somehow

he puts others before him because he feels guilty, like he needs to redeem others for something he possibly did

no one knows of your status, of how you’re doing in there alone with Dream, but he fears the worst and rattles himself down to the bone

when he’s with Tubbo, he’s able to play along and put up a front too: pretend nothing is wrong and not be faulted for it

but when he’s alone, he’s spiraling and has no one there to wake him up

“I let this happen.” Ranboo was pacing, his voice echoing in the dimly light room while his thoughts rang loudly in his head. He could stand still, for he was too anxious and unnerved by the recent events.

“I’m the reason, I’m the reason they’re trapped. I did this.” 

Lifting his hands to his head, Ranboo began to pull at his hair, pushing pressure to the stress he had created upon himself. Before he could demean himself further, however, another voice spoke up. One familiar and one thought gone.

“You’re right Ranboo.”

Pausing, Ranboo froze in horror to Dream’s taunting statement. He pushed his hands against his ears, desperate for the voice to go away.

“No…”

“You did this to them, and they’re stuck with me now.”

“N⍜”

“Can you hear their screams?”

“⌇⏁⍜⌿ ⟟⏁.”

“They’re mine to play with. Because of you.”

“⏚⟒☊⏃⎍⌇⟒ ⍜⎎ ⋔⟒. ⟟⏁'⌇ ⋔⊬ ⎎⏃⎍⌰⏁, ⟟⏁'⌇ ⋔⊬ ⎎⏃⎍⌰⏁, ⟟⏁'⌇ ⋔⊬ ⎎⏃⎍⌰⏁ ⟟⏁'⌇ ⋔⊬ ⎎⏃⎍⌰⏁-”

people are more important than any goal or belief, and Ranboo stands by this when he vows to end Dream himself