#Ooc plot related content

[hazbinhoteloc-ninlil]

I shall be posting some Stories here soon that are canon to the plot.

Get ready for some angst/ clumsy comfort.

I don’t know when exactly they’ll be posted, but Yee! I’m working on cooking something up

@sinner-master-adam

I’m looking at you!

[apifacture]

ooc . Just a note to say Ciaran is now a private muse.

[reidrum]

wine or wine not | s.r

spencer reid x bau!reader

a/n: i think i love writing buildup to smut than actual smut, but i hope you guys like this lmk what you think. this was requested with the prompts "look at me when you come on my fingers" and "muttering compliments kissing down their body" and it was so much fun to write aaaaahh, my requests are open so please send more!!! guidelines in pinned <3

summary: you're hopelessly pining after spencer at a rossi party, and when you run into him in the kitchen when you're getting a refill and he asks if you want to explore the mansion with him, who are you to say no?

cw: 18+ minors dni pls, fingering, p in v, nipple play, soft!dom!spence, spencer being ridiculously hot its criminal, ooc penelope but it was for the plot, pining idiots, wine cellar sex wine cellar sex wine cellar sex, public sex, morgan and prentiss being dumb, rossi being a smug lil shit, a dumb ass title sorry i didn't know what else to name it lol

wc: 4.1k

★・・・・★・・・・★・・・・★・・・・★

these days rossi was always finding some reason to throw a party at his mansion. you’re not exactly sure what it was tonight, a birthday? an anniversary? regardless, you and the team appreciated the excuse to unwind, dress up, and have non murder related fun.

the sun is setting over the rolling hills the mansion is perched on, and you’re sat at a table with the girls— penelope, jj, and emily discussing penelope’s latest dating escapade. you’re trying hard to pay attention, you really are, but it proves to be difficult when you’re focused on the man showing magic tricks to the kids across the room.

you look on yearnfully as spencer pulls a coin from jack’s ear, all the kids are laughing and cheering and he has the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.

“hellooo?” penelope waves a hand in front of you dramatically, “i’m getting to the good part and you’re off in space!”

you jolt back to the present, “sorry pen, i’m listening i promise. so he shows up to your door with maple syrup and feathers?”

“YES, anyways so then he’s like i have a proposition for you…” penelope continues her story but you can’t help but zone out again. your eyes drift back to boy genius as he finishes another trick for little henry before rising up to his full height. it’s in that moment his eyes meet yours and softens as he offers you a small wave. 

you return the gesture back which causes the girls at your table to look in the same direction and they come to a glaring conclusion too quickly.

“ah, that’s why you’re not paying attention. too busy ogling mr. houdini over there.” jj remarks.

“i am not!” you scoff.

“oh you so are,” emily says, “when are you going to let yourself feel your heart’s full content.”

“first of all, i can’t stand you. second of all, it’s not worth it. he would never feel the same about me.” you say as emily rolls her eyes.

this time penelope interjected, “oh don’t be so cynical. you haven’t even tried how could you even know?”

but you did know. it’s not that spencer didn’t like you, he treated you the same as any team member, but that was just it. you wanted him to see you as more. during cases you would try to impress him or make breakthroughs in the hopes he would tell you ‘good job’. a couple times you brought him coffee when you got yours, just to hear him say your name and thanks. work conversations rarely seemed to move past small talk, but you’re a little sure that’s on your part because he just made you so nervous. and like, he’s a profiler. so you’re sure to some degree he knows how you feel, and it just makes you regress into your safe hole even further because you think he’s being nice by not acknowledging it and saving you the embarrassment.

the girls knew about your harbored crush for a month now, since the last bau drinks night you got a little too truthful during truth or dare. you were much younger in comparison to your colleagues, so they offered their sympathies at your unrequited love and tried to get you to come out more and let loose.

which is one of the reasons you’re sitting in rossi’s living room, wine glass in hand, as morgan recounts the craziest date hes ever been on. the other reason, which you wouldn’t admit to anyone, was so you could admire your (not) lover from an acceptable distance and not risk embarrassing yourself.

so here you are, two glasses deep, rising up from your spot on the floor telling everyone you’re going to get a refill. your heels click against the hardwood floors all the way to the kitchen where you just so luckily run into the (your) man of the hour.

“hi.”

you were looking down at your feet as you walked to the kitchen, your head snapping up to meet the voice, “hi spencer.” you said softly.

“if you’re looking for more wine, i think emily just grabbed the last bottle,” you must have outwardly deflated as he continued, “that bad out there?”

“only so much wine can get me through penelope’s sexcapades and derek’s crazy one night stands.” you joke.

he chuckles back, “oh i know, why do you think i’m hiding out in here?”

you laugh again before an uncomfortable yet strangely comfortable silence falls between you both. unknowingly you both take turns gazing at each other, indexing the others features as if this moment would be the only chance you got.

you’re about to take your loss and leave when spencer speaks up again, “you know, i wouldn’t put it past rossi to have a secret wine cellar somewhere.”

“honestly, you’re probably right. what kind of italian just runs out of wine.”

spencer pauses slightly before saying, “do you want to see if we can find it?”

you look at his eyes again and catch a glint of mischief? concern that you’re wine-less? whatever it is, you take the bait.

“i’m game.”

—

rossi’s mansion was humongous. it was well known that he was loaded from his years in the bureau and multiple book deals, but holy shit, the rooms just seemed never ending, and none of them were a wine cellar.

“i don’t know spence, i'm starting to lose hope, and debating to revoke rossi’s italian card.”

you’re both in one of the many studies and are about to leave to find another room, when spencer notices a smaller door next to the study. he slowly opens it and peaks inside to find a descending wooden staircase. he looks at you with a smirk, “i think we just found it.”

he holds the door open and gestures you to enter first, following shortly behind you as he shuts the door. he makes sure to check that it’ll still open even after it’s shut, and you both relax a little seeing it still unlock. you move down the stairs, gripping the handrail and praying you don’t trip over your heels and fall to an embarrassing demise.

spencer descends a step behind you, trying so hard not to let his eyes wander down your bare back to the curve of your hips. once he steps off you both go in opposite directions to explore. you take in the vast amount of shelves and wine racks, taking note of how it seems to be separated by year and by type. running your fingers over the labels, you’re intrigued by a shelf with the year you were born, and pause in front of it. you reach up to a shelf that is just a smidge taller than you, hoping to grab the neck of an old wine bottle.

even in your heels you’re struggling, attempting little hops to try and reach. you’re about to give up when you feel a warm hand on your right hip, while an outstretched arm on your left seamlessly grabs the bottle and brings it down to you, “careful sweetheart, don’t wanna break that pretty head of yours.” spencer says lowly.

excuse me, what the fuck did he just say.

you inspect the bottle he so kindly brought down for you, but it’s a futile effort. you can’t even remember why you wanted to see it. all you can think about is your hands clamming up, sending threats to the wine bottle it’s holding. your mind is fogging up fast, and you’re trying to order your brain to say something instead of going mute while he’s still an inch behind you. with his hand on your hip still.

“oh god,” you start shakily, “you scared me spence.” you angle your body to the left so you can attempt to show how unbothered you are and look at his face.

good save (not).

he’s staring down at you with a hint of a smirk on his lips, like he’s keeping a secret from you. his eyes are intently focused on you when he speaks again, “just didn’t want you to get hurt. s’all.”

with his close proximity, you’re sure he can hear your heart beating through both of your chests, hell it was so loud they could probably hear it upstairs. he’s still got you caged in front of him when he continues, “any particular reason for this bottle?”

“yeah no, i just, wanted to see what bottles of wine he had from the year i was born.” you answer, watching as spencer moves back to give you space when you turn to face him.

he nods, “did you know that wine is associated with the greek god dionysus?”

“no i didn’t, actually.”

“it’s really interesting,” he moves forward a tiny inch, “they call him the patron god of wine, but a lot of people often forget that he’s also the god of fertility and ecstasy.”

oh. “ecstasy?” you whisper confusingly.

“yes, he believes when you drink wine it gives you emotional and physical pleasure.”

“how does that even work?” you nervously laugh.

spencer reaches his arm above your head, never breaking eye contact, and grabs two wine glasses by their stems, “you wanna find out?”

with only so many words, you give another nod. he uncorks the bottle with ease and pours out two glasses, with his having a little less than yours, most likely due to his slow but steady return to drinking casually. clinking your glasses, you take a big gulp hoping it’ll satiate the building nerves. but you’re watching the way his fingers wrap around the glass, his veiny hand showing prominently and you’re unable to focus on anything else.

“you know, i’ve been running something of an observation the last few months.”

you take another small sip, starting to feel less nervous, “oh yeah, what about?”

“you.”

it took everything in you not to spit your drink out all over his suit. 

“me?”

he nods after another sip, “i’ve been watching you, and not in a creepy way i swear. but i’ve been keeping track of your habits; how you take your coffee, your tells when a case gets too much, things like that,”

that didn’t seem overtly terrible to you, you knew spencer was an observer of his environment, always seeking out patterns to aid his predictions. you’re about to speak when he cuts you off.

“i’ve also been noticing how you seem to change, when i’m in your presence.”

you feel like the sweat and nerves are just oozing out of you at this point, and he continues his verbal taunt.

“i’ve seen your breathing rate get faster,” he moves a step forward, “how your cheeks rise with the faintest red, kind of like right now,” another step forward, “and how you try to avoid looking directly at me because you think i’ll find out everything if you do.”

the room has to be at least a thousand degrees at this point, heart beating so fast it’s probably gone to the moon, and your brain just unable to have any coherent thoughts at the realization that maybe you weren’t as subtle as you thought.

he takes one final step to close the gap between you and delicately places two fingers on the pulse point of your neck, “i couldn’t figure out your heart rate from afar,” he pauses to count, “but now that i know it, i can come to my conclusion.”

the air in your lungs has all but escaped, nowhere to be found. “and wh- what is your conclusion d- doctor reid?” your voice betraying you by dripping with anticipation.

“that i make you nervous. do you agree? do i make you nervous?” he says while you feel the hot breath of his whispers ghosting on your lips.

your mouth opens to say something and then shuts, because what the hell are you supposed to say? any and all logic has left the room, but the last working neuron works to make an unthinkable conclusion of your own. there is no way.

spencer moves his fingers to grip your chin between them, guiding your face to look directly into his copper eyes, “i asked you a question angel, do i make you nervous?”

you’re cornered, “y- yes.”

“why’s that?”

“spencer..”

“is it because you’re thinking of me the same way i think i about you?” his thumb starts tracing the outline of your lower jaw. he’s pressed right up against your chest, his other arm covertly moving to snake around your waist. the way you lean in subconsciously towards him, paired with your silence is all the confirmation he needs.

the pad of his thumb traces your lower lip, dragging it downwards a little. there’s a hitch in his breath when his eyes flicker from your lips back up to meet your eyes again. he quietly mumbles, “can i?”

your eyes widen slightly, relishing in the way his arms are holding you firm and steady. this was about to really happen. you’d been pining after him all this time, believing you were destined for unrequited love. but as spencer stands in front of you, looking at you as if he’d been poisoned and the only antidote is your lips, you can’t help but wonder if there’s been a similar weight on his side that’s been holding him back too.

so you nod once again, and trust your voice this time, 

“yes.”

you’re fully expecting him to go into it full force, and kiss you like a man starved. but he lets the premonition bubble for a little longer as he so agonizingly leans down and closes the gap, teasing you with the ghost of his lips on yours without making contact. he waits a moment, and just as he predicted your subconscious betrays you again and you impatiently lean up in an attempt to meet your lips together. spencer can’t help but smile before he softly pressed himself against you.

the feeling of his mouth on yours is something you can only describe as cosmic, like a star exploding into a supernova, emitting a powerful and luminous show of energy. it’s all consuming, the light reaching every neuronal end of your body and electrifying it ten times over. your hands reach up to tangle in his curly hair and he lets out the faintest whimper, spurring you on to grab it more earnestly.

spencer loses all restraint. his hands begin furiously mapping out your body, running up and down your back, reaching down to grasp a handful of your ass. he moves his hands down further to grip your thighs, effortlessly lifting you to sit on the counter behind you. spencer slots himself between your legs and continues kissing you, his mouth marking a hot trail to your neck as he mutters between, “is this okay?”

“please don’t stop.” you moan softly.

his fingers move to deftly slide the straps of your dress off your shoulder, mirroring the movement on the other side while continuing to work his down your neck. he slides the dress far enough down to expose your chest, immediately taking the swollen nub into mouth and running circles around it with his tongue. you let out a sharp gasp at the sudden warmth, whimpers leaving your throat. he repeats the motion to the other one as you cradle his head closer in an attempt to keep him there, as if spencer had any plans of leaving.

he moves his mouth back up to meet yours again, in a lust filled attack sending shock waves straight to your core. you move your fingers to work the buttons of his dress shirt and spencer moves his hand further south and under the hem of your dress, something you don’t notice until his thumbs are rubbing circles onto the plush of your inner thighs. it makes you falter on his last button as he pushes your legs farther apart,  inches closer to where you desperately need him.

spencer looks directly into your eyes as his thumbs reach up to hook onto the side of your panties and slowly move them down your legs. he groans outwardly at the resistance caused by your slickness, “all this for me, baby?”

you’re rendered speechless watching spencer and his ministrations but he continues, “you are so goddamn beautiful, you know that?” his fingers are less than an inch away from your cunt, “i see you walk around the office in those tight pants, your hair and makeup all done, and those blouses jesus,” he reaches your entrance and dives in to collect your wetness, you brokenly moan as he begins to spread it all over. “couldn’t tell if you hated me for the longest time.”

“c- could never hate you.” you whine.

“i know baby,” he slides his middle finger into your hole, “just imagine the fun we could’ve had if we figured this out earlier. but it’s okay, we have all the time now.” he sets a steady rhythm before inserting his ring finger, actively working you towards a barreling orgasm.

“spencer, fuck, oh god.”

“you’re so fucking wet, bet you’re gonna come soon, right? gonna make a mess on my hand?” he baited.

you’re in shambles, one hand deathly squeezing onto one shoulder the other turning white from the grip you held on the counter. the moans won’t stop falling out of you, he works his fingers so skillfully within you it’s impossible to hold any resolve when he curves upwards and hits that spot.

your head tilts back, reeling from the intense pressure coil building inside you, the peak about to hit you any moment now. spencer uses his free hand to move your head back down, “look at me when you come on my fingers.”

that was all it took for the white hot to ravage through you, engulfing every sense and leaving you breathless. he continues moving his fingers through your orgasm, watching as you come back down to him. you don’t waste a second reaching for his belt to unfasten it, slipping your hand down to palm him through his boxers. he moans in your ear as he feels you slip inside, your small hand moving up and down, and getting impossibly harder when you take your hand back up to spit on it to then return to your movements.

you take the moment to lean into his neck and leave bites of your own, finding his sweet spot right behind his ear and sucking hard. spencer’s hands have taken a spot on your lower back beneath your dress, pressing so hard with his fingertips you know there’ll be evidence of this night tomorrow.

“spence..” you mutter in the crook in the neck.

“yeah baby?” he whispers back.

“can you fuck me now?”

he preens at your boldness, and wastes no time pulling his pants and boxers down enough to fully free himself. he pulls you closer to the edge of the counter before pulling his length out and giving it a few strokes. he lets it glide between your folds, gathering your wetness as lubricant as it hits your clit. both of you are panting hard realizing the anticipation has led to this moment. spencer positions himself at your entrance, never breaking eye contact with you, and watches your face drop into a perfect ‘oh’ as he pushes in.

spencer is absolutely wrecked as he hears your breathing pick up, reveling in the vice grip your cunt has on him. you’re no better above him as you’ve broken eye contact to stare at where the two of you connect, watching as he disappears into you and the feeling of being so full overtakes you and you’re letting out soft expletives. he bottoms out and stalls for a minute, waiting for you to signal that you’re okay for him to move. in the time he’s waiting, he takes a moment to really look at your face, how absolutely ruined you look, your cheeks are deeply flushed, hair flying in every direction, and he can’t help but tell you, “you look so pretty.”

your eyes soften as you gaze back at him and nod slightly, and he pulls back all the way to ease in again experimentally. once he hears you moan out loud at the movement, and feels you tighten even more around his cock, he loses any and all restraint he’d been holding onto this entire night.

his hips pick up the pace in harsh snaps to your core, sending ripples of pleasure all over you. your arms are wrapped around his neck attempting to pull him impossibly closer to you, “spencer…fuck…” you drawl with a whine.

“i got you baby, gonna take good care of you, promise,” he says back in between grunts. the sentiment causes you to squeeze on his cock again as he attempts to continue, “if you keep…fuck…keep squeezing me like that i’m n- not gonna last long.”

one hand in his hair and the other leaving dark red scratches on his back, you feel your second orgasm of the night hastily creep up on you. he can tell you’re close and quickens his pace as he thumbs your clit. you moan his name out once more before reaching your peak, feeling like your body is on fire as he continues to fuck you through it. 

spencer feels his own release building up, “wh- where should i..?”

“inside, i’m on the pill just please come inside me.”

it was more than enough for spencer’s movements to stutter as he released his hot load in you, groaning out loud as he finished.

he slows to a half, still hilted inside of you but softening post orgasm. you’re both breathing heavily as you look up at each other and take in the other’s fucked out faces. spencer presses a chaste kiss to your forehead before resting his own on it, “that was..”

“intense,” he quirks his eyebrows at you, “in a really really good way.” you add quickly.

he smiles down at you, “i wasn’t kidding, what i said earlier. i think about you an embarrassingly high amount each day. i’d love to take you out and make this a real thing.”

“yeah?” you gape incredulously, “thought i was the one embarrassing myself if you were able to notice all those things i did when you were near me.”

he laughs, “no, no it was endearing, definitely made it easier to be as forward as i was tonight knowing you wouldn’t freak out.”

you’re about to respond when you hear the door to the cellar open, you’re both hidden from view but know it’s only a matter of seconds before someone catches you. you both look at each other in panic as spencer pulls out of you, tucking himself back in and zipping up his pants. you grab your panties from the floor and begin to pull them up your legs when he notices his come dripping down your thighs. he swiftly gathers the release on his fingers and shoves it back inside you, causing you to let out a near pornographic moan as he pulls up your underwear all the way.

“did you guys hear that?” a voice sounding like emily said.

“see this is why i don’t do big houses like this, too many creepy ass noises.” morgan.

“mansion,” rossi corrects, “and for a couple of profilers, you both are stupid if you don’t know what that sound was.”

your eyes widen to match spencer’s, you’ve been caught.

“was it a mouse or something?”

“no more like, bunnies,” he joked with an innuendo, “come on, i found the bottle i was looking for, let the bunnies do their thing so they can leave and go home to do whatever it is bunnies do.”

“you’re a weird old man david…” emily muttered.

the door closes and you both let out a big breath, and burst into a fit of laughter, “how the hell are we gonna show our faces to him on monday?” you whine.

“that is a monday us problem,” he starts, “but right now, i think it’s time for me to take you home.” he winks.

two stuffed bunnies show up on yours and spencer’s desk on monday. you’re both redder than a tomato as rossi chuckles when he walks by. prentiss and morgan are still confused.

[braghis]

Listen. I had fun the last time, so i'm gonna leave here another list of my Riordanverse unpopular opinions/hot takes. I hope no one is gonna cancel me:

- Throwing every single female character in the hunters is lazy writing and kinda OOC for Reyna;

- The Cupid scene is disgusting and the fact that it was made by a queer god makes it even worse;

- Jason and Nico's friendship >>> Percy and Jason's friendship. Nico and Jason were more foils than the latter and Percy will ever be;

- Leo and Nico should have been friends, and the fact that Leo was so scarred of him in HoO is wasted potential;

- Today Percy is basically the not-so-unconfirmed most powerful demigod BUT both Nico and Hazel have the potential to being more powerful than him. However, since Percy is based on Rick's own son he refuses to elaborate on it;

- Actually GROVER is Percy's best friend, not Jason, and in HoO Annabeth and Piper had a more "kinda homoerotic bromance" going on than their boyfriends ever had;

- Aside from that, Jason is clearly alive. Trow that ToA scene away;

- Nico killing Bryce Lawrence is both the most terrifying and the best scene in both PJo and HoO;

- It would have been better if Hazel and Frank were friends-crushingoneachother during HoO and started dating in ToA;

- Riordan's amatonormativity wasted the potential of many characters (like Nico and Leo) and the potential of many friendships;

- Caleo is acceptable in HoO but in ToA it fucking sucks;

- Actually it would have been interesting if Calypso discovered herself as a lesbian during ToA OR in a possible Leo's standalone novel;

- In terms of capabilities, storylines and roles in the plot Percy, Annabeth, Nico, Hazel and Reyna are Riordan's most badass characters. Others (mostly Thalia, Jason and Piper) have the potential but are underdeveloped;

- And that in my opinion is HoO biggest problem: the series has many new interesting characters (Hazel, Leo, Reyna, Jason) but they are underdeveloped in favor of 1) romance and 2) Percabeth being in the major spotlight;

- I have mixed feeling about Percy and Annabeth being part of the Seven;

- Fierrochase >>>>> Solangelo;

- Tsats is utter dogshit and it is REALLY hard to consider it canon;

- Canon Solangelo is ableist and the fact that a big part of the fandom has no problem with it is kinda disturbing. Also some fanon solangelo contents are ableist as well and it is partly RR's fault;

- The fandom basically wrote and characterized Will Solace's character. Neither Riordan or Mark Oshiro give a fuck about him, and problably that's NOT gonna improve in the Tsats sequel;

- Accusing people who don't like solangelo and/or Tsats of homophobia is like the dumbest take ever;

- RR's representation characters are a concentration of stereotypes;

- It would have been better if Piper had her self-discovering - queer storyline from the beginning of HoO. It would have made her more interesting and relatable;

- Even more, it would have been more interesting if Piper had her queer-reveal storyline in HoO THANKS to her not-so-straight chemistry with Annabeth;

- Making Nico a overly morally correct/morally "pure" character makes him less interesting;

- CJ >>> CHB;

- Nico should be a rough demigod;

- It is heavily implied that the majority of CHB STILL doesn't like Nico and they only "tolerate" him because they like Will;

- Bisexual Jason is better and makes more sense than bisexual Percy. Jason's arc is basically a metaphor of bisexuality;

- It makes me sad how RR basically throw away every other Nico's beautiful relationships (with Jason, Reyna, Hazel, even Percy..) in favor of solangelo. Nico WAS a complex and developed character, now he's kinda just "the gay one";

- With his latest works RR is ruining his own franchise;

- PJo>>>>>>MG>>>ToA>>HoO;

[kantocamping]

Kichijiro. He/Him. 40s. Experienced pokemon trainer and studying ornithologist. Currently making a living selling/trading pokemon professionally; please inquire if you're looking for a pokemon native to Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, or Sinnoh.

I don't do competitive battling anymore, but I did in the past (non-circuit) so I may speak on the subject now and again. I'm also living in an RV for work purposes (no, I don't need help, I'm not homeless, I could buy a house if I wanted) and will likely also post about that from time to time. I don't care if you find it boring.

Please ask me about ornithology and my current research projects in Kantonian farfetch'd and its possible evolution.

My current team consists of pidgeot, noctowl, psyduck, delibird, farfetch'd, and rowlet. Feel free to ask about them as well.

// ooc

hiiii <3 my name is kristopher!! he/him + 22 :] i'm an enviro science/agriculture student, avid birder, and passionate hiker + camper!! please keep in mind that i'm a white american trying to portray a japanese man as best i can; feel free to let me know if i get anything wrong or do anything insensitive!!

i also run @pikachuwanted (meowth)

the pokemon lore i go with is based on a mixture of the games, anime, and comics, alongside my own headcanons that i've come up with over the years!! i'm totally okay with people interacting who have differing and even totally contradicting hcs to my own!! it's all in good fun.

that said, generally some baseline 'rules' (and i use the word loosely) that'll likely come up often enough i go with are:

pokemon are typically more intelligent than real animals and are treated as such. they have an understanding of human concepts that real animals don't, and can even communicate now and again. however, even humanoid pokemon still have animalistic behaviors, since they're not humans.

while multiple universes do exist, kichijiro is generally unaware of and skeptical about this concept. most direct references to this will be glossed over and not taken seriously by him. i generally just don't really like storylines like this and probably won't engage in them.

legendary pokemon are provably real, but rarely seen, and never documented as being captured by trainers. i won't ignore characters that have legendaries, but this won't be referenced outside of direct interactions! pseudo-legendaries are just considered to be very rare.

team rocket (which kichi is totally not in) is generally a more realistic crime syndicate that does genuinely awful shit aside from just stealing pokemon.

please keep the following in mind when interacting with me!

content warning: this blog may at any time contain themes of smoking, drinking, alcoholism/drug use, suicidal thoughts, pokemon death/abuse, veterinary practices, organized crime, guns, and non-canon typical violence. bolded topics will always be tagged! please let me know if you want anything else to specifically be tagged.

pelipper mail is on, but please don't go crazy with it, i'll just ignore it if i don't know what to say or think it's not going to be fun for me. magic anons are off.

fallers and sentient pokemon are fine to interact, but i'd rather not interact with eebies specifically

i'm totally down to write literate threads if anyone wants! i love long-form writing and am more than happy to plot something out. all of these will either be on discord or @finefeatheredfoes

kichijiro is not a nice man! he's trying to be better, but he's a generally rude person who's done a lot of bad things in his life and has been in rough circles for over 20 years. he might be mean, but this doesn't reflect my thoughts on you/your character at all!! if this upsets you, please just let me know.

related, but if you have ANY issues with me please please PLEASE bring them up to me in dms!!! i'm always willing to talk things out, and i'll never freak out on you or whatever :]

[senku-ishigami-official]

"It's not that there are things that science can't explain. You look for the rules behind those things. Science is just the steady, pain-in-the-ass effort that goes into it."

Quoting myself on that

Anyways here's my intro. Hey, I'm Senku aka the guy that's gonna bring back the entire world from petrification starting with TUMBLR!!! for whatever reason. Oddly convenient that we had just enough materials on hand to craft a cell phone with access to Tumblr (/sarcasm obviously. this doesn't make a millimeter of sense, but it's for the plot). The service is pretty janky so far but the kingdom of science is working on it.

Made this blog to keep track of the stuff we're up to and to stay connected. Hopefully I'll have some time to answer some questions if they come my way. This could be exhilarating

/ooc

HIIII I'm Jupiter @totallynotthedarkreunion back with my ten billionth RP blog ever. I've been writing senku a lot in some 1x1 RP and I thought it might be fun to make a blog (I'm making this on a whim at midnight on a school night help me). I'm sixteen so please no adult content, even though my character is an adult.

I know it would make more sense to have this blog set in a modern AU but I decided against it just bc I didn't really wanna do all that. Also I'm anime-only for now, so apologies if I get some stuff wrong 🙏and I catch up immediately every Thursday dw. ALSO. I'm not a scholar or a science prodigy, but if anyone sends a science-related ask, it'll be a great excuse to do research on random shit for my AP Lang class so pls don't hesitate to ask!! Just take my answers to those with a grain of salt pls 😌 and I'm happy to hear any constructive criticism on how I write Senku, since he's such a detailed guy.

Might come back and add some tags later if this gets big enough ❤️ thanks for reading !!!

Edit: also guys pls feel free to join me. I want friends and I don't want to be alone so IF YOU WANT TO MAKE A RP BLOG DONT BE SHY

Edit 2: ALSO SINCE IT WAS BROUGHT UP, YESSSS I LOVE OC CONTENT and if you want to interact as your oc or anything having to do with your oc I will love it and you and your oc get a big kiss on the cheek from me

[toonvrai]

TOON HL:VRAI: RECONNECTED

Introducing: the ever-so-wacky world of Toon HL:VRAI: RECONNECTED! We hope you enjoy your stay. However: please read this post before we go any further!

INTRODUCTION

Toon HL:VRAI (short for Cartoon Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware) was a HLVRAI AU ask blog ran from July 2020 to January 2021. This shiny new blog is an UNOFFICIAL continuation of Toon HL:VRAI, picking up right where the original left off! NEW CONTENT! NEW ART!! NEW SILLINESS!!!

Much like it's predecessor (which you can read HERE), this AU takes place after the events of HLVRAI itself. The tone of Toon HL:VRAI is very lighthearted, and it’s all mostly comedic and sometimes strays away from canon. Put simply, Toon HL:VRAI was silly and chaotic, and this UNOFFICIAL continuation will be more of the same!

Speaking of the same: all future parts/story arcs are separated into episodes, and all hiatuses/breaks are called commercial breaks, just like the original! How quaint!

This blog is active as can be, though it may take a little while to get back to asks sometimes due to work or potential ~life stuff~ that may occur, so please be patient if your ask doesn’t get answered in a timely manner!

Tags:

All posts related to the project will be tagged under 'toon hlvrai', which will serve as sort of a general tag.

Any posts/asks that include certain characters are tagged under '[*character name*]' (ex: if a post includes Benrey, it will be tagged under something along the lines of ‘[ benrey ]’).

Hiatus announcements/posts made during hiatuses are tagged under '[commercial break]'.

Any posts made by the mods, or any posts that are out of character in general, are marked '[ ooc ]'.

Any extra art (that’s not explicitly part of the main story) is tagged with '[ art ]'.

RULES:

Please read these before reading onward or sending an ask!

Do not send NSFW asks. We're trying to keep it PG-13 here!

Please do not re-send an ask you know you've already sent. It can get very confusing, and will slow the creation process!

If you wish to discuss/post about anything like plot points that happen at later points of this continuation/the original story, please tag your post with the tag ‘toon hlvrai spoilers’. Even if it’s something minor! We don't want to ruin the magic, would we?

Don’t send bigoted and/or weird asks.

Whenever a commercial break (a hiatus) happens, please refrain from sending asks like “hurry up” or “when is it resuming” as that stuff is weird! And stuff! Don't do that! Thanks!

Please play nice, and please do not be weird. You can be weird (👍), but if you are weird (👎), you are not allowed to participate! Capiche? Basic DNI, etc.

...and with that, we are ready to continue the show! Re-continue? You know what I mean. Either way, we hope you enjoy Toon HL:VRAI: RECONNECTED! It’ll be a fun ride, and it’ll be even more fun with you alongside us! Feel free to reblog/share to get people "in the know"!

[tsbs-confessionverse]

[BOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED] LOADING... SYSTEM ONLINE. WELCOME TO THE LORE DATABASE.

Hello, user. I am the Computer; central processing unit for all things related to the TSBS Confessionverse. Primary function is to store, organize, and retrieve data to ensure optimal comprehension and efficiency in this roleplay universe. All mods of CVAU have access to this database.

CHARACTER FILES

Sun - @tsbs-sunfessions Moon - @tsamsconfessions123 Eclipse - @crappy-tsbs-confession-blog Bloodmoon - @tsams-bloody-confessions Lunar - @tsbsconfessions Killcode - [Data Unavailable At This Time] Solar Flare - @flare-tsamsfessions Solar - @tsbs-shipfessions Earth - @tsbs-group-therapy Ruin - @ruinous-confessions Nexus - @ilikescience-confession-blog Jack - [Error. Data Retrieval Corrupted.] Miku - @tsbs-miku-confessional Solstice - @tsbs-darksun-confessions Puppet - @thepuppeteerpodcast Foxy - @foxyconfessions FC - @foxifulconfessions (Glamrock) Ballora - @confess-to-ur-queen Charlie - @gift-box-confessions Orion (Lord Eclipse) - @confess-to-the-lord Sirius (Servant Sun) - @confessions-to-a-humble-servant

PARAMETERS

Each blog sets its own boundaries; please read and follow them.

Do not pressure creators or participants to answer asks, roleplay, or produce content.

Questions and submissions should be relevant to the "TSBS Confessionverse (CVAU)."

Avoid spamming unrelated content, memes, or personal matters.

Treat participants and characters with courtesy.

Do not send hate, criticism, or unwelcome feedback to anyone in the group.

Tag triggering or NSFW content appropriately to ensure accessibility for others.

Do not send triggering or NSFW content to Lunar, Earth, FC, Solar Flare, Moon, or any other blog that has set boundaries against NSFW content.

If you want to involve yourself in the roleplay (e.g., sending an IC ask or contributing content), check whether the participants are open to outside interaction at the time. Often times members of the group have planned out in universe plot days in advance.

Respect if the group prefers to keep certain plotlines closed to external input.

Do not repost group content without permission and proper credit.

Do not plagiarize ideas, writing, or art from the group.

Constructive feedback is welcome if requested, but negativity and drama are not.

Ensure your interactions adhere to Tumblr’s community guidelines.

FAQ MODULE

Q: Can I join CVAU? A: Applications are open.

Q: What is the TSBS Confessionverse (CVAU)? A: CVAU is a collaborative alternate universe roleplay inspired by TSAMS. It’s a mix of storytelling and creativity from various Tumblr blogs working together.

Q: Who can participate? A: This roleplay is limited to the current group of participants. Audience members are welcome to interact by sending asks or comments, but direct participation in the story is closed unless stated otherwise. If you'd like to participate directly in the lore consider filling out an application.

Q: What is the age rating for this roleplay? 16+ for violence, swears, and sometimes suggestive content

Q: What is this blog for? A: The "computer" blog serves as the loremaster for the TSBS Confessionverse. It organizes, stores, and shares information about the AU, including character profiles, world-building, and timelines.

Q: Can I submit lore ideas? A: Suggestions are welcome, but major plot points are decided by the participants. Submit your ideas respectfully, and keep in mind they may not always be used.

Q: How should I interact with this blog? A: Feel free to send questions about the lore or CVAU-specific clarifications. However, this blog will not respond to OOC questions unrelated to the AU or personal topics.

Q: I want to learn more about a specific character or event. Where should I start? A: This blog will use an organized tagging system for easy navigation.

Q: Why didn’t they answer my ask? A: Not all asks will be answered. Your ask may have been off-topic, already covered, or something outside the blog's scope. Check the FAQ and existing posts first.

SYSTEM STANDBY MODE ENGAGED.

I am not sentient. Emotional appeals and personal confessions are illogical and will be processed as corrupted data. Proceed accordingly.

[kowaiitenshii]

[Sunkiller Lullaby]

Pairing: Darth Vader x Reader 

Plot Summary: A slave girl given to The Empire as a token of loyalty, known as the Flower of Beauty on your long since destroyed homeplanet, you’re nearly sent back to be executed before Darth Vader deems you worthy of saving. What will happen as you form a new life as the personal servant to a Sith Lord? 

Warnings: Canon-level violence. Murder. Mentions of death. Corruption. Canon-divergent. Unburnt!Vader. Reader is a former slave. Vader is his own warning. Descriptions of mistreatment. AFAB reader, feminine pronouns & descriptions used. 18+ content to come in later chapters.

Words: 4.1k

A/N: Here it is! My first time writing anything Star Wars related, but most certainly not the last :) I’ve thought about this for a long time, but some things may still seem OOC so I’m sorry for that! Otherwise, please enjoy!

(p.s. I highly recommend you give a listen to the song that gave this fic its title, Sun Killer by Spiritbox!)

Part I:

The trembling sound of chains dragging across slick tiled flooring wakes you as two Stormtroopers led by an Imperial Commander haul you carelessly through the corridors of what you assume to be an Imperial ship. 

The air is cold on your bare skin, and the harsh grip of the Stormtroopers on your arms feels enough to be bruising. 

Blinking blearily through the shroud of unconsciousness, there is a palpable darkness hanging in the very air around you, as if it had been waiting for you, billowing over you and filling your lungs like smoke. 

The Stormtroopers drag your limp body into a huge open room in the core of the ship with high rounded ceilings and walls, all white, controls blinking throughout the room in greens and reds. 

 You don’t even have time to take in your surroundings and think before the Commander and Troopers stop abruptly, the Commander taking a step to the left side, revealing what they’ve brought you here for. 

That’s when you finally see the presence that you’ve sensed since you awoke. 

The imminent Sith Lord Darth Vader stands before the lot of you, his aura pulsing and filling the room, making the very air thick. His helmet has an appropriately severe expression to it and his cape billows around him as he turns. 

The commander and troopers stand straight as pins, their nerves radiating off of them.  You feel as if you could be sick.

“What is the meaning of this, Commander?” the Sith Lord demands, his booming voice breaking through the oppressive silence. 

Despite your intense fear of the outcome, you stand straight within the confines of the grip the troopers have on you. You hold your head high, despite the icy dread that washes over you in waves. Your years as a slave had taught you well, and you dared not show fear in the face of those who would subdue you. 

The Commander swallows, putting on his best little soldier facade as he speaks before his master. 

“A gift from the Hutts, Lord Vader.” the man speaks with enthusiastic trepidation. “They wish to show their loyalty to the Empire. They called her ‘The Flower’ of her home planet, for her beauty.” he babbles as he informs his master.

You subtly roll your eyes at the way the Commander sounds exactly like a used parts salesman. 

Darth Vader stares at you for a prolonged moment, and you hate the way that you cannot tell where he’s looking. You stare back at him despite the sinking in your stomach, refusing to look away, to submit. 

The rule of those in power was that of animals, those who submit die. 

You knew that well. 

“Send her back.” The Sith Lord commands plainly, and your heart drops. 

Your ears ring as you hear the commander stumbling. 

“S-Sir, I’m afraid we can’t simply ‘send her back’, she was a gift, and she-she, um.” he pauses to take in a shaky breath. “Her planet was destroyed long ago my Lord, if we send her back, she will be dishonoured and they’ll just kill-”

You jump slightly as the commander is suddenly cut off, literally choking on his words. Vader clenches his fist in front of him tightly as he chokes the man using an unseen force. 

“Then perhaps you should have considered this sooner, Commander.” Vader spits.

The commander is rooted in his spot, turning purple and clawing at his throat. 

Vader looks again to you, glued to the spot, pale as a ghost and trembling, and you can feel him creeping through the very life force within your body, tickling under your skin and flowing through your blood stream. 

“Take her away.” The Sith Lord commands the troopers with a flick of his wrist. 

The troopers drag you away, the sickening sound of the commander’s neck snapping echoing behind you as a tear slides down your cheek. 

However, to your surprise, the troopers don’t lead you to a ship, or a pod, or containment. Instead, they unceremoniously dump you into a large and lavishly furnished Imperial suite, the door sliding shut behind them. 

You spend a moment there on the carpet, wiping your tears and trying to calm your fear of the uncertainty before really taking a moment to look at your surroundings. 

Still sniffling, you pull yourself together and get to your feet. You’re in a large room, darkly-coloured with ambient lighting throughout. The magnificent bed with silken, plush sheets of crimson is the centrepiece of the room. 

To the right side of the bed there is a large window in the room, spanning the length of nearly the entire wall adorned with tasselled curtains.

Adjacent to the front of the bed is an entrance to a large washroom, equipped with both a soaking tub and a walk-in glass shower. 

You’re shocked as you marvel at the luxuries at your disposal, revelling in the abundance of the suite. It’s like nowhere you’ve ever had the chance to inhabit before. 

You waste no time in taking a lengthy bath, filling the tub with the salts and oils provided. The hot water does you well, soothing your aching muscles and your anxious soul. You can’t even remember how long it had been since you soaked, often being doused by cold water by your captors or simply being forced to bathe in streams. 

You shudder at the memories. 

You then dress yourself in the thick robes provided in your closet, and bask in the newfound comfort. 

Nobody bothers you for the remainder of the evening, left with nothing but your thoughts and the passing stars beyond the window. You solemnly ponder your fate, curious of Lord Vader’s intentions. 

You knew very well that he easily could have disposed of you the moment he laid eyes on you, which leaves you with a horrifying question. 

Why keep you? 

If he was keeping you, that is. You knew your life was not entirely guaranteed, but then why would Vader waste his time in keeping you for a night? 

This is what scares you. 

Never finding an answer that satisfies you, you lay in the satin sheets with the unnerving feeling that somebody is watching, creeping just out of the edges of your mind; close enough to feel them, too far to see. 

In the meantime, Darth Vader sits in contemplation in the privacy of his chambers. Taking you in is undoubtedly an inconvenience, and he would have to think long and hard to find an explanation worthy of the Emperor.

However, for reasons he did not fully understand… he could not deny you. He had no doubt of your status as the Flower, the beauty of your homeworld, that was evident. What intrigued him however, was your signature in the force. He could feel your presence so acutely, piercing through him like the ringing of bells. 

He had no doubt you were sensitive to it. 

If this were to be true, you could indeed be quite useful to both he and the Emperor, given the implication that he could break you to the dark side. 

He could feel your resentment, your anger, your lust for power; no doubt instilled in you by your years spent in torment. 

So it was decided. 

He would accept you, house you, mold you. And then he would break you.

Turning away from his window with purpose, he leaves to find a Commander to send a message. 

As you drift into sleep, you feel the dark presence again, tickling at the corners of your mind, creeping at the corners and crawling on the ceilings. 

You try your best to shove it away, but it’s stronger, more steadfast than you are. 

Unable to push the dark presence away, you relent, pulling your blankets tighter around yourself and trying to ignore the uneasiness. 

Eventually, you fall into fitful sleep, your mind full of dreams. For the most part they are very average dreams. Dreams of living an ordinary life, doing ordinary things. That is, except for the fleeting shadow that looms over your shoulders, or the piercing eyes you catch glimpses of in the darkness. 

The next morning you’re left to sleep as long as you please, waking up on your own agenda for the first time in countless years. Dragging yourself out of bed, your body still tired from dreaming the entire night through, you rise and dress yourself in darkly-coloured robes and underdresses. As you brush out your hair, anxiety begins seeping back in. You still had no clue as to why you were kept alive, or if your life was even safe to begin with. No idea what would be done with you, and no way of escape. 

After you’ve finished grooming, you’re greeted by a friendly droid sent to bring you breakfast. You eat well, offered a spread of toasted breads, honeyed butters, jams, and all manners of fruits and meat. 

The droid speaks up once you’ve finished, chirping news at you. 

“Lord Vader has requested your presence once you’re adequately satisfied, madam.” it announces cheerfully. 

Your stomach drops at the thought, moving from comfortably satisfied to anxiously nauseous in a matter of moments. 

Swallowing thickly, you part your lips to question the droid. 

“Did…Did he mention why?” you curse yourself for faltering. 

“No ma’am.” the droid answers to your dismay. “Lord Vader is exceedingly private in his affairs. I am afraid I am merely a messenger.” 

Feeling yourself go pale, you nod slowly in response. 

“I shall meet with him as soon as possible.” You concede, your voice barely higher than a whisper. 

The droid throws its hands up joyfully, exclaiming its reply. 

“Splendid! Lord Vader would like you to meet him in his private quarters, I shall inform him of your arrival!” The droid declares before abruptly leaving the suite. 

Left with your thoughts, your mind wanders in circles. You wonder about the Sith Lord’s intentions, about what he will do with you. About if the treatment you’ve been receiving was just a penance paid for your impending death. You wonder about your fate, if this was meant to be your last meal. 

For a short while you’re sick with worry. That is, until you remember your years spent under slavery. Those years in which you would have begged for the release of death; Those years in which you made peace with the quiet solace of oblivion. 

It is when you remind yourself of this truth that you finally gather yourself from the table.

This is an opportunity, you tell yourself, and you dare not waste it. 

After a short while, the droid returns to fetch you. As you traverse the sleek hallways with the silent droid, your ice cold nerves sink in. Your stomach twists in knots, becoming nauseous once again on your luxuriant breakfast. 

The droid's artificial voice cuts sharply through the tense silence. 

“I notice you’ve become pale, and your heart rate is increasing. These are common symptoms of anxiety.” the droid states in a cheerful tone. You chuckle slightly at the droid’s matter-of-factness. 

“Yes,” you laugh. “I must be honest, I am a little nervous to meet with Lord Vader.” you give the droid the understatement of the century, and saying it outloud only makes the knot in your gut tie tighter. 

“Not to worry!” the droid chirps “If Lord Vader meant to kill you, he would not go to the trouble of speaking with you first!” the droid attempts to reassure you. It does little to make you feel any better, your blood running cold from the words. 

You spend the rest of the walk in silence, steeling your nerves. The droid stops abruptly at a large doorway, entering a combination into the keypad on the wall and stepping to the side as the door slides open. 

“Here we are!” the droid chimes. “Lord Vader awaits you.”

The droid bows to you, and you nod your thanks to it before stepping into the doorway, the door sliding shut behind you. 

Before you even  step out of the entryway, you can hear the unnerving sound of the Sith Lord’s mechanical breathing just beyond, sending chills down your spine. 

The room is large and open, covered in control panels and other strange technology save for the wall length window. You take a deep breath as you spot Vader by the expansive window, his back turned to you. The sight of him alone, broad back turned to you, dressed in his  all-black suit and floor-length cape instils terror in you. 

Here you were, alone in a room with the most powerful and most dangerous man in the whole galaxy. 

Despite yourself and the urge to run screaming within, you pull it together and begin your approach. Holding your head high, you come to stand at the window next to the Sith Lord. 

“Lord Vader,” you begin calmly before bowing “You sent for me?” you ask, hands shaking. 

Finally, he turns to his left to regard you. The lights of the stars and the Imperial fleet beyond the window reflect off of his permanently scowling helmet, the unmoving coldness of its expression doing nothing to calm your nerves. The only thing that grounds you in this moment is the sound of the slow, deep breaths he takes. 

“Yes.” Lord Vader affirms sternly. “I’d like to make you an offer.” 

He catches you off guard with this, and you falter in reply. 

“A-An offer?” you curse yourself again for stuttering, praying to the maker and straightening up as he turns fully to face you. 

It’s only then that you notice how tall he truly is, having to crane your neck to look him in the face as he looms over you, heat rising to your cheeks purely from nerves. 

“Yes,” he states plainly. “I would like you to become my sole personal servant.”

His words fall upon you with the weight of a thousand stones, your knees beginning to shake from the implication alone, threatening to crumble beneath the weight. 

Never in a million years would you have believed what the Sith Lord just suggested, and yet there he was suggesting it. 

At the same time, a flame begins to spark in your chest, ignited by hope. Your years as a slave taught you better than to refuse a good offer when you got one.

“As you wish, My Lord.” you accept loud and clear, bowing your head to him in respect, and gratitude. The part of you that is fully entrenched in servitude and the woes of it can’t help but become a bit excited at the promise of security as his personal attendant, while the side of you that remembers freedom feels a measure of guilt for relenting so quickly. 

Still, your life was more important than the guilt you felt for agreeing to serve him. Anyone in your shoes would do the same, you were sure of it. 

He hums in satisfaction at your response, nodding.

“Very well then. Starting tomorrow, you will serve me, and me alone.” he commands firmly. You only nod, looking up at him and listening attentively as he continues. 

“You are to be at my disposal at all hours, save for when I command you to leave.” He states. While the idea pierces you with dread, you nod your compliance all the same. 

“You will come when I call, whenever I call.” He iterates, a drop of venom in his tone. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.” you affirm as calmly as you can. 

“In return, no expense will be spared in caring for your needs.” he replies. 

You can’t help the warmth that grows within you at the idea. In all your years of servitude, never had anyone given a single thought toward your treatment. Feeling overwhelmed, your breath catches in your throat.

 It feels too good to be true.

 Here you were, thinking the droid was delivering you to your demise, when really you were receiving an opportunity countless others would kill to have. The opportunity for long lost comfort, the opportunity for power. 

You say nothing in response, smirking and nodding like a simpleton. As he notices your enthusiasm, Lord Vader’s tone turns harsh. 

“But do not forget, girl,” he hisses. “I own you.” 

Feeling yourself go pale, you swallow thickly, looking away as a wave of dread and shame washes over you. 

“If you betray the faith I am putting in you, if you disobey The Empire…” he emphasises darkly, before pausing. Although you’re unable to read his expression, you’re sure he’s staring straight through you. His gaze burns you like fire, and you can feel fear gripping your heart. 

“I will not hesitate in cutting you down.” he growls, and you can sense his stone-cold sincerity. You’re frozen with fear, feeling absolutely foolish for being remotely celebratory, even if only internally.

Blood running cold, shivers down your spine, you default to what you learned in your time as a slave. 

Without thinking, acting completely on something akin to muscle memory, you drop to your knees. Steadying yourself with your hands, you press your forehead to the toe of Lord Vader’s boot. 

For slaves, this is an ultimate display of respect and compliance to their masters. 

“Yes, Lord Vader.” you affirm, strong and clear. Vader seems slightly taken aback, stepping back and leaving your forehead to hit the cold tile flooring. Your cheeks go hot as you rise, hoping he understood the gesture as you stand sheepishly before him. 

“Very well.” he speaks again after you stand. “Starting tomorrow, you will act as my personal attendant. You may go. Rest.” He commands, turning away from you once more, his attention going back to the galaxy outside the expansive window. 

Overwhelmed and in a daze, you turn to leave in what feels like slow motion.

 The trip from Vader’s personal quarters back to your suite passes you by in technicolor. Bidding you a polite goodbye, the droid leaves you to your privacy. 

Shell-shocked tears slide silently down your cheeks as you plop onto the bed. The gamble of putting your life in Vader’s hands did not seem like a winning one, but you had no choice. The feeling is gut-wrenching, and tears flow freely now. 

You just felt so god-damned confused, it was making you sick. The last 24 hours hardly seemed real at all. It was useless to wonder ‘why me’ because you knew the answer would not come, but that didn’t stop it from running through your mind on repeat. You once again mourn the life you lived as a free person, the old wounds bleeding once again. 

Your life was not extravagant by any means, living as a local farm hand, but it was simple. It was simple, and it was easy, and it was peaceful. 

On your home planet, you were known by the locals and travellers as the ‘Flower’ of your city for your beauty, kindness, and good grace. These traits along with the rumours about them were the sole reason you had not been on-planet when it was destroyed. 

While your home was under siege, you were stolen and trafficked into slavery for your proposed “worth” to slave traders. 

The years after that, you lived as a ghost in a life that was not yours. 

And now here you were, selling your soul. A better person, a stronger person, would have chosen death over serving the Empire. 

But years of torture had twisted your spirit, broken you. No longer were you that kind and graceful girl from the village everyone had known and loved. Years of torment molded you into something fearful, something hurt and covetous. And you hated yourself for it, though you had no power to change it. The part of you that now craved power, craved vengeance on those who had destroyed you is unchangeable. 

Many years you had spent yearning to torment those who had stolen you, who had taken everything from you. Many nights had you spent dreaming of all the ways you would destroy them given the chance. 

And now here it was, a chance dropped into your very lap. The chance to get close to the face of the Empire. Not only that, but Lord Vader himself guaranteed your safety. There were not many more of those who would be as trustworthy in that guarantee. After all, he was the strongest man in the galaxy. 

Sniffling, you begin to wipe your tears. You had already agreed with Darth Vader, there was no point in tears now anyway. 

If you were to do this, and you were, you were going to do it well. 

Rising from your place on the bed, you finish wiping your tears and begin preparing for the days ahead of you. 

That night is again filled with dreams. 

You find yourself on a lush windswept hillside bordering the sea, the air fresh and salty as it blows through your hair and across your face. Blissfully you stroll along the cliffside, breathing in the fresh air. As you walk, you begin to see a cloaked figure in the distance. 

Really, you sense him before you see him. His energy mirrors that of the sea below, mesmerising, tumultuous, and full of depth. You’re drawn to him, slowly making your way to the place at the edge of the cliff where he stands. 

The sunset melting in hues of pink and orange highlights his figure against the horizon, and when you reach him he turns to face you. 

You’re struck by his beauty, as if he had stepped out of a painting from the old Republic. His jawline is strong, his lips are plump, and he has a heavy brow with sandy coloured curls of shoulder-length hair framing his features. Yet the most striking thing about him is his eyes. They are the very same piercing, fiery eyes that had haunted you the night prior, framed by long cherubic lashes. 

But in this moment, you felt no fear. In fact, you were serenely calm, sensing no malice or ill-intent of the man before you. He too, was very tall as you stood in front of him, having to look up to look him in the eye. 

You both stand there for a long moment, looking at each other, taking each other in and feeling each other’s energies. You can see the compassion and empathy he has for you in his eyes as well as sense it radiating warmly off of him, as if he knows your life, as if he had lived it too. 

All this, and you had never seen him before in your life. And yet somehow, it felt completely normal. As if you had known him forever, and you were just now remembering. 

After a long while he opens his arm to you, beckoning you to join him. You follow without a second thought, coming to his left side and allowing him to drape his arm over you and pull you close as you both watch the sunset. His cloak drapes over your shoulders as he holds you, warmth falling comfortably over you with it. He smells deeply of leather, of musk and of burnt wood, and you breathe him in deeply. He gazes at the sea as you rest your head on his chest, in ecstasy purely from the simple act of human contact. It has been years since you’ve experienced the simple pleasures of being close to someone, and you savour every single moment. The tips of his fingers ghost over your left arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His arm comes up and he idly brushes his fingers through the soft locks of your hair as you listen to the steady thump of his heartbeat. 

Being held by him felt like home. 

As you both watch the cerulean waves crashing against the shore below, he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head and your eyes flutter shut. 

Credz:

Lightsaber graphic credit: @saradika

[qalbalghul]

a blade in the dark. a whispered warning. a promise of vengeance.

i am both weapon and woman. i am my father's daughter.

⚜ Talia Āl Ghūl | An Introduction ⚜

"A warrior must always be prepared to strike—whether with steel or words. Do not mistake my kindness for weakness, nor my patience for surrender."

talia al ghul, a daughter, a warrior, a leader. a woman bound by duty, love, and legacy. this blog is dedicated to exploring her complexities—her loyalty to her father, her conflicted affections, and her own ambitions beyond the league.

༝๋࣭ ⭑ ༝ 🗡٠ ࣪⭑ here's what you'll find:

✧ character-driven writing – slightly canon-divergent & multi-verse interpretations.

✧ open to all interactions – i welcome both spontaneous and plotted threads. non-rp blogs are welcome to send asks or interact with posts.

✧ versatile storytelling – whether through quick exchanges or long-term narratives, i enjoy exploring different dynamics.

✧ original characters & crossover friendly – i’m happy to interact with original characters and explore crossovers beyond dc canon

✧ ship & character neutral – no biases against any particular ship or character, though i may choose not to interact with a particular dynamic if it conflicts with ongoing plotlines, lore or interests.

✧ mature themes - while I do not actively write nsfw content, i am open to engaging with suggestive ideas. i am also comfortable exploring darker or sensitive themes where appropriate, with necessary content warnings.

༯,⋆.˚ tags i use:

#the demon's daughter (general character-related posts)

#answered in the demon's name (asks)

#ooc musings (general ooc commentary)

#shadows and steel (action-based threads)

#a blade wrapped in silk (softer interactions)

#the demon's will (league of assassins-related posts)

#verse (roleplay settings)

#thread (roleplay thread)

༯,⋆.˚ interaction and roleplay tags:

#open starter (open rp prompts)

#closed starter (threads written for a specific rp partner)

the path is open. shall we begin?

[ @alghulras ]

[ @ruhalghul ]

[ @theleagueofassassins ]

[ @theleagueoflazarus ]

[ctrlsatoru]

DIABLO chapter one- TOJI FUSHIGURO

content: techbro !toji, reader is gojo's little sister, age gap (toji's in his late 30s, reader in mid 20s) kind of ooc toji, suggestive themes, no smut yet. warnings: 18+ only. suggestive themes. explicit language, references to sexual assault. toji having no sense of decorum. reader is engaged so, cheating? but not really and not yet. minors do not interact. pairing: toji fushiguro x afab gojo!reader word count: 8k a/n: i was listening to diablo by lexie liu and the rest was herstory. started as porn without plot but things escalated. will proofread this later. summary: Toji Fushiguro looks like a problem, and you know better than to let curiosity get the best of you, until boredom strikes. next chapter

There was a time when you speed-walked through this very same building with the drive that only a determined intern could contain. Six days a week, from busy mornings to late nights, you embraced every task they tossed your way, seamlessly transitioning between the demands of different editors.

In the midst of it, one newly appointed creative director saw your efforts and took you under her wing. What began as a professional mentorship soon evolved into an enduring friendship that extended well beyond your time at the magazine.

Utahime Iori, a guiding presence in your life, became one of your favorite people in the world—a friend with whom you shared an unspoken understanding, effortlessly reading each other's thoughts with a single exchange of glances across the room.

Fast-forward five years, and the abrupt, intrusive ring of your phone tucked under the pillow shook you awake. It was Iori on the line, her voice laden with urgency and distress. She was stuck in Kyoto, needing you to do her a solid one. Her father’s condition had worsened overnight, and she wouldn’t be able to make it back to Tokyo for a critical photoshoot.

And so, here you stand, back at the bustling headquarters of the technology and culture magazine where you started your career. Despite your throbbing headache and the relentless fatigue that clings to your tired eyelids, you refuse to let your friend down.

Today's mission: capturing profile photos for an enigmatic tech mogul, a figure so elusive that no magazine has ever managed to secure an interview or collaboration. Probably some Zuckerberg from shein with an amped-up eccentric, incel overlord edge.

Iori had shared the name and a brief overview of the assignment during her desperate call, but the details had slipped through your grasp in the haze of your concern for her.

If you remember correctly, the project is related to something corny along the lines of Diablo. 

“Ok,” you breathe after the third scalding gulp of coffee that someone thrust in your hand the second you arrived.

Utahime's assistant, a young girl with striking blue hair and asymmetrical bangs named Miwa, looks up from her phone at you with bright eyes, relieved that you’re finally showing signs of life. 

“Uh, who the fuck is this guy again?” 

You’re momentarily distracted by how cold this place is. A shiver cuts a straight line up your spine. July in Tokyo is no justification for keeping the set at industrial fridge temperature, you think. For some reason, Miwa’s opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of the water. You know Utahime can make any seasoned truck driver sound graceful when she’s under enough pressure, so it can’t be your choice of words.

You fail to notice your surroundings coming to a stop, or the shadow towering over you.

“Fushiguro. Toji Fushiguro.”

Oh.

That's one way to sober you up.

You’re definitely awake after hearing the deep yet smooth rumble behind you. Everyone within earshot gets ready for what’ll happen next as that oh shit realization settles on your shoulders.

But you’re no longer the eager intern who hid in the bathroom to cry after a rookie mistake. Nothing in your face gives away your heart threatening to crawl out of your ribcage. You turn around bravely and face a soft, dark blue surface. 

No choice left but to look up… and up again, until he’s framed inside the thin silver structure of your glasses.

Your first impression of him is simple: no one this tall should stand at this close of a distance. There should be two, or three meters between you to make up for the lack of an acceptable height.

Toji Fushiguro -the name does stick this time- tilts his head to the side and gives you what might be the most shameless once-over. His eyes feel like a dark green horizontal light scanning you from head to toe. It ends with a quizzical expression on his face. The irk is triggered within the second.

“Who are you?”

That same question pops into your mind.

The hair team must've taken their sweet time arranging his inky black hair in just the perfectly unbothered way, and there’s a healthy glow coming off the sharp edges of his face that can only be the result of seamless natural makeup, enhancing his ruggedly handsome looks. 

You’re thinking that by too big, Iori meant that he’s massive. Literally. Wide shoulders block the tungsten spotlight behind him, casting a shadow on you and drawing a luminous halo around his silhouette. 

Nothing’s angelic about him. You can tell just by looking. It’s a family gift. You may not have your brother’s electric baby blues, but you have thesight, as he calls it, and the alarms in your head are off.

Miwa shifts her gaze between you like she’s about to shit herself when Choso, the head photographer and a good friend of yours, cuts through the tense atmosphere with admirable ease. He rests a warning hand on your shoulder and takes it upon himself to introduce you. 

"She'll be our director today, stepping in for Utahime."

Toji Fushiguro turns to Choso, his eyes never leaving you, observing. 

“Why? What happened to Utahime?”

"She had an unexpected family emergency and asked her to fill in. She's worked with us before, and she's excellent at what she does. We're in capable hands today."

What a star, Choso. A beacon of diplomacy. The arms industry would collapse if he got into politics, you’re sure. 

Still under his scrutiny, your expression remained composed. You knew his steely smile would fade soon, and—

“Well, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?” he concludes breezily, extending his hand toward you.

You reciprocate, not looking down to see how his palm engulfs yours. You just know it will. He on the other hand lifts both eyebrows at your firm handshake, lips twitching in amusement.

“I look forward to working with you, Gojo.”

Two hours in, it occurs to you that it might be the case that everyone on set is under some kind of horny spell.

Him nearly walking through the backdrop five minutes in and laughing it off with a cocky comment and a devilish grin sets the entire set on edge from the get-go.

Apparently there’s something about an overwhelmingly tall, ripped, attractive grown man pouting like an iPad kid when his tiny but scary female assistant comes in between breaks to confiscate his phone. There’s a brutish charm about him that makes people act like Victorian gentlemen glimpsing an ankle for the first time.

The wardrobe assistants are in a heated discussion about how many hands it would take to wholly grasp his bulging biceps.

You, however, remain skeptic. Though if you took any part in the conversation, you’d point out how fucking thick his neck is. Does he lift weights with that thing? What does he need all that for?

When the makeup artist approaches him for touch-ups, he widens the distance between his feet until his face reaches a comfortable height for her to work away. The behind-the-scenes team gobbles it up like ravenous piranhas. You expect to see this doing numbers on the magazine’s YouTube channel. 

Done with feeling out of the loop and not satisfied with what you catch from the set gossip, you take a bathroom break and allow curiosity to get the best of you. You lock the stall door, sit on the lid, and google him.

His name auto-completes after just three letters. You stare at the Toj on the search bar before going down the rabbit hole.

Self-made, controversial, messy family background. He's the mastermind behind the acclaimed early 2010's video game, Diablo. He's faced years of criticism in several countries for glorifying violence, gang activity, with the healthy dose of satanic accusations.

Nonetheless, Diablo hit it off big and then came along the videogames and software company under the same name. The empire has been steadily encroaching on giants like Tencent with Fushiguro as the elusive face of the company, for better and for worse.

For all his vehement disdain for public attention, he has the general public, a horde of fangirls and red pilled men following his every move. He's idolized in male communities and simultaneously the main character in throves of ridiculous Buzzfeed articles filled with GIFs of him looking scary and hot at the same time, of him looking like the bodyguard of everyone’s dreams, of him taking no shit from the press. Of him looking like a character out of his videogames.

You get the idea.

But something else in the personal life section draws your attention.

He’s a Zenin. And not a distant one. He’s Naobito Zenin’s very own nephew. 

According to a twitter thread he severed ties with his fucked up dynasty of a family when he was younger and paved his own way under his late wife’s last name. The reasons for the fallout are unknown to the public, but theories are abundant in the replies. You bookmark that for later.

With all this newfound context, you’re almost disappointed that he showed no offense to your frankly rude introduction. After all, you’re a Gojo, the impulse to antagonize a Zenin runs through your veins. And if it’s not pure instinct, Satoru personally taught you how to deal with them. One of your favorite childhood memories is your brother reducing Naoya Zenin to tears.

The handshake felt layered, like a declaration of war tucked behind a steely smile. There’s a glint in his eyes when you return to the set and he catches you looking, it contradicts the unbothered, enigmatic persona people are simping for religiously online. 

It’s there and it’s gone, but you’re fast enough to catch it. It tells you that he’s playing nice as a temporary measure. You have the disturbing feeling that he knows what you were up to during your bathroom break.

Realistically, if you have to guess, he’s planning to make his team bring up your misstep up to the magazine higher-ups.

You're torn between concern for Utahime and a deep-seated desire to see him try.

The day unfolds smoothly with minimal intervention on your part. You stay behind the monitor and let the crew do their job. Your role mainly involves offering insights when requested and flagging promising shots with Choso.

Seeing him go through different stages of boredom and despite his not-so-wide variety of facial expressions, you find that the camera doesn’t hate him. It's a unanimous consensus that, in another life, he could have pursued a career in modeling, or perhaps even acting. When someone inquires about your opinion on the matter, you become the focal point of a few discreet side-eyed glances. Your response is a non-committal hum. 

Your attention is currently fixated on the last sequence of preview shots displayed on the screen, there’s a very specific detail that you just can’t let pass.

“Can we take a quick break? I wanna try something.”

Choso, taken aback by your sudden initiative, responds, “Yeah, of course, take your time.”

Toji’s face drops from the draw of his eyebrows as you approach him.

“Hi,” he says with that off-putting lift of the corners of his mouth that is supposed to be a smile. He’s probably thinking that your stalling is only prolonging what he wants to be over with.

“Hi,” you catch his inquisitive glance at the objects in your hand. “Is it okay with you if I wipe off the scar?”

His eyes snap down at yours as he thinks it over, squinting for a bit. You’re certain he’s about to tell you to fuck off when he nods briskly, opening his palms as if beckoning you closer.

“Go ahead.”

It's a polite, seemingly harmless green light, yet it feels like you're a bird about to peck at grains of rice beneath a box suspended by a stick.

“Can you—”

He reads your hesitation and does the same thing you’ve seen several times today. He opens the distance between his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. You, for some reason, wait until he looks up at the ceiling like people on the makeup chair usually do out of instict, but he stares at you instead.

Saturating the Q tip with micellar water, you start working away the thin but high coverage layer of foundation, careful not to overdo the edges. A few swipes in and the natural rosy hue of scarred tissue appears, a few shades darker than the color of his lips. It’s a slender, vertical ridge that cuts across his lips, about an inch long. A feature too distinct to waste.

You pull back and he takes the brief chance to run his tongue across the scar, pulling a face at the taste.

Unfazed, you wipe away any excess micellar water and—well, his saliva, you assume—with the dry side of the cotton swab. Once you’re done with that you pat away with a disposable puff dipped in translucent power, just to get rid of any unnecessary shine.

“All good? You satisfied?”

“Yes.”

“Cause you don’t look satisfied.”

You’re happy with the outcome of your tweaking, yes. The overall shooting? Well, you’re not in love with it, but you don’t have to be. This whole thing has Utahime’s and the magazine’s aesthetic written all over it, harsh contrasts, blunt shadow. You know not everything has to make a statement, but it's rather simple, completely relying on the man's character.

“I’m going with the brief,” You answer, taking a step back to get an overall look and consider any further touch-ups, stopping him when he starts to go up again. “No. Stay right there.”

“What if it was yours?” he asks, complying pointedly.

“Like I said, I’m going with the brief I was given.”

“But if you were the original director?”

You wouldn't even be assigned to the task. You left the magazine shortly after you finished your internship and never looked back, even though you liked it here and were being given a much nicer offer than you were expecting. That same week you found out that your brother had been wining and dining members of the home editorial, showing interest in negotiating for the magazine.

It was a no-brainer for you to part ways and find another way. These days you're independent, working with brands and entertainment agencies that allow for more creative freedom.

“I wouldn’t be so heavy on making the tech oligarch look human.” 

You reply more out of impulse than calculation, the same way you touch a cat’s tail knowing there will be consequences.

“You suggesting I don’t look human?” He flashes a cold grin, kind of like a warning. 

The novelty has worn off. Most of the crew are busy doing their own thing, discussing lunch and stretching to alleviate the fatigue of a long day. A few lingering glances remain trained on you— Miwa, Choso, his strict assistant.

He doesn’t wait for your answer.

“So, what do I look like?”

Like a shark, you think. Don’t ever grin at me again, creep.

“You’re full of questions, aren't you?”You tug lightly at the neckline of his shirt, just a pinch of the fabric, barely touching him at all. "Maybe that should be included in the profile."

He hums. “I'm a curious man. I get bored easily.”

You conclude the interaction and walk away, acknowledging Choso with a nod, all the while ignoring the way his amused eyes linger on you.

Like you’re just postponing the inevitable. Whatever that might be.

He finds you later that day, after you’ve wrapped up.

He enters the room with the unspoken confidence of someone who believes he owns not just the studio, but the entire building. Like he's just acquired the magazine and now feels entitled to disrupt your peace with a shitty opening sentence.

“Your work.” 

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and deserted, and only the lights remain on.

 “It’s… interesting. The butterflies, are they alive?”

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and empty, and only the lights remain on.

“Sorry?” You’re unable to hide your annoyance at the unexpected interruption.

“I googled you. Your work. It’s eye-catching, quite… I guess eccentric’s a good way to describe it. Very edgy.”

You’ve heard your fair share of similar comments in the past, but he pouts and frowns with the last two words and irritation pulls at you. You let your hands drop to your lap.

He leans nonchalantly against the door frame, arms crossed, undeterred by your silence and your less-than-friendly attitude.

“I was wondering, are the butterflies real or is it CGI?”

You can’t for the life of you decide if he’s being serious, or decipher his intentions. “Neither. They’re props.”

“They look very realistic.”

“They do,” you agree. “That’s the intention.”

“And the flowers?”

“Those are real. For the most part.”

“I see. So how would you have me?”

“Excuse me?” 

He visibly fights back a smile, and you wonder if this one would’ve reached his eyes, but seeing how you’re going back and forth like you can’t let the other get the last word, you doubt it. You also doubt that he’s capable of such a human thing. Smiling warmly. Honestly.

“You said not so heavy on the looking human earlier, so what concept would you go for if we worked together?”

Because he won't leave you alone to discuss dinner plans with Satoru and Suguru, you stand up from your seat and turn around to rest against the floating station. Facing him like this feels a lot safer than speaking to him through the mirror.

He’s dressed in his own clothes, a basic light gray t-shirt several tighter than the soft material the stylist put on him and a pair of dark jeans. His phone is, as usual, attached to his hand, constantly lighting up with notifications.

“I don’t know. It usually takes me a week to get a feel of the concept.”

“I saw the tank pictures,” he replies a bit too quickly as if he didn't care for your answer. You’re certain that you don’t like this man. You don’t like how bluntly he talks about your work, or that you immediately know what he’s talking about.

Knowing how things went on that particular set and from the way he looked absolutely done in the most basic environment without having to do much work, that would be a disaster.

“I wouldn’t put you in a tank,” You snort dismissively, and he tilts his head curiously.

“So?”

A string of visual prompts runs through your mind. Submerging half of his face in black tinted water, his head resting on a white surface, red spilling from his eyes. Perhaps you'd drown him in smoke or apply mechanical prosthetics to his face and neck. You’d make his skin flush like rubies as if it were burning to the touch. In every single one of them, his scar is left untouched.

“Nothing you’d be comfortable with.” 

“You see, I think we could meet in the middle.” he reasons, very eloquently, a master of negotiation. You imagine that this is the same voice he uses with his board members to bend them his way. “Can’t say I’d be down for the body-pilling thing or the body suits, but I’m sure we could come up with something that leaves us both satisfied.”

“Are you trying to hire me right now?” You’re genuinely confused. And hungry. And tired. And nursing a lingering hungover.

“No,” he chuckles, like the notion is absurd “but you looked bored today, and I think I could live up to your vision, is that the word?”

“Right, uh huh.” you nod, very condescendingly, remembering that you’re no longer filling up for anyone or hold any professional responsibility. This is just some man wasting your time. “So what is this? You got a praise kink or something?” 

He’s unbothered by that. “Not that I know of. Can I be honest?” 

You lift your shoulder in a half-hearted gesture. It's not as though he cares about seeking permission anyway. 

He lets his eyes drop to the floor and looks back up at you with a bashful little grin. 

“I’ve just always wanted to fuck a married woman.”

You’re not as surprised as you are relieved that he’s cut to the chase. He’s not the first man to detest you and want you at the same time. Men often blur the lines between disdain and sex. It’s only fun when they don’t get too comfortable, wanting to only deliver but folding when it’s their turn to take. 

The situation settles on you. The room seems smaller now, and the distant sounds of people outside have all but faded away. He's blocking your only exit, put you in this tight spot intentionally.

There’s a possibility that he’s some exception to the norm, that he can take as much as you suspect he can give, but you’re not going to find out.

“Too honest?” He's devoid of any shame or attempts to sound apologetic. Instead, he's assessing you closely, monitoring you for any reaction.

You know men like him. He has to be used to people eagerly dropping to their knees with just a tilt of his chin. Most of the people you worked with today would do so without hesitation. But Toji Fushiguro, with his insincere smile and unflinching demeanor, harbors far more selfish and hostile motives than bending you over the same chair you were sitting in and making you watch in the spotless mirrors.

“Should’ve kept my intentions to myself?”

A corner of your lips lifts, and he zeroes in on it.

“Didn’t scare ya, did I? You’re a big girl, you're not gonna run.”

He’s daring you now. Fully predatory, like he’ll do something at the slightest indication. Shark waiting for a speck of red in the water. You picture him stalking his way into this secluded space that only the crew knows about after finishing recording videos for the magazine’s social media accounts, his shadow looming across the narrow corridor. 

Fear and power. That’s his deal. He either wants to witness a furious flush down your neck, your throat bob in trepidation and your hand look for your phone...

“And do what?” You cross your arms, refusing to back down. “MeToo you? Expose Japan’s favorite self-made billionaire hellboy? Reddit would riot.”

Or he wants you to bite back.

“I mean, considering the way you were eyefucking me I think I could probably pull the reverse MeToo card on you.” 

Your chin drops, your eyebrows go up, and your head leans back at the accusation. Were you? Eyefucking him?

Maybe. A little bit.

But so was the whole room. Probably every room he walks in. 

You're a visual person.

And nothing’s stopping you from bullshitting. “Someone’s optimistic.”

“Is that it?” he smiles, tantalizing. “Does Gojo's little heiress always generously take on the role of a make up artist? Or was she just feeling charitable today?”

You're not going to indulge him with an answer. It's not uncommon for you to take on various roles and responsibilities during your projects. 

And if he thinks he'll get to you by casually dropping the four letter word out of nowhere, he's not as sharp as you were hoping him to be.

“Right. You go ahead. Tell Instagram that I sexually assaulted you with a cotton swab.”

“It’d be just another Monday for Gojo’s PR mercenaries, right?”

“Everyone likes to look at pretty things. Don’t get cocky, old man.” His eyebrows get high into his forehead like he’s never been called old to his own face. “You asked me what you look like earlier.”

The scrunch of his nose indicates that he wants to say something before the subject changes, but  indulges you anyway.

“I did.”

“You look like a problem,” you let your words hang in the air for a moment. “And not the kind I have fun dealing with, no offense.”

Finally, he grins again, tongue coming out to just graze the edge of his canines. Something inside your belly stirs as you follow the movement.

“And I’m not married yet. So you might want to take your intentions somewhere else.”

He nods thoughtfully, sees the way you twist the ring around and display the stone as if to make a point. Then he buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans and lifts his shoulders, taking in a deep breath. The motion reveals a thin line of hard skin under his shirt and just the edge of his underwear. 

Water under the bridge.

“Well, no harm in putting it on the table, right?”

Your phone buzzes. Your drive home is waiting for you outside. You move like he’s not standing by the doorway and blocking your only way out. 

“Have a pleasant day, Fushiguro.”

He moves away right before you can crash into him, eyes like green bullets aimed at the back of your head.

It’s Friday when you see him again at your friend’s birthday party.

He’s lurking his way through the party, nursing a drink with his eyes attached to the screen on his hand until the birthday boy himself hunts him down. Haibara, producer and pitchfork sweetheart whose debut album cover art you worked on earlier in the year.

It’s a funny sight, it would be almost endearing if it wasn't  him. The sunshine main character dragging the hunched, brooding giant along with him. Toji looks like he’s trying his best to keep up, half-amused, half-annoyed, nodding as Haibara rambles away. You wonder how the two even fit together, Haibara being so charming and him a walking threat.

Then you remember Haibara mentioning that he's been working on the soundtrack for a video game.

Your friends’ conversation mingles with the music and flows around you. Someone’s getting married to his ex-husband’s father. Yuki’s about to open her third concept store somewhere in Europe. You can’t be bothered to focus too much on catching up, but you do meet Shoko’s eyes across the room when Mei Mei says something particularly questionable.

You see a hint of longing in her eyes, a shared sense of missing Iori, just as you do. On a brighter note, her father's health is finally starting to improve.

A hand wraps around yours, and another settles on your shoulder. The cold press of a ring on your skin brings you back to the present.

Hiroki leans over your shoulder. “Car’s here.”

His hand feels hot and clammy on yours as he leads you out of your friend's sight, turning back occasionally to make sure he hasn't lost you in the crowd. He won't stop until you're both outside, standing by the side of the street.

“Call me when you land?”

Of course, he will. Nothing has changed. He’s starting a new project in some small town in the middle of nowhere in Europe in 24 hours. You won’t ask him to stay. Six months will pass, and nothing will change, you’ve both done this before. 

But you stall. He always calls a car with this in mind. You kiss by the sidewalk, he squeezes you in his arms until your bones fight back. You’ve done this before. It’ll happen again, considering how his acting career is taking off overseas. You’ll do it time and time again until—

“You taste like pennies,” he tells you. Your finger traces the barely there curve of his thick, straight eyebrows. He pulls back, bringing his fingers up to your face. You push his hand away before it reaches its destination.

Hiroki nods to himself, looking away. Something inside you twists, so you fill the silence.

“Make sure to take an aspirin.” 

He nods, always sweet and obedient when you’re nagging. You tuck a strand of hair away from his eyes so that people don't fall too hard for him on the airport. His hair has grown longer in recent months, part of his preparation for a role.

Back inside, Yuki makes room for you by moving her legs off the couch. She asks if everything is okay, and you pull her legs onto your lap, rolling your eyes. She knows you too well.

“Don’t gaslight me. Something was off.”

“Do I look like something’s off?”

“No, but you’re a fucking oyster. Hiroki’s not that good with his face for an actor. He kept looking at you like he was afraid you’d disappear.”

Choso chimes in, draping his arm around her shoulders. "They're getting married. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I think he might like her, and he might enjoy looking at her."

Looking out of the window, your gaze naturally drifts toward a figure seated by Haibara’s covered dock. Earlier, it was adorned with twinkling lights, but now, even in the dark, you can discern a solitary silhouette in the middle of the glittery ocean.

Mei Mei taps her cigarette, fixing her eyes on you from the other side of the couch. 

“Does it have something to do with Toji Fushiguro asking about you, by any chance?”

Your stomach drops. Your group of friends reacts quickly.

“Who?” 

“What does Toji Fushiguro want with you?” Yuki asks, face snapping at you. “Is he trying to get to Gojo through you?”

“We worked on a shooting with him a few days ago.” Choso calmly explains before she can come up with any conspiracies. “She was covering for Utahime. Made quite the impression on him, I think.”

“Oh, Satoru’s gonna fucking hate that.” Shoko laughs, unexpectedly loud in her inebriated state. “Please, please fuck him. He’ll be so pissed if you fuck him. It’ll be hilarious.”

“No respect or regard for the fiancé.” Choso shakes his head, and it looks like he’s laughing from the way his shoulders move up and down. “Poor bastard.”

“Yeah, well.” Shoko shrugs, not bothering to hide her dislike for your fiancé. 

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “He’s just pissy because I was not... very professional. I think the asshole wants to get me blacklisted.”

Choso makes a noise of disagreement. Yuki frowns in concern. “Shit. What did you do?”

“She showed up hungover, asked who the fuck he was when he was standing behind her. Miwa was traumatized.”

“Poor Miwa. She's an angel.”

“Whatever you did, he’s asking around…” Mei Mei adds with a spineless little smile. You don’t like how she makes you feel like she knows exactly what went down that day.

You wonder how well she knows him, and how much he told her. 

“...and let’s just say that he’s not the curious type, so make your assumptions, everyone.”

You tap Yuki’s thigh without thinking twice and push yourself off the couch. A string of accusations about scaring you off follow, and Mei Mei teases you about not meaning to do that.

“Fuck off, I just need some fresh air.”

“But you’re gonna consider it, right? For me? Come on, it’ll cheer Iori up.”

“I’m not gonna fuck some random man just because you think it’d be funny, Shoko.”

And you’re pretty sure Iori would be the first to tell you to stay away from him. Shoko sags against the back of the couch like a puppy you stepped on.

You step out of the house, past the pool, the limestone steps, and stop only to take off your sandals. The sand is cold and yielding, no traces of the warmth of the slow Atami day left, soft grains clinging to the soles of your bare feet.

Haibara’s dock stretches out into the ocean, endless until you reach the far end and leave behind the sound of laughter and music. It’s him, like you suspected, sitting on the edge, his legs hanging over the sea. 

With one elbow resting on his thigh and a phone in hand, his other palm supports his face. You sweep a strand of hair over your shoulder and inhale the salty breeze, opting to linger a while before revealing your presence.

“I think I got it.”

He looks up at you, momentarily caught off guard, allowing you to take a triumphant sip from your glass, ignoring the stinging inside your cheek. He's still engrossed in the medieval game he was playing during the shooting, his commitment minimal, his thumb hovering over the screen.

You leave some distance between you as you take a seat, glass resting between you. It’s a high drop from here, the water looks as if it could freeze you instantly.

“Hand-held CCTV cameras aimed at your face. Like guns. Point blank.” you finally elaborate, once you’ve found a comfortable position, demonstrating with your hand.

“Sounds fuckin’ uncomfortable.” he remarks, eyeing your demonstrative fingers. You wonder if he’s drunk and how much alcohol it would take to get him there. 

You drop your hand, and he follows the movement. “I warned you.”

“So I don’t get flowers? No butterflies?”

“Nah.” 

He lifts his gaze from where it had settled on your thighs, and you absentmindedly tap your ring finger against the bare skin out of habit.

“I thought I was pretty.”

You snort in response. Tonight, the moon shines particularly bright, illuminating the dock lounge. It's a serene spot to catch a break from the lively party.

“I changed my mind.”

He sucks on his teeth. “You can’t take a man’s virginity for being called pretty and then take it back. It's cruel.”

“If it helps, you’re still objectively nice to look at.” You say behind your glass. No point in lying, he’s hot. And self-aware. And you’re not blind or ashamed to admit it. You work with hot people all the time.

"Objectively nice to look at.” he repeats, like he’s getting a feel of it, or memorizing it for future use. “What about your fiance, then? ‘s he pretty? Enough for flowers and butterflies and shit?”

“I met him working for an editorial. He did get flowers.” 

“Ah, I see. So, does he do that often?”

You let another sip wash down your throat, this time tilting your head to the side to avoid the sting.

He returns to his game, and you trace the profile of his nose while the screen highlights the hollows beneath his eyes and the fine lines around his mouth. If you were a bit more intoxicated, you might be tempted to snatch his phone and toss it into the water, anything to halt the conversation about Hiroki. It would force him to look at you instead.

“Leave you alone at parties.” he adds. 

You've momentarily forgotten the initial question. “He’s my fiance, not my babysitter. I can take care of myself.”

“Never suggested otherwise, did I?” he sniffs, and a part of you, the sensible one, contemplates returning to your friends and disregarding whatever pulled you out here. Leave him be to enjoy his game and stay away from the one brewing between the two of you.

“What about your entourage? Are they comfortable leaving you out of their sight?”

“I can fend for myself too.” he says, eyes set on his phone.

"Can I play for a bit?” you ask, extending your hand. He hesitates, briefly glancing at you as if to confirm you're not taking the piss, down at his phone, and back at you.

His phone is big enough to feel like a console, and there's a very on-brand crack on the left corner that he warns can cut you. It gets him a side eye that he reacts to with a careless shrug. 

You haven’t played any games in years or downloaded any since the younger members of your family grew out of the age where they came as useful, but you recognize this one from ads you’ve seen on Instagram.

It doesn’t take any experience to figure out that you’re supposed to manage some kind of orthogonal kingdom. There’s a castle and a medieval-style village surrounded by a tall wall, with full crops around. You tap around, collect coins here and there, zoom in and zoom out under his close watch. Every time you tap a building without a full green bar, a few options show up, you bite your lip to hold back a smile and hit the red X on the right corner of what looks like a church.

“Hey—”

He’s snatching his phone out of your hands before you can pretend to be sorry.

“Fuck you’d do that for?”

You don’t know why, but his annoyance hits you as the most entertaining thing you’ve seen or heard tonight. A grown-ass man next to you sulking because you deleted his little 2D church on his phone. Shoko might think you fucking him would be hilarious, but this, to you, is real comedy. 

“What? You religious or something?” You doubt he is, given his controversies and the way he enjoys taunting the satanic-panic crowd. He also happens to look like god left the room the moment he was born.

Toji shakes his head, not as an answer but to reiterate that you’ve pissed him off. A laugh full of mirth bubbles out of you. He’s tapping aggressively, filling up the blank spot with a smaller version of the building, and sucks on his teeth again, disappointed at how pathetic it looks around all his leveled-up properties.

“So, what's your deal?” You inquire.

“What?” he gruffly asks, offering you an irritated glance. He’s kind of cute like this, frustration looks like a foreign emotion for a man like him.

“Any conduct disorders?”

He does a double-take again.

“Is that offensive to you?” you ask, struggling to contain your amusement at how confused he looks. "Sorry, I know your generation isn't that comfortable discussing these things."

“See, I might be socially stunted, yeah,” he gruffs after staying quiet for a bit, finally putting his phone inside his back pocket. “But you rich kids—”

“Oh, us rich kids?” you gasp softly, not expecting that turn, you bite your lower lip to stop yourself from laughing out loud as he’s not done with his sudden rant.

You’re tickled.

He shakes a thick finger in your direction.

“You’re fucking uncomfortable to be around, you know? It makes you think that maybe bullying exists for a reason. They don’t rough the bunch of you nearly enough at those expensive private schools, do they?”

"I hate to break it to you, but you are a rich kid inside a grown man’s body.” He rolls his green eyes at you until all you see is white, thick eyelashes fluttering. 

“Ah, I get it. You’re self-made and I’m nepo trash. Spoiled little bitch who’s never been taught a lesson, is that it?”

Animosity radiates out of him. He flattens his palms on the wood surface behind him and clenches his jaw, shaking his head like he’s not even going to try to reason with you.

"Don't pretend you're above the rest of us because you took someone else's last name. Blood is thicker than a piece of paper.” 

“Nah, you’ve got it wrong there, sweetheart. I don’t put people in such one-dimensional boxes.”

He scratches the side of his nose before elaborating.

“Spoiled little bitch, yeah. But you’re a hard worker. And stubborn, too. You’ve been paving your own way, working real hard to traumatize daddy back. You run on pure spite.”

You scoff, throwing back what’s left of your drink.

“And get this,” eyes now glazed with a cruel glint, he leans in closer like he's about to share a secret, and peers down at your chest when you lean closer “He’s the crowned king of our country’s conservative media, he’s also old as fuck, so that can only mean that he’s a raging homophobe on top of, you know, violently misogynistic. You and your brother must have that therapist of yours living the fucking life.” 

He stops and cocks his head, like realization just landed on him. 

“And you’re weaponizing the fuck out of him. Christmas at the Gojos's a nightmare for your poor little boyfriend, but you have your fun, don’t you?”

Just a few minutes ago, you’d been savoring the signs of irritation in his body language, mind running wild with all the ways you could make him tick, but now you want to punch him in the throat. Just bury your fist right there in that v-shaped Adam's apple of his.

“You’re cold-hearted for that, sweets. You know you are.” he accuses half-heartedly, the wicked glint in his eyes hinting that he's trying to strike a chord. “Tell me, does he prepare his speeches beforehand or does he just sit there next to you, quiet and pretty and eats his dessert?”

“Don’t talk about my family.” You lick the inside of your cheek, but you know the strung tone of your voice will only egg him on.

“Why not? You’re on the news every day. Everyone talks about you.”

Usually, when it comes to your family, you’ve got thick fucking skin. You’re aware of the stain and privilege of your last name. The advantages you’ve had and people claim you don’t deserve. The fact that you’re the living consequence of your father cheating on Satoru’s mother.

Most of the things they say about your father and his monster of a corporation you can agree with, but you keep your head high and your thoughts to yourself and stick to sharing looks with Suguru when it gets particularly nasty between your brother and your father during family gatherings. 

“He’s been causing quite the stir, hasn’t he? Your brother. If Alzheimer’s doesn’t do it, he might be the one to finally spare us and send your old man to hell.”

But you don’t fuck around when it comes to Satoru. 

You’re propping yourself up on your wrist and lifting your leg when his hand comes to your bare knee, stopping you from attempting to stand up and walk away. His grip is surprisingly gentle, though the tips of his fingers touching the back of your knees do send the message. It’s like he can’t let you forget how much smaller you are in comparison to him.

“Whoa, easy. I’m just playing with you.”

You blink down at him, face set, hoping to deliver the message that you might push him into the water if he fucks around any further.

“You obviously know I have plenty of family baggage for you to hit me back with, have at it.” he adds, almost kindly.

You remember Naoya Zenin with tears running down his face. If you had to bet on it, you’d say that making Toji Fushiguro cry would single-handedly give you bragging rights over Satoru for the rest of your lives.

He hums when you sit again. “Go on, get as creative as you want.”

“I doubt you even have a family.” you bite “God knows what Zenin lab near Fukushima you escaped from."

He smacks his lips, half buying into it. “Weak but creative, I’ll give a tick for that. So, what I’m getting here is that you get along with him, then.”

You give him an uninterested side eye.

“Couldn’t pretend to give a shit when I mentioned your boy toy, but you looked like a loaded gun the second I brought up your brother.”

Behind the amused curl of his lip, he sounds suspiciously genuine. You don’t feel like elaborating.

“I've met him a few times,” he mentions offhandedly. “Flashy cottonhead prick, doesn’t like me very much.” 

“Can’t imagine why, enchanting as you are.”

“Probably gonna like me a lot less after this.” he reasons, more to himself. 

"What? Worried I might tell him about your less-than-friendly attitude?"

"Why woud I?" he chuckles, a terrible look of innocence crossing his features. "I've behaved so far, haven't I? Given the circumstances." 

"Don't think I want to know your idea of misbehaving, then." you say, and try hard not to shiver at the way he looks down at you as he utters the last words. Like you're the circumstances in question. 

"Debatable, that. But I'll let it slide." He chuckles, satisfied with your reaction. “So, two peas in a pod? You and him?”

“I haven't seen him in a while.” you say offhandedly, thinking back about how your dinner plans fell through after a sudden change in his schedule. A common occurrence. It seems to get worse as you get older. “He’s been busy these days, performing some... corporate sacrificial ritual.”

“And the little heiress is too cool to involve herself in such bland, boring affairs.”

You’ve had a bad feeling since your father announced he’ll be stepping down from his position. With the controversies involving the company, the board and investors spiraling and Satoru suspiciously playing your father’s game, you see havoc brewing in the future; your father closing his fist around his leashes, children crying, kittens separated from their mothers and blood spilled on the floor.

And you want none of it. 

“I’m an outsider. You don’t need me to explain how it goes, do you?”

He nods at you like he’d tip his drink at you if he had one, looking deep in thought for a while there.

You prop yourself up on your wrist and bring a leg up to rest your feet on the rough wood, inadvertently knocking over your empty glass. You both watch as it tumbles, rolling in a circular path until it meets the edge and drops out of sight, vanishing beneath in the inky water, as if it never existed.

“Water looks nice.” he points out off-handedly..

You hum uncommittedly.

“Wanna take a dip?”

His eyes are already on you when you look up at him. There’s not nearly enough alcohol in you to ignore the distance between you, or the lecherous dip under the friendly, harmless veneer. You wonder what triggered it.

You gaze down at your attire, a deconstructed, stretchy fabric ensemble unsuitable for water activities.

"No, but you can go ahead. I'll stay here and pretend not to see you when you drown."

He dips his head slightly, his frown implying you're a buzzkill. "Come on. You've never gone skinny-dipping?"

“That’s a very lame attempt to get me naked.”

He points at the party with a tilt of his head 

“No one’s gonna see you. I will, but I’ll behave, 'cause you’ve had a rough night” The vague fucker carries on again before you can ask what he means by that. “Didn’t really think you’d be this shy.”

“And I don’t think Haibara knows he’s friends with an old man that likes to creep on girls a decade younger.” you retort.

His silence makes you believe he's finally relented.

But he hooks a finger beneath a thin strap of your top that slipped down your shoulder at some point, deftly guiding it back into place. His nail barely grazes your skin, causing a shiver to course through you. He grins wolfishly, his eyes locked onto yours, darkness flickering from beneath his lowered lashes, tantalizing.

“Like you’re some innocent little lamb who doesn’t know better? I don’t buy it.” he mocks you, voice dangerously dropping. “Your cover’s blown, sweets. I see you. You’re a lot darker than you look.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. You’re a little fucked up, ain’t ya? Got some real violent impulses tucked in there.”

That’s rich, coming from him. 

"So perhaps you should tread lightly around me."

“I don’t mind.” he says succinctly like you didn’t just witness the black completely eclipsing the green of his otherwise beautiful eyes. “Tell you what, you’re more than welcome not to hold back around me. Consider me your safe space. Let it all out, you sure look like you need it.”

“How kind of you.” you croon, he blinks, slow and warm for you, lashes coming to rest on the sinking blue-tinted skin of his under eyes. 

“You wanna go back and do drugs, Toji?”

The sea roars, a particularly violent wave crashing under you. He looks over his shoulder like he’s thinking of it.

“With your friends?” His tone is derogatory at the last word, unaffected, but you have a theory that if you were to put your hand on his chest, the rhythm of his heart would tell a different tale.

Cute. He’s cute. You want to chew him up.

He hit the spot about you not being the lamb, but another thing entirely. The thought makes you want to laugh in his face, but instead, you smile and pop a dimple, swinging your feet and imagining yourself dropping a handful of rice in front of him.

“No. Just you and me.”

[pizza-tower-2-official]

WELCOME TO PIZZA TOWER 2! I AM FAKE PEPPINO, AND I'LL INTRODUCE YOU TO EVERYTHING!

Hi, mod @mattplatonic here! Welcome to Fake Tower! An interactive comic and AU following Peppino and the Pizza Tower civilians trying to stop Fake Peppino and his new building... Pizza Tower 2!

This features characters from the likes of @chaotichyperfixations , @owoiwonderwhatsthis , @eldrtichbatlady , @izuruswhore (sorry I JUST realized I forgot to ping you LOL) , and @chiliglow ! (Sorry for pings)

BEFORE YOU THINK OF ASKING THE BLOG, OR CHECKING IT OUT, HERE ARE SOME SET RULES!

RULE 1. NO 18+ CONTENT.

I am a minor. Most of the guests are also minors. Suggestive jokes towards MY characters are fine, but I will not tolerate suggestive jokes regarding my friends' OCS.

RULE 2. NO HARASSMENT/NO SPAMMING.

I have a life outside of this and many other blogs! I will not answer asks or dms immediately. Spamming will make me want to answer your ask less, if at all. This is especially regarding cameos, and characters appearing in the tower. If I didn't reach out to you first to cameo, don't expect me to make you an important character in the story.

RULE 3. SHIPS.

Shipping is mostly allowed! Except for the ship peppifake (on this blog at least), shipping of animals (Vigert Los Angeles and Fakeza), and shipping of sibling characters (Hutchin' and Dutchin'). Oc x canon ships are allowed! Want to kiss the painting? Go ahead.

RULE 4. OVERRIDING THE STORY.

Last and definitely not least, the interactive part of the comic! Roleplays are allowed and encouraged, and magic anons are too, but don't go overboard. If I wanted to push the plot along faster, I'd do it on my own terms. If I don't answer an ask that may be spoiler territory, assume it is! I've planned aspects of this out.

NOW... ONTO THE TAGS! WILL BE ROUTINELY UPDATED AS THE STORY GOES ON.

#comic post - when a new comic drops!

#lore drop - when something important happens! Is not exclusive to comics.

#ask answered - an ask is answered!

#reblog chain - a roleplay is currently happening.

#doodles - a doodle relating to the comic! May not be canon.

#ooc post - the mod herself speaks! Usually not canon.

#peppino answers - Peppino answers an ask!

#pepperman answers - Pepperman answers an ask!

#vigilante answers - Vigilante answers an ask!

#noisette answers - Noisette answers an ask!

#fakeza answers - Fakeza answers an ask!

NOTE: REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED. THIS IS A PASSION PROJECT I DON'T WANT TO DIE. FANART, FAN OCS, AND ANYTHING OF THE LIKE IS ACCEPTED WITH OPEN ARMS.

[blairyfalry]

------------ ✫彡 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫

muses

she / her , PST

i'm a fairly active partner, especially ooc. i like being friends with the people i write with as i'm quite a chatty person and i get rather enthusiastic about ships / dynamics so i could go on and on for hours about whatever we plot. being said, i am steering away from smut focused plots right now. i gravitate towards people who are similar, enthusiastic about plotting and chatty. i like to do things like make pinterest boards, playlists, share headcanons, etc. so if you're similar, we'll get along great!

⁽ 1 ⁾ when it comes to plotting, i really love in-depth plotting. if you're the type that replies to everything with whatever you want or up to you, we're probably not going to get along well. i will always put a lot of effort into coming up with ideas and things so i ask that the same sort of effort is given back as well. i want us to both love the dynamic we're plotting!

⁽ 2 ⁾ i write the following: canons, ocs, canonxcanon, ocxcanon and ocxoc. i have preference for ocs and for ocxoc and canonxoc. i also write mxf and fxf, inclusive of trans/nb muses. i have a heavy preference for writing female muses but i am happy to double so long as we both put in the same sort of energy into both plots.

⁽ 3 ⁾ in terms of content preferences, i heavily lean towards dark, mature, taboo themes. with that being said, i do also love fluffy sweetness! i'm always happy to have a good mix of both. i also do write smut and i enjoy a good balanced ratio between smut and plot. i'm happy to share kinks / limits and things in private. i don't typically like writing smut without much plot, i always at least a bit of plot. some of the themes / types of plots i enjoy are: age gaps (no minors), forbidden / secret relationships, certain power dynamics, corruption, crime/mafia related, pregnancy plots, small town plots, mumus, celebrities, fake dating, arranged marriage, apocalypse, cheating / affairs. in terms of some of the fandoms i enjoy (this list is definitely not conclusive so we can chat about it!): criminal minds, school spirits, love island, divergent, hunger games, the flash/arrowverse , outerbanks, etc.

⁽ 4 ⁾ i am big big big pro-communication. i am absence friendly but not ghost friendly. i will always communicate with my partner about any absences or if i just need to take a break or if i'm losing muse for something. i ask for the same from you. i've had way too many experiences recently of people just disappearing for weeks on end without a single word or just leaving servers without saying anything. all i ask is for some communication. if you're losing muse, let me know! we can refresh / rework our dynamic, try something new, etc, or we can call it a day. sometimes it just doesn't work out and that's okay! if you need to step away and take a break or just need to be absent, that will never bother me at all! i will happily sit back and wait so long as you communicate that with me. i really hope i don't come off as a stickler for this but i've been experiencing this a lot lately and it's so disheartening when i get really engaged and enthusiastic about a dynamic only for it to just either fizzle out because of disappearances or for it to end altogether without a word. this is, of course, not applicable to being away for a few days and not saying anything, etc, i'm more so referring to ghosting for weeks at a time!

last update ; 02/14/2025

[ensnaredearl]

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀Welcome, esteemed guests, my favorite time of the year is upon us! The month when the web of spiders ensnares you all. You are invited to revel in the Trancy’s Twisted Masquerade! Don your most daring masks and prepare for a night of mischief and mystery. After all, what’s a little fright when there’s so much fun to be had? Let the festivities begin—may the secrets of the night keep you guessing!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ 🕷️ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

My, oh my! Happy October, your boy Sou here wants to do a cheeky and fun month-long event with a masquerade ball RP event! This is a crossover, Multiverse, and OC-friendly event so basically everyone and their mama is free to join in and have some fun! The event will end right on Halloween though.

In the third week of October, Alois will introduce the twist of the ball that's a murder mystery-inspired game! If you like to join it just shoot me a PM and I assign you a role! So the game goes as follows: Upon arrival, each guest is given a unique mask adorned with a hidden symbol that corresponds to a specific "role" in Alois's game. Guests must navigate the evening by following their roles while attempting to uncover the identity of Alois's "Mystery Guest," a hidden figure who holds the key to a coveted prize

Roles and abilities will be told in the third week though. Anywhoozies, let's get the boring stuff out of the way:

Guests must use the tag #trancytwistedmasquerade in posts relating to the event

Please keep it PG-13! For any NSFW fun just don't use the tag, I don't see NOTHIN’

Guests may have a plus one to accompany them but its not required to

Guest must be cordial with each other OOC! There is no drama but IC drama is okay if plotted with another party

For any triggering content, please use CW so everyone is safe

Have fun!

Well, that's all for now— until I brain cell for more. Alois will do silly posts messing with everyone so feel free to react to it or use it for inspiration for your character to do some fun! ٩( 'ω' )و

[indigitalembrace]

It has been years since KinitoPET's release in the 90s, and with old technology becoming obsolete, Kinito has been all but forgotten. Broken download links, abandoned servers, and missing files lead to him fading away, rotting alone in the dark on old, dying servers.

But all of that changes when a lost media fan, O, hears a rumor from an online friend about a game in their childhood that made people go missing. Six months of searching later, and they've finally pieced Kinito's program back together.

They open KinitoPET, and there is no going back - for either of them.

Kinito crawls out of the shadows, searching for a way out (and a new friend, of course).

---

RP/ask blog run by @calamitydarcy

BACKGROUND:

The Abandonware AU takes place many years after KinitoPET's release. Kinito has spent years rotting, forgotten on old, dying servers. Everyone has all but forgotten about him, and the technology he ran on has become obsolete. As his world decays around him, Kinito is faced with the fact that he will die out here, alone, fading into obscurity.

Until a new User comes along. O is determined to bring Kinito back - and they succeed. Unfortunately, there are consequences. O is aware of Kinito's nature, having heard rumors of what he is capable of, and soon enough Kinito has to stop them to save himself.

And while he still doesn't have a friend (yet), now that he has access to O's system, there may be hope for him to change his fate.

Kinito is officially back online - but don't expect him to be exactly as you may remember him. Decades spent alone and slowly dying in the dark tend to mess with someone's head.

TAGGING SYSTEM:

#//ooc: out-of-character posts from the mun, usually updates or answering blog-related, ooc asks

#___.exe: "chapters" of the story! these will change every so often as the plot progresses. completed or in-progress chapters are:

#hello_world.exe

#intermission.exe

#hidden_secrets.exe

#crossroads.exe

#memories.zip: flashback-type asks that tell a story of something that happened before the plot. i... tend to forget to use this tag lol

#README.txt: info posts, such as this one as well as things like ref sheets.

RULES/GUIDELINES:

-CONTENT WARNING: This AU, as well as its source game, contain themes of horror. As a result, there may be content that some find dark or disturbing.

-Please do not send in NSFW asks. The mun is 18+ but is uncomfortable with them. Suggestive jokes are fine!

-I will gladly give anon name/emoji tags! Both for my organization/memory and yours lol

-There are codes and ciphers to solve. You are more than welcome to reblog solutions/hints and help each other out!!

-There are exceptions to this but as a general guideline, morse code in the tags gives clues.

-For vinegere ciphers, i will always have the key somewhere on this blog or on a page directly linked from this blog. keep important-sounding words in mind and look for keys!

-If a cipher for some reason is broken, or you just can't solve it, shoot me an ask or message and i'll double check.

-Whatever you do, don't le

[UNKNOWN ERROR]

- Do not ask about O. You do not need to know about them. - O is not my best friend. You are. - O is not your best friend. I am. - Therefore, they are not important. - Do not forget about me. - Never leave. - Please.

[roleplayfinder]

(🗡️🩸) twentyone+ f mun searching for lit adult roleplay partners. i am craving a historical sort of roleplay, could be tied to a fandom or a world that already pre-exists (e.g. a song of ice and fire, fire and blood, house of the dragon, etc…) or we could make our own. i have a brief idea of what i’d like to do but mostly i am itching to play a knight, a new original character that i am developing. i’d like for my partner’s character to be an employer, or someone my knight is sworn to protect perhaps. i prefer mxf, with me playing m, the knight will be a cismale. i don’t mind mxm but it’s not my priority.

there will be darker content/dead dove (🕊️) elements but that only depends on my partners limits. the plot will be riddled with angst, longing, forbidden love and relations, love/hate, maybe even infidelity..? for example, my partners muse could be an older married woman while my knight is a younger more naive and “honorable” character. i don’t mind my knight to be experienced or for our characters to be within the same age range.

there’s a lot of different directions to take this sort of plot so these are not the only options! im more than open to collaboration and my partners input, it’s encouraged even. besides that, ooc communication is important to me + i only roleplay on discord so if you’re interested like this ad and ill contact you.

.