#THIS is sO LoNg But SO MUCH fUn to WriTe

[idiotsonlyevent]

i wonder where the idea of chilchuck being a deadbeat came from when theres like. no textual evidence for it ?

he knows what all of them are up to; he still writes to flertom and she sent him his neckwarmer, so that to me implies that they at least have a somewhat positive relationship?

its more ambiguous with meijack and puckpatti, but since meijack is also a picklock, i wouldn't be surprised if he taught her himself, considering how trades are often passed down through families, and because he talks about sending people to her if he dies.

also the way he talks about puckpatti is very like... it's obvious he wants her to take things more seriously, but he's accepting, and his tone here reads more fond to me than anything else.

like, he keeps his daughters' old toys under his desk? that doesn't scream 'deadbeat' at all, it screams 'empty nester' who doesn't know how to reach out or is scared to do so

EDIT: i know a lot of the 'deadbeat dad' stuff is jokes, but some people are Not joking and genuinely think chilchuck is a bad dad. this post is not saying that you cant joke about it; it is just outlining what canon shows regarding his (clearly positive) relationship with his kids.

[yangcherie]

bathing.

𐀔 pairings: cast (astarion, gale, wyll, lae’zel, shadowheart, karlach, halsin) x female!tiefling!tav (reader).

𐀔 content warnings: suggestive, everybody is a little freak, non-consensual voyeurism, implied scent kink (gale), mentions of scars, afab anatomy. tiefling anatomy.

𐀔 sypnosis: what is a warrior to do when all their companions are peeping toms?

𐀔 author’s note: they are freaks and its been very long since i’ve written. please forgive a lady if what she’s written is unappealing.

“Can you keep it – fucking quiet?!”

Astarion whisper-yells at the entire party of people hiding within bushes and treelines, all fighting tooth and nail like rabid animals for a peek (and taste) of their ragtag, frustratingly attractive leader’s curves.

They didn’t even mean to stumble into eachother, each to their own blindly traversing through the thickets of the woods towards the nearest river. Tav simply mentioned having to retire early to take a bath (much to Gale’s dismay), and they all hungrily jumped towards the opportunity like dogs to a meatless bone, the one of the hopefully many chances they’ll see you naked, vulnerable, and shivering – even if it’s only due to the lack of warmth in the river’s streams.

It’s wrong, debauched, even. Hells, even literal devils, Karlach and Wyll, wear faces ridden with shame. Of course, they (namely Astarion and Lae’zel) poked at the others stalking as if they weren’t shamelessly doing the same.

The tension in the air was thick, each a barrel on the verge of explosion ready to wipe out the recently discovered possibility of rivalries and competition – but they couldn’t blame eachother; there was just something about you that made you so very enticing. They all thought it was incredibly silly to think only one person would want you.

“Well,” Astarion clicked his tongue in displeasure, having his private time foiled. Still, he smiled sardonically. “we’re all degenerates, it seems. We’re all looking forward to having a... fun time.”

A deep rumble came, and it surprisingly did not come from the forest ground. It was simply Halsin, all too polite and calm smiles. Astarion groaned; he was sick of this big fucking oaf with hearts for eyes and a log of wood for brains. “We are not depraved for simply yearning to admire our friend in a state of tranquil—”

“Oh, please! Don’t act like a saint in front of me!” The vampire spawn huffed, hands on his hips. “We’re all here for the same reason, we all want to see Tav fucking naked, no point in lying now!”

Tints of red and pink all rushed to everyone’s faces, and even Shadowheart was reduced to fiddling with her fingers together. Though awkward coughs ensued in the air, not a single word of denial was uttered.

Karlach is first to speak up, ever brazen. “It’s true!” She says with her signature sharp smile. “I wanted to see her tits!”

(Lae’zel and Astarion nodded approvingly to Karlach’s honesty. Halsin and Gale quietly shared their sentiments on their preference to your ass. Shadowheart and Wyll could not disagree to both.)

Amidst their busy conversation and debate regarding your body’s fine qualities, the alarmingly close and approaching noises of branches snapping and leaves crunching had rendered them silent, panicked shivers and goosebumps on their skin. With shared glances and only a few split seconds to react, the party floundered and flailed for whatever they could use to stay hidden.

“Settle down, you circus; Tav’s coming!” Wyll is the first amongst the party to silently and comically dive into a bush with Karlach, clutching their tails to avoid it rustling about in excitement. Halsin had thrown Gale and Astarion atop a tree’s thick branches before joining them. Lae’zel, disappointingly, camoflauges just well with the greenery, watching Shadowheart flounder about and settle for lying on the ground with grass over her face.

“All you filthy ska'keth.” Lae’zel hisses, letting everyone know of your now visible presence, the halting of your footsteps along the other edge of the river. “Enjoy the show.”

Across the distance, their focus had been shifted to you and now solely you.

You quietly groan, trudging towards the river you’ve been searching to no end, you set down your basket of fine oils, herbs and waxes as your armored limbs ache and practically cry for a dip in the clear stream. With no haste, you take in the cool night air, this little moment of peace, away from prying eyes you’ve fought long and hard to obtain. Sweat trickles down your throat, your tail swaying in contentment in the calm atmosphere.

Quickly deciding you’ve had enough of the crisp air, you reach towards your body to unclasp and unfasten the many buckles on your durable armor – starting with the iron top, quickly taking it off to reveal your bare, battle-worn chest and hastily discarding the metal on your legs, throwing them aside in favor of letting the cold air bite at your naked, scarred body before you go into the water; allowing your body a little moment of respite from the suffocation and heat of tight, bloody armor – even letting your tail sway around freely instead of being constricted to being stiff. A content smile creeps its way onto your face.

You lightly step your way from the sand to the edge of the water, continuing to walk until you’re trembling from the cold, until you’re hips-down in the water. A grateful sigh is pulled from your lips as you start to wade about, your hands subtly working to wash the dried blood, gore and grime off of your body and hair – using the oils and wax soaps of sweet woodruff and wine from your basket, even scrubbing your horns. A little part of you finds this normalcy almost unfamiliar, uncomfortable; it’s been quite a while you’ve taken care of yourself. Your thoughts start to drift; prior to your abduction by the Nautiloid ship, were you ever taken care of, like this? By other hands, even?

(You hope so.)

Another sigh is dragged out of you, though wearier as guilt treads within you. Just a little moment of peace, of indulgence before you go back to the dreadful task of keeping your companions and yourself alive and fighting. Just a little more time. You think you deserve it.

A silence was washed over the forest, and the party as they all beheld you and your battle-worn body. It felt almost sacred, like doing this would have them damned to the Hells and below but it was simply too captivating. Your bodice was a web and a product of war, and they were caught mesmerized – with only the dense forest and one another to witness their quickly unravelling need for you. But even then, they felt some semblance to pity. What they wouldn’t give to the gods right now to be by your side and give you some tending to.

The ridges down your back, the swaying base of your tail, the alluring image of your hips and ass teasingly disappearing into the water below, the silhouette of your horns – that untroubled smile on your lips – they all drink it in with their eyes in a fashion similar to Astarion’s throat would with your blood.

They savor it for as long as they can, before stepping out of the trance as Gale himself not-so-quietly attempted to clamber down from the rough-bark tree he was settled in, dropping down to the dirt and crushing the leaves loudly and ungracefully. Shadowheart gaped with mortification at him from the ground, everyone wishing to every god above you would have mistaken the sound as a particularly large animal, perhaps an owlbear and not a wizard along with an entire party intruding on your privacy.

“Gale! What in the Nine Hells are you doing?!”

Astarion had settled for whisper-yelling once again, pointing at him accusingly from his position atop the tree’s branches besides Halsin. Gale waved his hand, silently telling him to shut the fuck up, before urgently pointing at your discarded armor and clothing, then proceeding to give him a big smile and two thumbs up.

Surely enough to the mortification of the party, he quickly cast Misty Step over himself to travel to your area and hastily swiped (stole) anything soft – including your unattended bandages and undergarments, taking a small moment to put it to his nose and re-casting the spell to return below the tree within a few seconds. He wallowed in his pride before with a swift motion, tucked the newly acquired materia into the pockets of his robe much to the discomfort (and mild envy) of all of them.

“A man has to do and take what he can.” Gale reasoned to nobody in particular, nodding solemnly as if he just shared a piece of wisdom. He suppressed a yelp as Lae’zel then threw a rock at him, followed by another as Astarion thwacked a small branch straight to his forehead from above.

“Just leave it.” Wyll snidely commented, fighting with his life to tear away his eyes from your moonlit form, breaking out of a trance. “We should leave, go back to camp. It’d be suspicious if everyone just disappeared.”

“Ugh, you are such a killjoy, Wyll.” Astarion rolled his eyes but complied, scaling down the tree quietly, much unlike Gale earlier, who was still fiddling around his pockets with your intimates. “A party pooper, even.”

As repulsive the idea to leave you was, it was reasonable. Begrudingly, everyone quietly sat up or climbed down and quietly attempted to find their way through the dense, dark forest, sharing little observations and hushed chitchat along the way. And soon enough, the party found themselves in familiar territory, now gathering around and settling down near the campfire like they previously had before you announced your leave, as if they didn’t just claw their way through eachother earlier to see a scrap of your vulnerability.

The fire cast a warm glow over the party as they immersed in chitchat, a few (namely Shadowheart and Astarion) pestering and even offering a bargain to Gale for the underclothes he had nicked earlier. The wizard was not deterred; fair and square, he wagged his finger as if to say nuh-uh to the seething two. It was only shortly after, that you came stumbling back into camp like a lost fawn, hair and body language calm and loose but the armor remaining stiff on your body.

Karlach coughed to let the others know you had arrived from your personal time. “Soldier! You’re back!” You greeted her with a nod, before raising a brow and sweeping your eyes amongst them. Gale swallowed, placing a protective hand over the pocket that held your garments.

“You would not believe what happened.” You sighed in utter distress before plopping yourself down besides Halsin and Astarion on the log to let the fire embrace you with warmth, piquing everyone’s interest and attention with intense ease. “A wandering owlbear ate my clothes.”

They all collectively either guffawed or choked on their spit, Lae’zel scoffing and Astarion groaning amongst them. Right. Of course, you would have thought it was a fucking owlbear. Thieving owlbears that take normal, musky clothes instead of shiny armor.

“Ah, owlbears.” Gale tutted and sighed with faux sympathy, nervously chuckling and shifting to hide the lump in his pockets. “They’d eat almost anything, really.”

Astarion shot him a bewildered look, as if to ask, don’t you? You swallowed two of my books last night!

“You can borrow my clothes, for the night.” Shadowheart butted in, suddenly slotting herself behind you and setting a reassuring palm on your shoulder. You smiled at her, gazing up at her gratefully. “Thank you, Sha—”

“Well, you can have my clothes!” Karlach and Lae’zel shot up in unison.

“Sharing your old filth, I can sew them new clothes!” Astarion argued, until everyone started refuting eachother and proposing that you take theirs and whatnot.

You sighed with exasperated fondness, immensely troubled but somewhat used to it as you watch your companions pointlessly banter, having little doubt that by the end of the night, you’d have a fair share of everyone’s wardrobe into yours.

Still, you hope to the very bottom of your heart that the “owlbear” that stole your clothes had a full tummy, at least.

[pinkanonwrites]

Washrack Academy

Jetstorm and Jetfire have a lot of questions about humans. But you? You just want to take your shower in peace.

TFA Jetfire, TFA Jetstorm, and Reader, no ships but it's implied Jetfire has a little crush on the reader, human reader, non-sexual nudity, is it still voyeurism if it's mostly fueled by curiosity? probably, AFAB Reader with GN Pronouns, alien anatomy discussions

"You know, humans are being much more hygienic than Sentinel says they are being."

You rolled your eyes, hefting your small duffel bag further up your shoulder. "Yeah, well Sentinel doesn't know as much about humans as he thinks he does. Most people I know shower every other day at the very least. We aren't big fans of being dirty."

"But now you are being extra dirty!" Jetstorm loomed over you with a cheeky grin, running a huge metal digit over the top of your head. A slick of motor oil came with it, sending another disgusted shiver down your spine at the gooey sensation. "Bumblebee maybe needs to working on power steering! And not splashing human friends with drinks of celebration."

Being a human liaison representing the city of Detroit on Cybertron was already a job way outside of the normal parameters of your career, and the stress was leaving you pretty wired. But Bumblebee accidentally tipping an oversized can of motor oil off a table and directly onto your head while showing off just had to be the final nail in the coffin. In front of a whole bunch of big important Autobots and everything.

Now you were being flanked on either side by Sentinel Prime's personal squadron (a gig they eagerly volunteered for and a choice both you and Sentinel had little say in) as they showed you to whatever the Cybertronian equivalent of an army base locker room was so you could get cleaned up. 

"And motor oil not to be damaging your fluffy organic fibers?" Great, now Jetfire was poking at your greasy hair too. At least he had half a processor to keep his igniters off while he did.

"It's called hair. And it'll only damage it if I leave it in too long. Plus, it's really bad for my skin."

"Good for it not to be doing badness to hair! Yikes for it to be doing badness to skin. So sensitive, little organics. Must be very hard!"

"You're telling me, bud."

"Here! Coming this way." Jetstorm gestured for you to follow him through a tiled doorway. The room beyond looked remarkably similar to the locker room you'd had in high school, though blown up to a cartoonish scale. "We have tiny washrack for mini-bot sizes. Maybe too big for you still, but is better than nothing!"

He wasn't exaggerating, the handles for the mini-bot sized faucets were still a good two or three feet out of your reach. 

"Where do you even put your towels? Your soap?" You glanced around but failed to find any bench or wall divot suitably placed for setting your things down. "Is there anywhere I can set my bag?"

"Just be putting bag into subspace! Easy for peasy!" A small compartment popped open on Jetstorm's chest, and from it he procured… a metal scouring pad? A giant one, about the size of a large restaurant platter. If the situation weren't so incredibly absurd already, you might've gotten a chuckle out of the idea of a robot using a Brillo pad as a loofah.

"Yeah, we don't… humans don't have that." You said instead. Because this situation was, in fact, incredibly absurd.

Jetfire and Jetstorm looked at each other, mirrored expressions of visible confusion. Then, they both shrugged.

"Being a human…"

"...Is very difficult!"

"Look, just- can one of you hold it for me? Please?"

"For certain! I will be best at human wash rack supplies holder job! Be counting on me." You dropped your duffel bag into Jetfire's cupped hands and wrenched it open. Grabbing your various bottles of hair product and a large towel from within, you lined them up on the floor along the wall and hopefully just beyond the reach of the shower's spray. But as you moved for the bottom of your shirt to pull it off, you felt the prickle of two pairs of optics staring just a little bit too hard at your body.

"Are you two just gonna… watch me? You can wait outside, you know."

"We are to be protecting you from curious bots! And make sure you do not do the snooping or the wandering off." Jetstorm insisted.

"Are you gonna do that while staring me down? A little privacy, please." Was it ironic to ask for privacy in a locker room? Probably. But most people had the decency not to stare while someone was getting undressed. 

Most people. Maybe that sentiment didn't extend to twelve foot tall transforming robot soldiers.

"Staring? Who is doing the staring? Certainly not us goodness bots!" 

"No, no! We would never be the staring! Especially not at soft and squishy little human frame!"

Both brothers rushed to cup a servo over their optics, continuously asserting their supposed innocence all the while. You sighed, peeling your way out of your slick and permanently stained clothes and letting them fall to the ground in an oily heap.

"Well I don't know how it is on Cybertron, but on Earth staring at people in the locker room is what we call 'bad manners.' You two ever heard of those?"

"We will being so very manners-filled! No staring from us at you, big promise." Jetfire insisted, carefully depositing your bag into his subspace as he brought his other servo up so they were both covering his faceplate.

"Though do not be trying to do the sneaking off while we are look-away! That would be also called 'bad manners.'" Added Jetstorm with a cheeky thumbs-up.

"I'm not going to go sneaking around your base naked, so you don't need to worry about that. Now could one of you get the water for me, please?"

As Jetstorm felt along the wall and cranked the water to partial blast, you swear you heard him ask his brother 'But what is "naked" meaning?' The hiss of the showerhead quickly covered it, though, and you decided you'd rather focus on getting clean before you struggled to explain the foreign concept to the pair of ridiculous twins. The water ran just hot enough to make your skin tingle as you lathered your hair with shampoo, vigorously scrubbing the motor oil free from your scalp. It'd probably take more than a few rinses to get everything out, you'd have to ask Professor Sumdac to bridge you some more toiletries way sooner than you'd originally planned. Maybe Sari could pick some up for you on her next trip home?

But as you lathered your hair up for the fourth (maybe fifth?) time, you couldn't help but notice a quiet, metallic buzzing that could just barely be heard over the hiss of water. It paused and fizzed in a rhythmic pattern, not all too dissimilar from Morse Code. It would stop for a moment, before picking up again, slightly lower pitched this time. It sounded almost like… a conversation.

"If you've got something to say, you can say it out loud." You called them out. Jetfire startled at the sound of your voice, his own sounding slightly strained. 

"What? But we are such quiet being!"

"You're doing that… that 'EM field' thing. Where you talk to each other with your brains? I've heard Bee and Bulkhead do it before. So, c'mon. What do you want to know?"

He clammed up, absentmindedly scuffing one of his pedes against the tiled floor. Jetstorm, meanwhile, had a sly grin growing across his faceplate. He raised his free servo up in the air like a student waiting to be called on.

"Actually, Jetfire is having a question!"

"I-I am not! Do not listen, brother is merely making funny joke!"

"No, no! Do not listen to him! Jetfire is very, very curious about human not having sp-MRMPH!"

A cacophony of metal on metal echoed through the wash racks as Jetfire tackled his brother to the wet tile, wrestling his servos over the other's intake to keep him quiet. Jetstorm grabbed for his brother's goggles and pulled him into a shaky headlock, even as Jetfire repeatedly kicked him in the knees with the flat of his pede. You scrambled to grab your towel, clutching it to your front as the two bots collapsed to the ground in an ear-splitting crash.

"Hey, HEY! Quit it! What the hell are you two doing?!"

Both of their heads snapped up at your tone, Jetstorm still looking mischievous while his brother had the decency to look a bit sheepish. He quickly pried Jetfire's servo off of his intake.

"Jetfire is wanting to know why humans do not have spike! You know, since he was doing the peeking."

"Y-You were also doing peeking! I know you were curious too!" Jetfire shot back.

"Maybe curious, yes, but you are obsessed! 'Oh, little humans are so soft and so squishy being! Why so warm? I want to be holding one!'"

"I am not sounding like that! You are making exaggeration!"

Jetfire seemed on the verge of tackling his brother again, so you quickly stepped in. "Okay, geez, look. I will answer one, ONE! Question each. And only if you stop hitting each other. That's it. I don't have the energy for this today."

The two bots awkwardly clambered back to their feet, Jetstorm looking down at you with a playful grin while Jetfire seemed to be looking anywhere but your unclothed frame.

"Brotherrrrr?" Jetstorm teased. "Would you like to be going first?" 

Jetfire dignified his brother's teasing with a sharp elbow to the side, but spoke anyway. "S-Sorry to be peeking when you said not, but, um, do humans not have- uh, not have spike? Or is it hidden? Maybe not pressurized? If embarrassing you don't have to say. No biggee."

You furrowed your brow. 'Spike.' You don't think you'd heard any of the Autobots use that term before, at least not around you. Maybe it was a built-in weapon? Or some sort of specialized armor plating?

"I, uh, I don't know what a spike is. Sorry. Can you be… more specific?"

Jetfire let out a high-pitched sound, similar to heat escaping a tea kettle, while his brother only seemed to beam even brighter at his humiliated suffering.

"Ah, you know! Spike!" Jetstorm grinned. "Right here, above valve? Comes out like 'fssshh'? No modesty panel on you, so maybe just hidden away!" He made a bunch of vague motions in front of his crotch, and with a looming horror you started to catch on as he mimed the motion of something growing and rising up in front of his crotch plate. His modesty panel.

Holy shit they had robot dicks.

"N-No? No, I don't have a- a spike." You were doing your absolute best to stay focused on the conversation at hand, not think about… about the robot penis that apparently all Cybertronians had? "Humans, uh, most humans just have one or the other. The, um, the spike or the… the…"

"Valve?" Jetstorm happily supplied.

"Sure? I guess?!"

"Something new to be learned every day! Right, brother?" Jetstorm thumped his brother on the back with an open servo, while Jetfire was openly refusing to make eye contact with you. The temperature in the room seemed to peak by a few degrees, and based on the heat waves rolling off of Jetfire's body you had an inkling suspicion it was his doing, however unintentional it may be. "Anyways, my turn, yes? You said word 'naked'. What is 'naked' meaning?"

"Uh, y-yeah. Um, yeah. Sure." God, you did not have the mental fortitude to deal with these revelations today. "Naked just means you're not… covered up? Wearing clothes. There are some parts on a human that have to be covered in public, otherwise it's uh… inappropriate." Your only solace was that now you had some sort of comparison to make between Cybertronians and humans. "Like, you guys wouldn't walk around with your… your spike out? Same for humans."

"Ohhh…" They even had stunned realizations in unison. You'd almost consider it cute, if you weren't already so burnt-out.

"Yep, well, class is over. Can I please get dressed now? Preferably without being watched?"

"A-Ah! Yes, of course! So sorry! Here is things." Jetfire quickly fumbled your duffel out of his subspace, only for it to slip through his digits and hit the floor with a thud. Wincing, he turned to shove his brother from the room, calling over his shoulder to you as they went. "We will be watching door so no bots do peeking! Then there is no way we be seeing you naked, not even little bit! Seeing you in moment- but not naked! Just normal seeing!"

"O-Okay? I'll be out in… a bit." But they were already gone. Weird. Weird couple of bots. But hey, at least now you could dry your hair in peace.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  

"Very bumpy landing, brother." Jetstorm couldn't fight his mirthful grin as he stared down at his spark-twin, who was currently sitting with his back to the wall outside the wash racks, knee-joints pulled up tight to his chassis and faceplate hidden from view. "I may not be seeing exact same appeal you do, but humans are verrrrrry entertaining being. That human especially so!"

"I wish to be offline." Jetfire lamented. "So awkward, very very uncool. They will never be speaking to me again."

"Do not be so downer, brother! They answer questions very nice, and do not even yell when you peeking at their array!"

Jetfire let out another pathetic wail. "Do not be reminding me! Me, caught peeking? Would rather scrub every rivet on Omega Supreme than be that embarrassing again." He slammed his helm against the tops of his knee-joints a few times for good measure, a loud, echoing clanking reverberating down the hall. "Why are little humans being so soft? A-And when covering self, why are little peeks of soft bits around towel so- so erotic?"

Jetstorm cackled, patting his brother atop the helm with his servo. "And to think, we thought being human is hard. Sounds like liking human is much, much harder!"

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

overpowered pre-teen magicians that grew up to be friends with magical guardians? also, magical doggos! ;D

[hamartia-grander]

I'm back with more

(most my original jokes but some are based on other tweets)

[djarinova]

Brother's best friend

Gojo Satoru x f!reader

Your brother's best friend has never been anything other than mean to you, so why has he turned up to your bedroom window with no invitation? content - 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, possessive gojo, dubcon, overstimulation, mean gojo, slight yandere but not really, college au, finger sucking, cum tasting, petnames (angel, sweetheart, kitten, princess, baby), male masturbation words - 5.0k

brother's best friend!gojo who is always in your house during school holidays. practically living with you for weeks at a time, somehow not missed by his own family and always annoyingly welcomed by your parents—who offer to let him stay whenever he wants. 

brother's best friend!gojo who teases you mercilessly. always managing to think of new ways to insult you— your clothes, your hair, the movies you watch, and even the way you chew—but somehow never getting caught by your parents, who always see him as this golden boy your brother so happily brought into your lives.

brother's best friend!gojo who enjoys making fun of your taste in guys most of all. the first time you brought a guy home Satoru acted like it was Christmas come early. he never left your date alone, practically stuck to his side the entire dinner, asking question after question—faking friendly curiosity in front of your parents, but revelling in your dates obvious uncomfortableness at the probing and personal questions asked as soon as they left the room. 

brother's best friend!gojo who ensures you never bring the same date home more than once when he's around. knowing that when you walk your date out the door they'll say something in an awkward tone about how protective your brothers are, leaving you to explain,  actually I only have the one brother, the white haired one isn't related to me, a weird feeling of shame and guilt hanging over your head when your date never calls you back. 

brother's best friend!gojo who comes over while you're home alone, planning to fake ignorance and assure you that he really had no idea your brother wasn't home, but that he's happy to wait for him to come back—not wanting a pretty thing like you to be all alone. but who instead catches you fucking your ex-boyfriend—the one who you said to your brother was the biggest piece of shit you'd ever met. the one who you'd sworn you'd rather bite your own tongue off than ever see again.

brother's best friend!gojo who can't help but listen to the sounds of your moans—which he is confident are fake—through the door. pressing his ear against it's smooth surface and screwing his eyes shut. he can't help but picture your face contorted in pleasure, wishing he was the one fucking you. knowing that you would never need to fake it with him. 

brother's best friend!gojo who doesn't come around for almost a full three days after this. you remark to your brother about how the two of them must be in a lovers quarrel, but you can't help the unease that creeps up on you as the third day comes and goes with no visit—you don't care about him, not like that, but the lack of his annoying presence feels like it's left a hole in your house. 

brother's best friend!gojo who texts you out of the blue—his number saved into your phone under a very unsavoury name—asking if you could let him in. confusion clouding your mind as you head towards your bedroom door. the loud tap you hear against your window causing you to turn quickly on your heels and you don't know how you hadn't seen the shadowy figure loitering outside your window before now. 

brother's best friend!gojo who doesn't look like himself. his usual well crafted fake-but-doesn't-look-it bed hair is now unmade and unruly. the cocky half smile/ half smirk always plastered on his face has been replaced by deep bags under his eyes, a harrowed look on his face, and darting eyes. 

"Gojo…" your voice is unsteady. 

You were expecting the usual back and forth—the teasing, the mocking. You were confused by his appearance at your window, sure, but you've never seen him like this—so jumpy and insecure… it's unsettling you. 

"Don't fuck him again" Satoru's voice is low, so low that you almost don't hear him. 

"Wha—" 

"I don't want you anywhere near him again." Satoru keeps his eyes down, refusing to meet your gaze. His hands are deep in his pockets, and you can see his feet shifting. It's making you nervous. 

"Him… And you?… It's not right. You shouldn't have—I won't let you again—" 

He clears his throat, and the sudden loud noise startles you, making you take a shaky breath. Your ears had become too used to straining to hear the words Gojo was saying—his change in volume almost left your ears ringing, even if it was only a cough. You cup your hands together to try and subdue their shaking, and your jumpiness doesn't go unnoticed by the man in front of you. 

You try to speak again, willing your words to come out stronger than you feel. "What are you talking about?" 

"He doesn't deserve you. He's not right for you. You have to understand what I mean." Gojo's voice starts to rise as he reaches the end of his sentence.

He takes a step towards you, refusing to put up with the distance you are so clearly trying to put between the two of you. He reaches his hands out towards you, gripping your upper arms in a way that is almost painful. 

"The people you've dated, the ones who fucked you and never called you again, they don't deserve you. No one is good enough for you."

You grimace. The reminder of your failed attempts at love and the fuck ups you've let screw you is nothing new from Gojo, but something in his voice makes your heart race. The look on his face causes goosebumps to cover your skin. You can feel his fingernails digging into your flesh, the pain acting as a reminder that he shouldn't be here—your brother's best friend, the one who teases you and mocks you mercilessly, the one who doesn't care about you beyond being a punchline for his jokes—he needs to leave.

"Gojo, you have to go—"

"Don't call me that. I don't want to hear that name fall from your lips again—you call me Satoru from now on."

Your eyebrows knit together, and you wipe your palms against your t-shirt the best you can—a pointless effort to try and calm yourself down. You have no idea what has gotten into Gojo—Satoru—you inwardly correct yourself despite your confusion.

"What are you doing here?" You finally ask, your voice quivering as you do so, unable to stop your nerves from showing.

Satoru smiles, but it's still not his usual smile, his mouth contorts in a way that makes you want to shrink away from him—his tight grip on your arms making this impossible. It's unsettling, everything about him has seemed unsettling to you this evening. You want to run. Your regret at letting him in through your window threatens to swallow you whole, and yet… you can't look away from him. He still commands your attention, your focus, like he always does when he's in your house. Except this time it's different, you don’t feel safe with him, not exactly, but you know he’s not going to use his words to harm you—he's not going to call you names or make you feel insecure or mock your clothes. He’s mesmerising—you realise with a start—you’ve never been this close to him before, never allowing yourself to look at him with anything other than disdain. With his cocky attitude and his sneer wiped off his face, he's actually quite pretty. His eyes glow with an iridescent blue shine—you realise you'd only ever seen them through your own narrow glare, your harshness towards Satoru clouding your vision, never letting you see the true brightness of his eyes, only ever seeing what you wanted to see. The angles of his face make him even more alluring, the way in which every bone and sharp edge fits him perfectly—as if someone had spent time crafting him to be God’s most beautiful creature. 

Satoru watches you as your eyes glaze over, as if you were deep in thought about something—someone, he hopes. He notices when you absentmindedly run your tongue across your lower lip. He notices when your breathing changes pace, and when your hands fall limp at your side, the shaking finally subsiding. He watches all of these things happen, but what gets his attention the most is when your mouth falls open. 

He doesn't know how he's managed to stay away from you for this long. All those years he's spent teasing you and making you feel small, being friends with your brother, being welcomed into your family as if it was his own—he never imagined he’d be here, finally giving in to what he truly desires.

He remembers the first day he met you, your brother had given him warning that you’d be home, “just ignore my little sister, she's barely a year younger than us but she can be a real pain in my ass sometimes”. Satoru had thought nothing of it at the time, chuckling lightly as he stepped through your front door. He was ready to chill out and watch the game—on the couch your brother had been raving about for almost 3 weeks—a cold beer in his hand and his feet resting on the coffee table. But he had stopped almost dead in his tracks at the very first glance he got of you—your hair swishing behind you as you hurried about in the kitchen. 

You hadn’t heard the two of them enter the kitchen, too busy clearing up the final few freshly cleaned dishes you had washed. The small gasp you had let out had made it obvious you scared easily, and you turned quickly on your heels when your brother had cleared his throat. You had smiled ever so politely at Satoru when your brother had introduced him to you, in the way that people do when they meet someone for the first time, but Satoru could tell you were wary of him, even if he wasn't sure exactly where your hesitation came from. 

He had watched you and your brother converse, teasing conversation bouncing between the two of you—it was friendly, despite the slight contempt in your brother’s tone earlier. Satoru had leant against the doorframe while he watched you, he had found himself fascinated with how you moved. He couldn't take his eyes off of you, every movement you took, every step and stretch and smile had him entranced. 

It wasn't until you were on your way out of the kitchen that you finally spoke to him for the first time. He watched as you walked towards him, you had a plate of food in one hand, and your other hand had come to rest on your hip. Your eyes had narrowed as you looked at him, clearly bothered by his choice to lounge in the doorway.

“Hello…? Are you going to stand there all day? Or can I actually move around in my own house?”

Your brother had scolded you as you pushed past Satoru and headed towards the stairs. And you had stuck up your middle finger in return. Your brother had apologised for your behaviour, but his apologies had fallen on deaf ears, Satoru didn't care that you were rude, he didn't care that all you showed towards him in that moment was dislike, and he didn't care that he hadn't had a chance to properly talk to you. He knew one day he would have you—he needed to have you. Your obvious disdain for him would make the day you finally submitted all the more sweeter—he didn't care how long it took. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask again, your voice stronger than it was before.

Satoru turns his head, looking down at you as if the fact that you were still here was a surprise to him. You felt his fingers flex slightly, sending a shiver down your spine… He still had his hold on you, you began to wonder if he would ever let you go.

“I’m here to make you mine.”

He said it so plainly that it took you a second to register what he was saying. 

He wanted to make you his…? But why? He’d never shown any interest in you before. He’d never once left any evidence in your interactions that would’ve caused you to believe that he liked you, let alone that he wanted to make you his… whatever that meant...

“I don’t believe you…” You whisper, your voice so quiet that Satoru only caught your words because he was waiting for them.

“You don’t believe me?” Satoru’s tone is teasing, and he has a smirk on his face, but something about his words makes your breath hitch.

“No… You—you’ve never—you don’t—you aren't serious.” You take a breath. “You don’t like me, you barely tolerate me. Whatever the real reason you decided to climb into my bedroom tonight, it's not that…It can't be.”

“Why can’t that be the real reason, huh princess? You don’t think you’re good enough for me? Is that it?” Satoru doesn't wait for you to answer. “Do you seriously think I would be here right now if I didn't like you? All the things I've done for you…Do you really think it's a coincidence that none of your dates ever called you back after they met me for the first time? Do you think you would be invited to all of those parties on campus if I wasn’t there making sure every idiot jock and blonde bimbo knew who you were? All of the lecturers and T.As I’ve threatened to make sure you get the best grades possible…are you telling me you don't appreciate any of that? That I shouldn't have bothered with any of it…"

Satoru turns to leave, finally releasing you from his tight grasp, but he knows you won't let him get very far. There's no way you aren't dying to ask him what he meant by all of that. You need him to clarify. He's certain of it. 

You let out a small squeak, warmth beginning to spread from your face down to your neck. Unable to stop yourself, you take a step forward. 

"Wait…" 

You practically fall into Satoru's back, failing to notice that he hadn't got very far, too busy rushing forward to notice much of anything. You hear a low chuckle as he turns around, one of his hands coming to cup your face. Shock runs straight through you as he begins to gently rub his thumb across your cheekbone, his other hand now resting on your waist. The sharp difference of his hold on you makes your head spin, no longer is he harsh and rough like before, he's instead holding you as if you are the most fragile thing on earth. As if one fast movement would cause you to break in two.

"I'm right here, angel. I'm not going anywhere."

Satoru is blinded by his glee, he can't believe how well this is going for him. The fact that you were just the one chasing him…

"You needed me that bad, huh?" He means for it to come out teasing, but the need in his voice is evident, even to your surprised ears. 

Satoru doesn't waste one more second, he's waited long enough, all those years he's known your brother, all those years he's visited your house… if he doesn't get a taste of you now he knows he won't be able to stop himself from pouncing on you the next time he sees you, even if you're surrounded by your entire family. And that's probably not something they want to see, he thinks. 

You can sense something different about Satoru as he looks down at you, as if something just shifted inside of him. His eyes are dark, laced with hunger, and your eyes can't help but follow as he licks his lips. You let out a small gasp when you feel yourself begin to move, Satoru guides you gently, but with haste, back towards your bed. Your knees knock against the edge and Satoru lets you slip from his grasp, watching as you lose your balance and fall backwards onto your mattress. 

You scurry to the end of the bed opposite Satoru, trying to put some distance between the two of you, but your efforts are for naught. Satoru crawls toward you, closing the gap with little effort, until he's right in front of you again. He watches as you turn your head from side to side, looking for an escape route, he thinks, but he knows you won’t find one. 

His hands reach for your ankles, grasping them tightly as he pulls them backwards, shifting your entire body until you lie flat on the bed. He wastes no time, lying himself on top of you immediately, unable to suppress a groan at feeling your entire body under his. 

He attaches his lips to your neck, planting open mouth kisses all along your jaw and down to the base of your throat, you let out a whine at the contact and try and reach your hands toward his shirt, looking for anything to grip on to. Satoru notices your movement and grabs your hands with his own, still focused on kissing your neck, he manages to pin both your wrists down on the bed next to your head. 

“Please don’t try to move, kitten.” He pouts, breathing the words against your neck, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

Satoru reattaches his lips to your neck, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. As if fuelled by your moans, Satoru presses himself against you, trying to relieve himself of the ache that is beginning to form just below his waistband. You whine when you notice what he’s doing, craning your neck you manage to see his hips moving as he rubs himself against your leg. You try to move your arms, riggling them in an attempt to free yourself, but to no avail, Satoru’s grip gets even tighter the more you move. 

You let out a shaky breath as Satoru moves his kisses further down your neck, he smiles against your skin when he feels you tense up. But just as he reaches your collarbones he pulls away, wanting to admire his work on your throat. 

You are covered in his marks, dark purple splotches paint your neck like you were nothing more than a canvas for Satoru. He gently traces the marks with his fingertips, moving the few fallen strands of hair that block his view. Pride swells in his chest, knowing that anyone who looks at you will be able to guess what you've been up to makes his cock throb. He presses himself hard against your leg, groaning loudly, and he bites his lip when he sees the look in your eye. 

You can't explain why, but hearing the noises Satoru makes from only pressing himself against you makes your whole body tingle. The realisation that you want to hear more sends a jolt of embarrassment through you, but your arousal outways any shame you feel. You arch your back slightly, aiming to press yourself closer to Satoru's cock, you can already feel the outline against your leg. He lets out another groan, this time looking you straight in the eye. He smiles when you look away, as if you hadn't fully realised what you were doing, or maybe you were just embarrassed, he thinks. 

“Do you like what you feel, princess?”

You nod, watching as Satoru sits up. He gently traces his fingers along the side of your face, before moving further down your body until his head hovers over your thighs. You suddenly feel self conscious about what you're wearing, and Satoru must notice—at the same time it dawns on you—that all you're wearing is an oversized t-shirt. You see him lick his lips, his hands coming to rest on your hips. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, and your legs shake ever so slightly. 

He locks eyes with you as his hands move under the hem on your t-shirt, the touch of his hands on your skin makes your heart beat faster. He hooks his fingers under the band of your underwear, pausing, before he begins to pull them off of you. You buck your hips to make it easier for him, and he whispers a small thank you. 

He discards your underwear someplace behind him, now too focused on your naked cunt to think much about anything else. He shuffles further back, pulling you with him until you are right at the edge on the bed. Satoru kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs, as he bends his head his breath warms your skin, tickling you. You screw your eyes shut as his tongue comes in contact with your cunt, he smiles against you when he hears you whine at him, a breathy “move, toru” leaving your lips. But he wants to work slowly, he wants to focus on the noises you make, and try to figure out exactly how you like it. He wants it to be perfect.

You watch as Satoru’s hands grip your thighs, his fingers dig into your flesh. You let out a loud moan when he presses a hard kiss to your clit, and your eyes roll back when he uses his tongue, lapping up your juices from between your folds, the unfamiliar sensation makes you squirm. 

Your scent overwhelms Satoru’s senses, and he suddenly feels a new wave of want overcome him. His lips wrap around your clit, and he rolls it against his tongue. You purr underneath him, your body responding deliciously to his movements. 

The only noise in the room comes from Satoru slurping at your pussy, he works tirelessly, his head buried between your thighs, waiting for you to cry out his name again. He would do anything to hear you moan for him, but he doesn't have enough patience to wait for you to be comfortable enough to do so—if he has to work two, three, four times as hard to hear your pretty voice, he will.

Your eyes snap open when you feel Satoru’s mouth disappear from your clit, already missing the sensation of his mouth on you, your head turns, aiming down towards him when your mouth is met by one of his hands. He forces two of his fingers inside your mouth without warning, slipping them past your lips and pressing them down on your tongue. Your head moves almost instinctively, sucking and rolling your tongue against the digits with a confidence that Satoru reads as practiced ease. The thought of you doing this with someone else makes his chest burn, red hot jealously courses through his veins, making his head dizzy. 

His fingers disappear as fast as they appeared, and you whine at the sudden loss between your lips. But Satoru leaves you no time to complain, he forces his spit covered fingers past your folds, and he watches as they get enveloped in your warmth. His eyes roll back, and he bites his lip to stifle a groan. 

“Fuck—you're so tight, princess—shit.” 

He pumps his fingers into you frantically, his heart racing wildly because of the pace he's set himself. He's ruthless in his speed, and it makes your head spin.

It's not long before your legs begin to shake, your breath hitching as you draw closer and closer to the release you so desperately crave. Your whole body thrums with electricity, the way Satoru is touching you makes your mind cloudy, unable to think about anything more than the pleasure he's giving to you. His fingers fit perfectly inside of you, and you're sure he was made to be there. 

Your pussy squelches lewdly, and Satoru smiles, uncharacteristically soft, and not at all fitting for the situation he currently has you in. His eyes dance across your figure, watching your stomach spasm as he brings you closer to your orgasm. He feels you clench around his fingers, your breathing getting increasingly more rapid. Your eyes meet his and the look on Satoru's face makes you squeeze your eyes closed—as if not looking at him will make the oddly lovesick look disappear from his face.

“C’mon, baby—please—need you to cum now… need to feel you cum around my fingers, baby. Please please please.”

Satoru has no idea why he was begging you to cum, all the times he had pictured having you like this, he was always the one in charge. He was always the one to keep his composure, waiting for you to lose yourself within the pleasure he was giving you.

Something about his voice made the knot inside your stomach tighten. The need written on his face, coupled with despair with which he was begging for you to cum was too much for you. Your arms reached out, gripping Satoru's shirt tightly. You breathed his name over and over—torutorutorutoru—as if in prayer, letting your orgasm wash over you. Satoru cursed as you came around his fingers, your tight pussy never stopping him from pumping his fingers into you, helping you ride out your orgasm for as long as he could. 

You didn't know the last time you had come that hard—if you ever had, the amount of times you had to fake it for your exes was uncountable. Your chest heaved, your breathing still erratic as you let your eyes flutter closed. Satoru had slowed down his movements, removing his fingers from you with a pop! 

He brought his hand up to his face, letting your scent waft over him. He licked his lips, drawing his tongue across his fingertips before letting his mouth drop open. He slipped his fingers inside, groaning as he did so. But the mere remnants of your cum on his fingers was not enough. He needed more.

He dropped back to his knees without a thought, hands gripping your thighs even tighter than before, causing you to open your eyes. You were unsure of what he was doing, but before you could ask, or take a look, his tongue was lapping up the juices from your pussy. 

All you can hear are the noises Satoru was making against you, your own moans are quiet in comparison to his. He groans against your cunt, and desperate for some friction he grabs a pillow that had fallen from your bed and stuffs it between his legs. He slurps all the mess you'd made from your previous orgasm, making sure not a single drop was left untasted. 

Your hands dart straight to his hair, gripping the strands tightly between your fingers. You try to move his head, desperate to give yourself some reprieve from his unfaltering assault on your already overstimulated pussy. But he is too strong. His head burys itself deeper between your legs, focusing now on your swollen clit. He sucks the bud into his mouth, planting kisses and rolling his tongue across it mercilessly.

The pillow between his legs was not forgotten, and amidst the wet noises coming from your pussy you are able to hear Satoru's own moans. He thrusts himself against the pillow's material, rolling his hips and giving his rock hard cock some long awaited attention. 

As he got himself closer to release all he could think about was how desperately he wanted his cock inside you. He wanted to paint you with his cum, mark you as his, make sure you never thought about letting anyone else inside his pussy ever again. 

He groans at the thought, and shivers rock your body. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as Satoru continus his brutal assault on your clit, your hands still tightly gripping his hair but you could feel your strength diminishing the closer you got to your second orgasm. Broken sobs and whispered whimpers are all that escape your throat, your mind is scattered, an overstimulated mess. Satoru could not have been more thrilled at your state, only lifting his lips off of you for a second to praise your behaviour.

“You're doing so well for me, sweetheart. Letting me wreck your pussy like this—hhhng fuck—gonna reward you, baby—shit—we’re gonna cum together, okay?”

All you could do was nod weakly and let out a quiet hum to answer Satoru's question. Your whole body was shaking, your legs were completely out of your control, and Satoru considered himself lucky you hadn't accidentally hit him in the head because of how much you were moving. 

He smiles against your clit, your overstimulated moans coupled with the tears he knew were falling from your eyes brought him hurtling towards his own orgasm. It took all the strength he had to focus on making you finish, his thrusts against the pillow becoming more sloppy and his moans getting louder and louder as he sucked and nipped at your sensitive clit. 

Your arms jerk against his head, falling down to land on the mattress next to you, as your breaths shortened Satoru was certain you were about to cum, a cry from your lips solidifying this suspicion—“mmcumminhgg”.

Satoru's eyes rolled back, “me too, sweetheart—fuck—cumming with you, cumming with my needy slut.”

Your eyes squeeze tightly shut as you come for the second time, but you could feel Satoru spasm against your abused cunt. He whines from below you, still sucking your clit, while he painted the inside of his boxers with ropes of his cum. 

Your body shocks begin to ease as he moves his mouth and begins to plant kisses along the inside of your thighs, but your legs still feel wobbly and your head is still spinning from how powerful your orgasm was.

Satoru drags himself onto his feet, momentarily standing before flopping his body on top of yours. He shifts until he is comfortable, burying his head in your neck and breathing in your scent.

“You're so perfect. My perfect, perfect girl. I love you so much—god—yes, I do.” Satoru breaths, the words barely louder than a whisper. “You're mine now, I am never gonna let you slip outta my fingers, never gonna let anyone else touch you.”

[amoscontorta]

Roleplay, Undercurrents, and Rising Curtain: Sylus's POV

It really bothers me in the game that the clearly traumatic experiences MC undergoes in the canon storyline don't seem to have any consequences for MC's character development. Yes, yes, this is a self-insert gacha mobile game, blah blah. MC has PTSD from chapter 4 (you know the one), and no one can convince me otherwise, so I re-wrote the auction bits from Sylus's POV to fix this grievous oversight, because I am also firmly convinced he is a champ at handling MC's issues.

Third person POV (Sylus), second person POV (gender-neutral reader/MC) CWs: violence, murder, foul language, cursing, mentions of trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, Sylus is giddy being able to be near MC again even though MC is still mean to him

SFW if you think murder and Sylus's singing is SFW

ao3 link here

He is watching you from the shadowed doorway as you examine yourself in the mirror. He can almost see your mind tick, tick, ticking away, evaluating the quality of your costume for tonight, the slight frown on your face betraying your uncertainty that you, and he, will be able to pull tonight off and emerge on the other side in one piece.

He is used to this type of soirée, a viper’s den wrapped in velvet and silk, the veneer of civility paper-thin, where one wrong look or clumsy response can cost you your reputation, or much, much more. And as a betting man, he’d gamble that you, on the other hand, are not used to this type of gathering at all. You who are straightforward, with your fangs bared and guns blazing, the honesty palpable in your bright eyes and laughter, in your scowl and impatience and eagerness.

He steps into the light, revealing his presence to you through the mirror, and watches as you turn to him, draped in scarlet, and a pulse of satisfaction has his lips lifting. You look delicious, with your head tilted haughtily, the red jewels flashing from your neck and wrists. Your outfits match, and you’re dripping in stones and fabric the color of his eyes. He hasn’t felt this sense of satiation in a long, long time. He pins the brooch above your heart and looks into your eyes, and it doesn’t matter that even though you know the truth now, you are still looking at him with the cold unfamiliarity of someone constantly assessing the possible threat in every gesture he makes. It doesn’t matter that even though he’s helping you, you’re still treating him like the enemy, when it is everyone outside these walls who threaten you, and he is currently the only one defending the gates and preparing to shatter the siege.

None of that matters. Because you’re right here, finally. You’re allowing him to touch you, as he smooths the fabric around where he has just pinned the brooch, your heartbeat strong and steady under his palm—you’re reaching out to him, sliding your hand in his; he can’t feel your skin through your gloves but he can feel your heat at his side, in his palm. He will ensure that, with time, the look in your eyes changes when you feel him appear behind you, when your palms touch.

You say something biting to him, full of doubt, the wariness and spite palpable, and he revels in how safe you must feel with him already to extend your claws around him like this, to be reckless and treat him like an insufferable puppy that you’re forced to indulge instead of the half-feral wolf that he is to so many others. The progress from hate and fear from just a few days ago, to this snarky impatience is intoxicating, better than any gin fizz or successful wager—it’s faster than he had calculated as the blood poured from his heart and you spitefully jammed your palms into his chest in an attempt to stem the flow.

In short, Sylus is in a great mood tonight and he’s looking forward to exterminating the rest of the vermin that have been gnawing away at the foundations of his house in his long absence. And he’s going to make damn well sure that he gets to dance with you before the fireworks truly begin.

***

Things are going according to plan—he snickers, recalling that this plan is the one you accused him of not having. He will show you, in time, that he always has plans, with backup plans, and backups to the backup plans. He can forgive you for not knowing that about him yet. But you’re the only person he’s in a forgiving mood toward tonight. He has deposited you safely at the bidding room of the auction, the subtle glow of the protocores illuminating the lovely line of your haughtily upturned nose as you sauntered away from him clutching his black card, the other guests whispering in a painfully unsubtle manner behind their hands, speculating about who you are and the nature of your relationship to him. Mine, he had declared, as he handed over his proverbial wallet and told you to have fun.

As he strides down the dimly lit hall of the hotel in which the auction is being held, the deep carpet shushing his purposeful steps, he spots one of Sherman’s minions standing at attention at a closed door and can’t prevent the excitement rushing through him. He is so close to the craven idiot who dared act in his name, who sowed discord in his ranks, who hurt you so terribly and deprived you of your ‘family’, who, regardless of Sylus’s opinion of them, you clearly loved deeply. He is eager to kill two birds with one stone (apologies to Mephisto): wipe Sherman’s existential stain off this plane of existence, clean his house, avenge your loss, and be back to dance with you in a matter of minutes. The lackey finally notices him, begins lifting his wrist to speak into his earpiece, but unfortunately for him, he is little too late, as Sylus’ evol jerks him into the air by his neck—he is about to tighten it to snap the fuck’s spine in two when he hears your gorgeous voice through his own earpiece.

He pauses, suddenly anxious that something has gone wrong for you that and you’re in danger and that he’s not there, when he hears you say, “Do you mind if I use your card to buy one of these protocores?”

He shakes his head a little. Did he just hear you correctly? He might have to re-evaluate his estimation of your intelligence. He will continue to adore you even if you’re a little slow; your other qualities more than make up for any deficiencies in the intelligence department. Because why the fuck else would he hand you the equivalent of unfettered access to his bank account and tell you to have fun? Of course you can buy whatever the hell you want with it. But he knows you’re clever; the way you meet and counter his sarcasm, taunts and challenges without hesitation makes that clear. And you wouldn’t have survived for this long, risen to one of the elite teams in the Association’s ranks, if you were an imbecile. But he is busy, your sudden question made him anxious for you, and he's frothing at the mouth to get back to you to claim his dance.

“Do not bother me with such trivial matters!” he hisses into his own earpiece, and watches as the eyes of the idiot, who he still has by the throat, bulge further in response to his assailant angry-whispering into the empty hallway.

He’s about to finish this when he hears your voice again, offering an offensively low sum for the highest grade protocore this pretentious establishment has to offer.

“5 million!” he counters in a whisper-shout. He is not going to let these clowns think that your man is broke. He waits to hear your response, finally noticing that the guard he still has suspended in the air has passed out. When he hears you double the amount he had ordered you to offer, and then proceed to demand the rest of the items up for bid, Sylus laughs so hard that he momentarily loses control of his evol and the unconscious goon falls with an unceremonious, muffled thump onto the richly carpeted floor. Sylus contemplates his crumpled form for a moment, wiping the tears from his eyes. Suddenly he doesn’t have it in him to kill a guy who is probably only here for a paycheck, even if he does have atrocious taste in employers.

“You can thank my charming guest for your life tonight, if you manage to get through it alive,” he murmurs to the lump on the floor, before punching the door open with his evol-wrapped fist and striding in to find Sherman turning with a look of horror on his face as he recognizes who, precisely, was just laughing like a madman on the other side of the now ruined door.

After, once Sylus has successfully avenged himself and more importantly, you, he hums a little tune as he picks up Sherman’s detonator and saunters back to the ballroom. Maybe, if things keep going as well as they’re going now, and you like him a little better, he’ll sing it to you as a treat. Because of you, he's having so much fun.

***

And now, finally, he is going to claim his own treat before the action really begins. The utter boredom he was forced to endure while interrogating Sherman and uncovering his trite motivations is replaced by an eagerness bordering on mania to get back to his interesting little Hunter. He watches in amusement as a man sidles up to you and shows interest in your brooch, after having thoroughly shown interest in the rest of you before mustering the courage to actually speak to you.

He watches with slightly less amusement as your curiosity is piqued and you ask with your customary eagerness to learn new things, “Hightower? What’s that?” The man’s eyes light up at this apparent interest of yours, seeing an in with you and assertively requesting that you join him for the banquet dance.

Aaaand that’s enough. Sylus steps into the light and slides his hand around your waist, pulling you decisively into his side and feeling that dangerously seductive calm wash over him, as it always does, when he’s allowed to touch you. He knows it makes him weak. He does not care. His other strengths more than compensate for the crack in his armor you represent. Unlike Achilles, he knows exactly how to protect his vulnerability. His hand flexes involuntarily, fingers pressing a little too hard into your hip, until he is able to will it relaxed again.

“A Hightower is a type of gun. Just one can level this entire building,” he answers your question, fingering the detonator in his other pocket. He doesn’t need a Hightower to finish what he started tonight, and the thought translates into an the intense smugness as you frown at him for interrupting your conversation with your luckless suitor. “The brooch is a gift from me, I’m afraid,” he says smoothly, more than ready to send this guy scurrying along his way and draw your entire focus back to him, where he likes it best.

“You weren’t trying to sell it now, were you, kitten?” he goads you, just to see how you’ll respond to this blatant mischaracterization of the situation.

You don’t disappoint him: with your tight jaw belying your coy tone of voice, you run your hands  up his chest, underneath the coat draped over his shoulders, and pretend to be a spoiled, thrill seeking brat testing a sugar daddy’s patience. Finally, the insignificant obstacle standing between him and the dance he has been looking forward to all evening gets the hint and slinks back into the crowded shadows.

And finally, finally, the music begins, bodies are moving around the two of you, and you’re in his arms as he gracefully leads you through the steps of the dance. He soaks in the feeling of his arm around your waist, your hand in his, your chests brushing against each other as you sway together across the dance floor. He notices that your attention is split between expressing doubt about whether he’s telling the truth regarding knowing the aether core’s location and constantly assessing potential threats—but Sylus does not want your eyes drifting elsewhere. He smoothly draws your eyes back to his, where they belong, and ensures that the only thing you can see is him by tightening his arm around your waist, drawing you in closer, and refusing to give you a direct answer to all of your questions. He sees your little scowl, the frustration in the line of your mouth, suppresses a wince when you deliberately stomp on his foot—but he doesn’t mind. Just as he doesn’t mind that you might not believe that he’s fulfilled his part of the deal, that he knows exactly where the aether core is, and that he has his own house’s situation finally under control with Sherman’s demise. In time, you’ll learn that you can trust him. And he has all the time in the world, now that you’re finally here and not trying to kill him.

He's in such a good mood he’s floating like a feather, until you mention the protocore bombs and something changes in the expression on your face. If he hadn’t been staring at your lovely face for weeks now, from afar through Mephisto and hacked security cameras, and while you were sleeping under his roof (if you have an objection to him exploiting your proximity by watching you as you sleep when you’re right there, under his roof, then sue him), and if he wasn’t currently in the process of soaking in every microexpression flitting across your upturned face from this close as you dance together, he might have missed it. But he doesn’t miss it. And he certainly doesn’t miss the involuntary shudder that runs through your body pressed to his. He realizes in a flash of intuition that the idea of the bombs bothers you—

He watches your throat as you swallow, and the very light sheen of sweat gathering at your temples, he watches your eyes begin to dart around again, your hand flexing with what is likely the need to grab your gun from underneath the fabric of your outfit, and he realizes that you’re starting to panic. Or have a panic attack. At the thought of bombs—

Like the bomb that destroyed your family and came so close to killing you too

He has watched you for weeks, seen the way you’ve worked almost non-stop, taking on assignment after assignment with hardly any rest in between except for when you were on the brink of collapse. When you weren’t working, you were training, kilometer after kilometer on the treadmill, heavier and heavier weight sets. And when you weren’t training, you were trying to orchestrate a way to infiltrate his territory, to hunt him and the aether core down. You weren’t sleeping, and you weren’t attending counseling. You haven’t processed what happened to you at all, and no one around you has forced you to confront what you have been avoiding this whole time. The dark circles under your precious eyes, the short fuse and oh so transparent mask of a smile plastered across your lovely, exhausted face—how they just let you continue as you have been infuriates him, and only the thought that he’s here now, in your life, whether you like it or not, is the only thing that stops him from adding new names to his extermination list. He will succeed where they have failed to care for you, even if you hate him for it.

However, he takes a moment to reproach himself, as just a few hours ago he was gloating to himself that soon you’d learn that his contingency plans have contingencies, that you could trust him to think of all the variables and know how to dismantle any obstacles. Yet he has been missing something so obvious while making his calculations of how tonight would go. Of course you’d have remaining trauma from what you have survived and what has been taken from you.

He recalculates—it’s too late to change the state of play now, but instead of the fireworks he has been looking forward to unleashing into chaos, this is now going to have to be a controlled demolition.

He lifts his hand and runs his fingertips along the curve of your jaw to return your focus to him. Once your too wide eyes are locked on his, he tightens his hold around your waist again.

“Look at me. Look only at me.” He waits, and something inside of him crows in triumph as, your hands tightening on him, you follow his directions and stare into his eyes, letting him continue speaking without struggle.

“We are going to detonate the bombs now that were originally intended later for me, kitten. It’s going to be loud, and most of this place will be rubble when we’re done.”

Before you can ask the how and why, he continues. “I have the detonator. I know you’re frightened. I’m sorry this is the method that I have tonight. But keep your eyes on me, and breathe. We’ll get through this together, do you understand?”

He can sense the shift in the energy of the room, the metaflux fluctuations and the increasing violent mood of the crowd, but he will make time for this and deal with any fallout from this slight delay. He will ensure that you get through this without spiraling into a panic attack and possibly getting hurt.

“Do you understand?” he asks again. And that same satisfaction, the sense of calm, that only you seem to be able to give him floods through him as you take a shuddering breath and nod, ever so slightly, eyes never leaving his.

He lets his fingers drift down your face, takes your hand in his and slips both of them into his pocket, pulling you even closer, your cheek coming to rest against his chest. He guides your hand around the detonator in his pocket, squeezing your hand gently in reassurance. “We’ll do this together. You’re in control,” he murmurs, eyes scanning the crowd now, having utter faith that you will have the courage to press the button despite the dread that must be filling you right now.

And you, with your cheek pressed against his warm chest, his steady heartbeat drowning out all the other sounds, including the ringing in your ears, your own thundering heartbeat, flashes of memory, a door closing, Caleb’s last words to you—you close your eyes and press, and the world explodes around the two of you. But you’re breathing, and Sylus is still holding you tight, and you’re alive, and you’ll deal with the terror threatening to drown you after you’ve gotten what you came for.

After you take one deep, slow breath, you reach for your gun, shove Sylus to the side and shoot the wanderer that was about to stab him in the back.

[sleepy-steve]

@steddieangstyaugust 05/08 // ‘Please Please Please, Let Me Get What I Want’ by The Smiths

wc: 2.2k // rating: M // cw: language, negative self talk // tags: YEARNING, post-s4 but vecna dies, eddie has some self-esteem issues, mild references to sexual content

divider credits @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Eddie isn’t sure when it started. When this… obsession took over his life. When he suddenly couldn’t think of anything but Steve Harrington.

It could have been when they started hanging out every day, the threat of otherworldly horrors gone and the Big Evil defeated. When they realised that while they don’t necessarily have much in common, they both care to learn about what the other likes.

It could have started before that, when Steve continually showed up to help him through his physical therapy, never wavering in his kindness despite how many times Eddie snapped in frustration or lashed out at him. Steve always took it in stride, but never patronised him. Or was it even before that? When Steve showed up everyday to his bedside in the hospital, at first appearing to just be chauffeuring Dustin, but then visiting on his own. Spending hours talking with him or letting the silence settle between them, filling the hours where Wayne couldn’t be there.

Shit, if Eddie really thought about it, it went further back than that too. Before Steve carried him out of hell and quite literally saved his life—though that alone was enough to make a guy swoon—and before the moment Eddie flirted with him in the RV (and really, what was he thinking with that?) and even before their little heart to heart in the aforementioned hell after the first bat attack.

No, if Eddie was honest with himself, it all went back to Steve’s surprise appearance in the boathouse, shoved up against the wall with a shard of glass pressed to his neck and fear in his eyes. Eddie remembers feeling Steve tremble as Eddie held tight to his jacket, watching as he swallowed, skin of his throat pressing against the glass. Eddie’s own hands shook around the broken bottle, from exertion and fear, and god help him he was not going down without a fight in that moment. Their all too literal colliding of worlds was not something he could have been prepared for, nevermind the fact that Eddie almost killed him. But it was that brief moment, so miniscule, right before Eddie let him go, that he realised Steve really wouldn’t hurt him. Despite being held up and almost having his throat slashed, Steve had dropped the oar.

It was the first hint he got that all those things Dustin had said about Steve were actually true. That all the ideas he’d previously had about Steve Harrington were undeniably false. And Eddie only continued to be proven wrong by the sheer magnitude of Steve’s kindness, his patience, his unending love for his friends. Which now, by some miracle, Eddie was a part of.

It had grown. Out of something that should have just been a trauma-bond that then dissolved once they were quote-unquote healed and realised they actually had nothing in common besides the shared experience of almost dying in an otherworldly dimension. It had grown into something much more than that, something that Eddie never really had before. He’d had friends before, sure, his little sheepies and his band mates, but nothing quite like this. It was both his fault and also not. When he arrived in middle school and was immediately bullied for daring to be a little bit different—despite the differences having more to do with his class status than anything he had truly picked at that time—the walls came up. People could get somewhat close to him, but ultimately Eddie decided just how much he would give to people, and arms length was always safest. They wouldn’t be able to hurt him at arms length.

And yet. Steve Harrington had somehow wormed himself past the walls, beyond the arms length barrier, and settled himself neatly within Eddie’s rib cage. Not only that, Steve brought along the rest of his little group, a family that knocked down Eddie’s walls and forged a space just for him. It went beyond the trauma bond. It had grown into something that almost felt like Steve cared about him. Actually, that wasn’t fair. Steve absolutely did care about Eddie. He’d shown it time and time again. Shown up and held tight and given his time and space and love, being the kind of best friend Eddie only dreamed of having.

And here he was, greedy. Desperately craving more. More of the connection, more of the love —platonic though it is—more of which he has already been given. Arguably he’s received far more than he ever thought he deserved (despite what his new friends might say). But Eddie can’t help it.

He wants. He craves.

He fucking aches for it.

It grips him in a chokehold, this desperation with which he begs to receive more. To have more. To be more. It wasn’t enough to have Steve’s friendship, Eddie wanted his whole heart. His whole soul, even. Every tiny speck of stardust that came together to create him, Eddie wanted it in his possession. Wanted it all to himself, to hoard like a dragon’s greatest treasure. To lock this man away and keep him safe and shower him with love and devotion every day for the rest of his life. He longed for it to the point of feeling more animal than man, a slave to his own desires. Helpless against his own hunger for a connection that would run bone deep between them, etched into his skull, woven into his blood. Eddie burned to fucking consume Steve Harrington and be consumed by him. To have their souls merge together in a supernova and, and, and…

And nothing. Because it would never happen. Not for Eddie, not the way that he wants it to. He reminds himself constantly that he should just be grateful to have the friendship, to cherish it for the special thing that it is. That guys like Steve Harrington didn’t want guys like Eddie Munson, at least not in that way. Not in the way Eddie wanted, because Eddie never got what he wanted.

Well, not never. But rarely. When he goes down this spiral, he struggles to remember times he has actually gotten what he wanted. In love, in romance? Never. Kisses—too fast, too hard, too scared—shared with boys who met him behind the bleachers and didn’t know what they wanted. Or rather, did know but wished they didn’t. Those that ended in the boys running away, or worse, threatening to hit him—to kill him—if Eddie dared to speak about what happened. Not that anyone would believe a jock would ever turn to Eddie The Freak Munson, even as an experiment. That’s all he ever was when he was younger, an experiment. It was all he thought he deserved, at least until he got a bit older and was able to venture out of Hawkins. Then came other stuff. Quick, filthy hookups in club bathrooms and dark alleyways in Indy. A stranger’s tongue in his mouth and their hands in each other’s pants and maybe their mouths on each other and the flash of a smile before leaving and he’d never see them again. It was fine. He got what he set out for in those moments, but nothing more. He never felt like he was owed more, never felt worthy of more, so why would anyone give him that? At least they didn’t end in threats of violence. At least he felt desired, somewhat. But, if given the chance, he’d trade all those experiences for one night of feeling like he was the prize, like he was the one worth fighting for, like someone wanted his heart.

And the craziest part was… sometimes he did feel that way. Sometimes Steve made him feel that way. Like Eddie was the most special person on the planet. Like no one else could draw his attention away. Like they were the only two people in the world. Like Steve could actually…

No. It wasn’t like that. Eddie had to remind himself endlessly. It wasn’t like that. This love wasn’t reserved just for Eddie, who watched Steve share it with all of them. When he picked up Dustin to take him wherever he wanted to go, despite the squabbling they shared. The way he and Robin seemed to read each other's minds, attached at the hip whenever possible. How he helped Max after she got out of the hospital, ready to drop everything at a second’s notice if she needed him. Spending afternoons training basketball with Lucas, giving him all of his tips and shining with pride at his skills.

Still… there was something. Something in the way Steve’s eyes lit up whenever Eddie arrived. Something in the way he was almost always too close, fingers brushing as beers were passed, arms and legs pressed against each other during movie nights, arms held tight when nightmares returned, and one glorious evening of warm cuddling and dreamless sleep after sharing a joint. Eddie lived in those moments, let them play on an endless loop in his mind, reading deep into each tiny interaction. Thinking about every smile sent his way and was it any different from the smiles anyone else got? God, he wanted to believe Steve had a special one just for him. One that was a little bit softer and sweeter and shyer.

The idea is nice, but it’s washed away by the cold reality of the fact that it would never happen. Even if, by some miracle, Steve was anything other than straight, why would he want Eddie? He could have anyone he wanted. And Eddie wouldn’t get what he wanted because that’s just how life was for him. Though he may beg and plead with invisible entities for it, though he might crave and ache to the point of feeling feral with it, though he might promise—swear on his life—to himself and anyone up there listening that he’d treat Steve so well if given the chance, Eddie knew it just wasn’t on the cards. The sooner he accepted that the better.

His resolve in place—forget about it, or at least bury it until it could be forgotten—Eddie makes his way up the driveway to the Harrington house. He wouldn’t think about it for the entirety of movie night. He absolutely would not.

“Hey, man!” Steve answers the door with a perfect smile and joy in his eyes. Eddie’s resolve wobbles. “Just in time.”

Eddie takes a moment to steel himself, firmly reminding himself of his goal, as he follows Steve into the house. And it lasts for all of two minutes before he’s pulled down onto the sofa, thigh pressed against Steve’s. Was there truly any reason for Eddie to be tortured this way? He tries to remember that Robin is on the other side of Steve, and that there’s limited room on the sofa but fucking hell… Their shoulders brush, the soft grazes through layers of fabric sending Eddie’s mind spinning, until Steve places his arm around behind Eddie on the sofa-back, not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat of his skin. And god, this is so much worse. The desire to lean in and cuddle him, just nestle right in and have Steve’s arm around him, drives him crazy. The idea that they could… that this could be normal for them, domestic even. It went beyond the physical, Eddie wanted to take care of him. To show him the love Steve had so willingly given to him, and give it back ten-fold, hundred-fold. To create a life with him. To be proud of him and show him off and love him endlessly. To go to the ends of the earth to grant Steve his every wish, if he could just have one chance, he was begging—

Get it together! Eddie’s internal voice hisses at him, and he tries to shove all his thoughts back down into a vault, feeling a bit like trying to get water back into a broken hydrant. He does his best, managing to get it back down to a simmer, rather than a rapid boil.

Steve shifts slightly, suddenly a bit closer. It all comes rushing back. The warmth where their thighs are touching becomes burning hot and all the aching, craving, yearning, wanting that Eddie tried to shove down and out of his mind is suddenly front and centre and focused on the way Steve laughs and those glorious moles dotting down his neck. He feels insane with longing, desperate to press his lips to those moles, as if that could ever convey the depth of his feelings for the man beside him. Overcome with the need to drag his fingers through that beautiful hair and maybe even pull on it a little, just to see what kind of noise Steve makes, Eddie hears the tiny voice in his mind telling him off for staring. He just can’t seem to drag his eyes away. Steve throws his head back with a laugh, exposing his throat, and Eddie might as well perish right then and there, distraught with how much he wants to bite it. To just sink his teeth into the skin and feel Steve’s pulse beneath with his tongue. To leave bites and bruises all over his body, everywhere Eddie thinks is beautiful…

Before he can summon enough shame to look away, Steve catches his eye, and just grins, eyes lit up with that same brightness he always seems to have when looking at him.

Eddie’s a fucking goner.

[cj-the-random-artist]

I don’t know how I managed to do this in a day.  Like.  I think I pumped this out on pure adrenaline

But again.  If ur at the caption ya probably say the PSA spoiler wall that says that this comic contains spoilers for the Limited Life SMP finale.  Well and I’m tagging this as spoilers so it’d be evident anyways lol.  So I won’t write my spiel about go watch the end of Limited Life and I’ll just say oh my god what a finale it was absolutely epic.  I loved every moment of it.

But yeah.  I sketched this out as one of those “ahh silly goofy doodly sketchy sketchbook comics when I’m spewing a thought into my sketchbook” and then.  My impulsiveness (there’s a pun there.  Is it intentional?  That’s for you to decide) won in the end and this exists now.  It’s not the best quality of anything I’ve ever made but gosh darnit it was so much fun to make.  So so much fun.

But yeah.  Limited Life was absolutely amazing from start to finish and every POV was awesome (but if ya can’t tell team TIES is gonna live in my head rent free for a while lol)

That said.  Enjoy this silly little mini comic I made and have a good day :D

[cerise-on-top]

Hi!!

I really love your works and writing on cod! I really enjoy reading it! ❤

Can I request Konig, Nikolai, Rudy and Alejandro reacting to reader speaking to their native tongue?

Take all the time you need! ❤🐱

Hello, I'm glad I can write something people can enjoy! And of course you can, even if I'm not sure I understood this ask perfectly! I wrote it as reader speaking the native language of the lads with them, so I hope that's okay! If you wanted reader simply speaking their own native language, please let me know! Thank you for the request, this one was very fun to write for!

Alejandro, Rodolfo, Nikolai and König with an S/O who Speaks Their Language with Them

Alejandro: He’d definitely be surprised if it comes out of nowhere, but he’s anything but mad. He can speak English fluently, has no problems whatsoever with it, but if he can speak Spanish then he definitely won’t mind either. If you’re a beginner and it’s evident by how you stutter in Spanish, then he’ll be patient with you. He’ll speak slowly and clearly so you can follow while also getting a good feel for the intonations the language has. However, when he just wants to tease you a bit then he’ll speak the way he’d usually speak while also not shutting up either. Alejandro can be eloquent in Spanish if he tries, but he barely ever does, only when he wants to confuse you with words you’d likely only hear from people who are 100 years old. The more you look like you’re in despair, the more it cracks him up. He will apologize afterwards, though, and give you a kiss on the cheek. If your Spanish is already pretty good, however, and you just wanted to surprise him, then congratulations, he’s likely going to speak a whole lot more Spanish with you than before. Just because it’s a popular language doesn’t mean everyone speaks it, so when he wants to tell you something for your ears only while there are people around, he’ll say it in Spanish. It’s comfortable for him, getting to speak his mother tongue with you. He thinks in Spanish, so it’s a whole lot easier for him as well. Tells a lot more jokes in Spanish too, even though they’re some of the worst ones the language has to offer. While they may not be Ghost-level lame, they’re something else still. Come up with your own and he’ll be so proud of you, rewarding you with more awful puns he came up with. He’s just happy he gets to share his language with you.

Rodolfo: As soon as you come up to him somewhat timidly and strike up a conversation in Spanish he’ll be a bit surprised, but absolutely smitten. Since it’s obvious you’re still learning he’ll try to use “nicer” Spanish on you, so more words that aren’t just exclusive to his dialect, or Las Almas in general. Very supportive, he would never judge you for making grammar mistakes while speaking, taking a while to remember a word or mispronouncing something, it’s part of learning a language, after all. Might nudge you in the right direction or correct you gently, but he’d never mean it in a bad way, he just wants to help you. He’ll speak clearly to you, slowly as well, so you can learn from him. It’s not often he gets carried away, but sometimes hearing you speak Spanish is just so cute that he might chuckle a bit or be a bit more excited than usual. A very patient teacher, who can appreciate you trying to learn something new. Now, if your Spanish is already pretty good then he does like holding a conversation with you in Spanish every once in a while. It’s just nice to turn your brain off without having to translate every other word into another language since he, too, thinks in his native tongue. Soft petnames from time to time, or maybe just mixing English and Spanish together when he can’t think of the word immediately as well. Somehow, as soon as he knows you speak Spanish, he’ll believe you’ve taken an interest in the corresponding culture, so he’ll teach you more about Mexico if he can. Teaches you how to cook the food, the customs, what the people are like in general. While he may not be as connected to his culture as Alejandro, he does like talking about it from time to time.

Nikolai: The second you greet him with a cheerful privet he knows you’re in for something. You should have expected such from him as well, though. It’s a gamble with him, he’ll either speak more quickly than he usually does just to mess with you or he’ll hold a prim and proper conversation with you and it all depends on how playful he’s feeling that day. Overall, he’s pretty chill about it, though. You wanna know how to pronounce something? You wanna know what gender a noun has? What his neighbor was yelling about again? He’s got your back. You can ask him the most embarrassing questions a million times, he won’t mind. Besides, if you want to then you can come to Russia and experience everything there first hand. Nikolai knows all the good places in Russia that are suitable for someone who’s not usually there, so you won’t have to worry about anything either. If you want to hold a whole conversation about how tortoises have survived for millions of years, then you can. Besides, hearing you botch the pronunciation from time to time is just the most precious thing there is. Will smile a bit when you pronounce something incorrectly, but won’t ever outright mock you for it. As mentioned before, he just thinks it’s cute. And when you know Russian very well, then he still won’t speak it too often. Nikolai knows eight languages, he doesn’t always think in Russian, usually in English since that’s what most of his closest friends speak with him. If you really insist on speaking Russian with him, he will, but won’t think too much of it. Many people know the language, Russia is a big country, after all. If you want to, then you can spend some holidays there and he’ll show you around since there likely isn’t a better guide in the whole country than him. But he will not make a big fuss out of it.

König: German isn’t a very popular language due to its grammar, so you can imagine his surprise when you walked up to him with the most adorable Grüß Gott he’s ever heard. He could just squish you then and there, but he refrains from doing so and instead focuses on trying to have a meaningful conversation with you. Doesn’t matter if it’s good, doesn’t matter if you’re just asking him how he’s doing, a conversation is a conversation and you’re learning. Besides, you learning German, especially if it’s just because of him, does move him just a bit. Might not always initiate a conversation in German with you because what if you’re not in the mood? But you can always just talk to him in German, he doesn’t mind it at all. Though, he might not be the best person to learn German from since he uses regional words that people his age use. While he does try to speak high German with you, he does not really care much for it, so his dialect slips in every once in a while. But hey, at the very least you get to learn his dialect. As soon as he hears you call someone Hawara he becomes oddly proud of himself, thinking he’s doing well as a teacher even if he barely does anything. He loves Austria, so if you really want to see it, he’s more than happy to take you home, show you Vienna, Styria and Lower Austria and make you try some good old Brettljause. If you already know German, then chances are you’ll only know high German, which is alright too, but please know that from time to time, König will speak his dialect with you, which you might not always understand. He barks quite a bit when he speaks too, making it a bit harder to understand him as well. However, he’s always more than happy to play translator for you and teach you words no one uses anymore, such as hal. Austrian words are a must know for you, therefore you’ll learn fairly early on what a Seidl or an Erdapfl is.

[jopzer]

Jamie stays put, exactly where he stands, and looks up at Roy with soft, half-lidded eyes.

“Fuck do you think you're doing?”

Jamie doesn't even blink; his cocky, crooked smile spreads across his face like he knows the answer before he even asks the question. “D’you want me to stop?”

little drawing to go along with my fic and i will fuck you (like nothing matters)

[dumplingsjinson]

The morning after a one night stand ??

List of “the morning after a one night stand” prompts 

“I’m confused— what happened last night? And also, are you naked? Why are you naked?”

“I need a rewind of last night, from start to finish. Physically.” 

“I mean… I love when accidents happen?”

“That was a one night stand and you damn well know it.” “Yeah, but it didn’t feel like one.”

Character A waking up to an empty bed and a splitting headache. 

“…This is going to become more than just a one night stand if you keep staring at me like that.” “You were awake this whole time?!” 

“There were feelings — feelings I’m not so sure I liked feeling.” 

“Stay for some breakfast?”

“Okay, I know we agreed for this to be a one night stand but… I kinda wanna break that agreement.” 

Character A waking up to Character B snuggled up to them, their limbs entangled and their naked bodies pressing against each other’s. 

“We were both drunk.” “We were far from drunk.” 

“Everything aches.”

Character A, pinned under Character B, whose eyes are roaming their whole body, before they flicker back up to their eyes; dragging back down to their lips. “Since you can’t remember the details, then let me do the honour of triggering your memory from last night, yeah?”

“Last night was good practice.” “Bitch, what? Excuse me?”

“I still can’t get over how you knew just how I liked it without me needing to tell you.”

“So. Let’s talk about the ‘I love you’ you let slip?” “…Um, an even better idea. How about we don’t?”

“I wanna do that again.” “The point of a one night stand—” “It doesn’t have to be a one night stand.”

“You look good in my shirt.” 

Character B pulling Character A back into bed with them, preventing them from leaving.

“I’m up for some morning sex if you are.” 

“…That was a momentary lapse of judgement on my part.” 

“Kinda don’t wanna get outta bed.” 

“Dude, you fucked the living daylights out of me last night and you expect me to be able to walk properly?” 

“I’m never drinking again.” 

“We really shouldn’t have done that…”

“Do you regret it?” “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Problem is, I don’t want this to be a one night stand.” 

“You think I can’t make you sound like that again?”

Character A and Character B agreeing to not talk about this ever again.

“…I think feelings were involved in that.” 

“We can always do that again if you’re down for it.” 

“This.” Character A sighs. “It’s— it’s going to turn into a reoccurring thing…” they say, trailing off into a soft whimper as Character B thrusts their fingers into them again.

“Mistakes were made!” “That wasn’t a mistake.” 

“Oh no.”

“…I’d give my soul to have you like that again.” 

“You up for some brunch?” “Hell fucking yeah.” 

“Because God forbid we fall in love after that.”

Character A waking up to Character B’s face smushed against the pillow and giggling a little. “Wake up, sleepy head,” they murmur, prodding their nose lightly. “Go away,” Character B grumbles, swatting their hand away. Something in Character A thuds against their chest. (Oh. It’s their heart. And there it goes, again, doing its daily fucking gymnastic routine whenever they’re near Character A.) 

“Hit me up again so we can just hang.” “Just hang?” “…Yeah, you heard me. Just hang.” 

“I can’t stop thinking about last night.”

“…We made bad decisions last night.” “I think we made great decisions.”

“You couldn’t have left evidence on more visible spots, could you?”

“…What’s this?” “My number. In case you want to call me… Or something.” 

“Surely I’m not the only who doesn’t want this to end like this,” Character A murmurs into Character B’s neck. 

“Want me to hit the right spots again?” Character B says softly, sending shivers running down Character A’s spine; hand splayed on their bare stomach. “Y-yes, please,” Character A answers, arms tightening around their neck. “Need you like I needed you last night.” 

“You know what, as much as I like one night stands, I don’t like the idea of it when it comes to you.”

“I don’t want to sever this connection that we seem to have.” 

“Funny thing is, I don’t regret what happened. And I want it to happen again. That’s far from regret.”

“Currently thinking of abolishing this one-time rule we made.”

“This is to be kept between you and me, got it?” “Wouldn’t dream of letting someone else know I had you moaning my name all night long, would I now?” 

[necrotic-nephilim]

@sasheneskywalker i love when you enable me to ramble about things because oh my god do i have thoughts.

so recently, i made a post discussing the phenomena of DC x DP and DC x MLB crossovers and why they exist and part of that post was discussing how largely speaking, at least half, if not more of the Batfamily fandom doesn't read the comics. if they interact with canon DC material, it's adaptations that are their own sequestered universes and oftentimes not remotely comic accurate or seeking to be. the most obvious example is the Young Justice cartoon. i'm adding a cut to this post because it just got so long i'm so sorry.

a lot of times, when people are discussing the "why" of this oversaturation of fanon-only fandom, they blame Wayne Family Adventures. and i think, to a point, i agree WFA is responsible for a boom in this fandom. but as someone who's been in the fandom long before we had WFA, to me it's the other way around. WFA was DC's way of meeting the demand for this easy-to-get-into, easy-to-consume content about the Batfamily that predicates itself on the comics just enough to be vaguely the same characters, but has a more sitcom, slice-of-life sort of vibe so DC could profit off of this section of the fanbase that otherwise wasn't consuming its primary material. and well, it's definitely worked. not only that, but i have a weird theory that the decline in the MCU also led to the rise in the Batfamily fandom. when you consider the fan content that made the MCU popular within fandom, it's that 2012 "they all live in Avengers Tower and Thor is eating poptarts and Clint is in the vents and there are movie nights every Friday" sort of vibe. those were the fics that were a hallmark of the fandom. and as the MCU has strayed from well... quality content in general, but specifically well-thought-out crossover content where characters can have their own arcs but also exist in a wider story where they clearly care about each other, that fandom was sort of homeless. so where do you go, if you like a superhero found family where you can have villains for angst but also stick them all in one big family-like home for silly crack and have a plethora of options for gay ships? well. you go to the Batfamily. if you write a crack/fluff Batfamily genfic with silly vibes and low stakes instead of say, a fic about a very specific comic issue even if it's a popular comic, you're *going* to get more traction for the former. because the fanbase largely just isn't reading the comics.

and i feel... complicated about this. because on one hand, Don't Like Don't Read has been a tenet of my fandom experience. i'm very pro-fandom and that includes fandom content i don't like. and to an extent, i do think this sort of should apply to Batfamily fanon. i enjoy having my moments with other comic purists, giggling over exceptionally painful OOC headcanons or even facepalming in pain over some content but it is on me to not interact with that content. you don't make fandom a better place by being hostile to fans who engage with canon in ways you don't approve of. and frankly? we as comic readers are not going to get non-comic fans to read the comics by being asshats to them. no one is going to want to pick up any comic if we get a superiority complex about it. and also, i feel like we're all lying to ourselves a little bit insisting comics are so, so easy to get into. they're not. we can just all agree, they're really not. i've been single-handedly helping my sister get into comics, specifically Wonder Woman and no matter how simple i make it, i watch her get frustrated trying to understand what pre-Crisis and post-Crisis and New-52 and Flashpoint and all these things mean and what a retcon vs a reboot is and what a Crisis Event is and what the hell Diana's current backstory even *is*. sure, you can give someone a beginner list of comics to start with and slowly dip their toes in the water but sooner or later, *something* is going to confuse them. comics as a medium straight up aren't going to be everyone's cup of tea. and if someone *just* wants to read silly fluffy fanfiction about the Batfamily, i can't entirely begrudge them for not wanting to take the hours and hours out of their day to understand this medium. it's not an accessible medium to get into. "read this and this, but this run is out of print and this run wasn't collected in trades at all but also make sure you read that event in order and this is a good comic but the backstory in it is retconned and you *have* to read this it's so important but it's also really bad because the author kind of sucks" sounds. ridiculous for someone who like. just wants to read some stuff about Nightwing. sometimes, we all make reading comics sort of sound like a chore, not a hobby.

so my point is, i do extend some grace to Batfamily fanon for existing. i think my biggest gripe is, as i said in my other post, misuse of tags (if you're not creating content about comics, maybe you don't need the comics fandom tag on Ao3, just the all media types umbrella tag) and my far bigger gripe: when panels are taken out of context to support fanon only headcanons. if i could impart *anything* onto the Batfamily fandom as a comic fan it'd be this: if you haven't *read* the comic, don't spread the panel. if you don't even know what comic it's *from*, don't spread the panel. it's fine to use comic panels to discuss your headcanons, but so often i see someone spreading a comic panel from a comic they haven't read, and when asked where it's from, they can't source it. a silly example that comes to mind is a post going around, taking a panel where Dick, in his internal monologue goes "here comes the sun. do do do do." and the post is claiming it's from him getting buried alive. when that panel comes from Nightwing (1996) #140, and he gets buried alive in Nightwing (1996) #127, two completely different moments frankensteined together. if you're going to not read the comics, that's completely fine, but unless you're sure of the source and the context, panels shouldn't be spread around. i'm sick of this specifically happening to Red Robin (2009), with ppl claiming Tim has totally killed people because he blew up some of Ra's' bases, when those panels within context, make it clear he gave everyone time to escape. and in a later arc in that very comic, Tim grapples with the idea of murdering Captain Boomerang, and *specifically chooses not to*, because he doesn't agree with murder, even against the person who has hurt him the most. if you'd like to write fanfiction where Tim is pro-murder and has done some sketch things, i'm totally on board and would probably like to read it. but there's no need to pretend it's canon from a few panels you saw out of context.

beyond that, i think it's not *entirely* correct to say that fanon is harmless. whenever i see very WFA-positive posts, they often default to the argument that WFA is fun and silly, and comic fans are killjoys for not liking it. which. i think is complicated because the issue is, WFA and fanon don't exist in a vacuum. if you like WFA power to you, i don't think it's the worst thing ever, but i do think it's degrading to these characters because honestly? they feel incompetent in the webtoon. it's one thing if WFA was solely a slice-of-life sort of deal, just having silly episodes where Bruce is taking on a PTA mom or they're all fighting for the last cookie. but when WFA attempts to take on more serious plots with these characters, it *fundamentally* falls flat in understanding them. i get it, Bruce comforting Jason having a panic attack because a noise reminded him of the crowbar felt cute in a microcosm, but i'm so serious when i say that storyline destroyed how like. half of this fandom understands Jason Todd's relationship to his trauma. it doesn't understand how he reacts when he's triggered, what coping mechanisms he seeks out, and how he would handle Bruce comforting him. even if i can believe for a brief moment Jason *would* be triggered by something like that, him running and trying to hide and then getting a hug from Bruce to make it okay is just. painful. WFA needs everything to be wrapped up in a nice, neat little bow. so even when it starts to tackle interesting concepts, it makes them fall flat with its need to be soft, low stakes, hurt/comfort. there was a two-parter episode that dealt with the complicated mutual hatred/jealousy between Tim and Damian that *almost* really interested me because for once, it felt like the webtoon wanted to explore canon messy dynamics. but of course, it had to be fixed with one conversation and a hug. you don't mend the *years* of issues these characters have like that. WFA isn't in character because these characters are hyperbole cartoonified versions of themselves to fit within the medium and be a cute happy family.

because that right there, is the crux of it. the Batfamily fanon seeks to simplify the Batfamily and force them into a nuclear family. there are so many fantastic posts on here discussing how the nuclear family-ification of the Batfam is eroding decades worth of complex histories so i won't go too far into that. but what i will say is that there's this need, in the Batfamily fandom, for the Batfamily to exist as a unit. they are a *family*. (honestly i think calling it the Batfamily is a misnomer and has been for years but we're in too deep now.) they exist to each other first, and any teams or friends they have come secondary to this family unit. you can *specifically* see this demonstrated in what headcanons are becoming popular these days. i have an entire lengthy meta in my drafts about how i *loathe* the "the Batfamily meets the Justice League" genre of fanfic because it makes no *sense*. in order to have this genre of fic exist, you must operate under the assumption that no one in the League, or adjacent to the League, knows the Batfamily exists and are thus utterly shocked to discover Batman has kids. and to make *that* work, you have to strip *every single Batfamily member* of such important dynamics and friendships so you can lock them all in Gotham for their whole lives. Dick can't have the Titans, Tim can't have Young Justice, Duke & Cass can't have the Outsiders, Jason can't have the Outlaws, Damian can't have the Supersons, Babs can't have the Birds of Prey, and so on. because if they had these relationships, they would be known to the League. the Batfamily fandom doesn't care about this, it's just "silly fanfiction", it's not trying to be serious. but how can you say you like Dick Grayson as a character if you don't understand the Titans *are* his family? at some points of his life, moreso than the Batfamily even is. it is constantly repeated to us in most comics with Dick how much the Titans mean to him. he *needs* them to be who he is. the same extends to every other Batfamily member, most of which have been full League members at this point. but in fanon, that doesn't matter. the Batfamily are a sequestered unit first, and all of those side relationships are secondary and easy to toss away, if it makes your fanfic work better.

and because they have to be a unit first, you have these forced relationships that dump years of actual canon material for the sake of making them get along. the Batfamily fandom has its favorites and well. it's no secret it's usually the boys. Jason and Tim by *far* stand out as fandom faves so, their dynamic is a heavily explored one. it does matter that in canon they don't tend to get along and especially don't see each other as family. what matters is that you can push dynamics onto them. and so fanon gets all twisted up about which Robin Tim actually idolized as a kid (Dick) and what member of the Batfamily is pro-murder but still an older sibling figure to him and looks out for him (Helena, or if you want the dynamic of once tried to harm Tim but they've reconciled, Jean-Paul) in favor of who's the most popular. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian are always going to be the standouts for popularity, but it's specifically Jason and Tim who are getting fanonized the most. and that's because really, we don't have much canon content of Tim that *isn't* the comics. for Dick you've got Young Justice (tv), for Damian you've got the DCAMU, for Jason you've sort of got the Under The Red Hood movie, but Tim sort of lingers in this limbo. (yes, he's in Young Justce (tv) and Titans (live action) but in neither is he the main character nor given much depth) so, he gets a *lot* projected onto him and has become fanonized. and even with Jason's animated movies, you don't see him interact with Tim, so people build it from the ground up how they want to see it, disregarding of canon comics. i think it's what makes him so popular in the first place- he's malleable into whatever you want or need him to be.

and of course, the fanon ignores other characters in the Batfamily it doesn't know about. i feel like you could create a tier list of Batfamily characters by their popularity, going from the fandom main characters: Tim, Jason, Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Damian. to the underrated: Steph, Duke, Babs, Cass. to the forgotten about unless they're convenient for a story: Kate, the Foxes, Helena Wayne, Carrie, Selina, Harper Row, Maps, Minhkhoa Khan. to the absolutely unknown: Helena Bertinelli, Jean-Paul Valley, Onyx Adams, the Clovers, Julia Pennyworth. it's not lost on me that the ignored characters tend to be women and people of color. which is both a canon and fanon problem, DC will continue adding interesting characters to the Batfamily, play with them for a few years, then drop them to default to the "Batboys" again. and it's a vicious cycle of the fandom only caring about the "Batboys", and thus people entering the fandom via fanon osmosis won't have content about the other characters, therefore, they won't be interested in those characters enough to create it, and it's just this ouroboros consuming itself, no matter how much canon content we have of these other characters. and it's ridiculous just how large the Batfamily is becoming because of this, which is why i'm a pre-Flashpoint fan, because then the Batfamily was contained enough to actually feel like a family with every character having nuances relationships with each other, but i digress because those thoughts could be their own post.

and the thing about fanon is it doesn't exist in a vacuum. DC has started turning the comics to accommodate for what fans are asking for, because fans will beg and beg for content they're not going to consume. Tim Drake: Robin had Tim as a coffee drinker because that's the fanon accepted headcanon. and the resolution of the recent Gotham War arc was for Bruce to buy this new manor for everyone to move in and call him. nevermind that most of these characters have their own homes and have zero reason to be moving in with Bruce. Tim had his marina in Tim Drake: Robin, Dick has Bludhaven, Cass and Steph have their little side of town in Batgirls (2022), and so on. these characters are being forced together as a unit, as one big happy family living together, to appease what non-comic fans want and it's damaging comic relationships. Robin: Knight Terrors saw Jason and Tim team up and working together, which i've seen varying opinions on but i personally despised. their interactions made zero sense for any of their canon history, but it appeases them being this close sibling relationship that fanon acts like they are. also the fears they faced in their respective knight terrors didn't make sense for either character and *only* worked as a moment of bringing them together so they could reassure each other and have this weird dreamscape bonding moment. the canon is bending itself to the will of fanon rather than building on the pre-existing complex relationships. Tim barely even gets along with his most important team in Dark Crisis: Young Justice because it seems the only important relationships the Batfamily can have is with each other. and when we do see them outside of the Batfamily, it only seems to be to relive the glory days like with World's Finest: Teen Titans, instead of developing them as they currently exist. this isn't recent in the comics, it feels like you can trace it back to the New-52, but it does feel a *lot* worse over the recent years. WFA is fine when it exists in its own bubble, but the simple truth is, DC content never exists on its own. the adaptations will reflect back onto the comics. (the damage the Young Justice cartoon has done to some characters should honestly be studied) and so it does frustrate me a bit when fanon-only or adaptation-only fans act like we're being nothing but killjoys for being frustrated with this. since they don't read the comics, they don't see how the comics are suffering as a result of this.

people argue about what's out of character for the comics they don't even read. i'm sorry, but "bad dad Bruce" is consistently canon. that man is just kind of shitty. when you take someone who has the drive he has, who has this need for the Mission first, who needs a teenager in spandex next to him to keep him off the ledge, that guy is sort of going to be a shitty father figure. he just is. not on purpose or with malice, but when you compare him to any other dad in a big DC family, he sure takes the cake. it's why characters like Oliver Queen tend to *really* fucking hate Bruce for how he treats his kids. Bruce loves fiercely, but he doesn't do well with putting that love first. and his love is a controlling one, he is very particular about controlling how others in the Batfamily are "allowed" to operate. it's what drives the wedge between him and Dick, it's why Steph is never a true daughter to him. (besides the reason of her needing to be a love interest to Tim first, anyway-) i've never understood the massive outcry of people reacting to Bruce kinda being shitty in comics they're not reading. there are some moments that get ridiculously OOC with how cartoonishly evil he is (the whole Gotham War arc and that... complicated mess with Jason) but largely if you want sitcom loving nuclear father Bruce, you have to accept that is a fanon thing, not a canon one. the Batfamily being a nuclear family in *general* is fanon. most of the "Batkids" don't actually see Bruce in a particularly fatherly light and begging for moments where he calls them his kids or they call him dad outside of incredibly specific circumstances is just OOC.

it's getting harder and harder to exist peacefully in this fandom it feels like, if you don't comply to the standard fanon has set. i'm happy people are having fun with their blorbos, even if in ways i dislike, but that "harmless fandom fun" does ripple it's way back to canon, eventually. so i end up pretty tangled with my feelings because are fans at fault for DC making these poor decisions? probably not, but it certainly feels like an unfortunate cause-and-effect situation whether at the end of the day, nobody is happy. and of course, i know some fanon-only fans are striving to be more canon accurate and care about canon dynamics more than others, but for them it's always going to be an uphill battle with the above-mentioned out-of-context panels thrown around and ever-pervasive fanon overtaking anything that's truly seeking to be canon compliant. so really, it sometimes feels like we're all losing.

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday

it's Tuesday somewhere so starting it off early lol

after 7x09 I had like 4 new ideas (plus maaaany more non-episode related ideas, istg lately there's so many, I don't know what to focus on lol my brain feels loud, and I feel like I'm writing a hundred things at once, I've been a chaotic mess this month istg) but for now im trying to focus on this one fic, and trying to finish whatever this is before the next episode

for now, here's a bit of bucktommy at the medal ceremony after the encounter with gerrard

___

He could punch Gerrard in the face. He really wants to, and if it was a couple years ago, he probably would – but he’s at a work event, the guy is a Captain, unfortunately, and Buck just got a medal, he’s not risking his job right now. He’s not the same impulsive kid he was seven years ago. He’s heard enough stories from Chimney and Hen, and recently some vague ones from Tommy, to know that he hates their old Cap. Tommy seems to want to open up to Buck, to let Buck truly know him, but talking about that past, about himself back then, about the whole environment is not easy, and Buck gets that. They have time to get to know each other, neither of them is going anywhere. Buck’s certainly not planning to, and when Tommy says he isn’t, either, Buck finds himself trusting him, which is very new but so exciting.

“It’s- well, it was to be expected.” Tommy shrugs, his face a careful, neutral mask that Buck’s just starting to learn to see past, then sits down when they approach the table, putting his plate down – they’re sharing it with Eddie, Marisol and Christopher, but the three of them are still at the buffet getting food. Buck takes a seat next to him, then scoots his chair closer – close enough that their knees touch, but far enough that they still appear professional. “It just threw me off. Actually, threw me twenty years back for a moment.” he huffs an unamused, bitter laugh.

___

no pressure tags: @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @diazpatcher @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @bidisasterevankinard @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @exhuastedpigeon @underwaterninja13 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @your-catfish-friend @dangerpronebuddie @neverevan @loveyouanyway @tizniz @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples

[i-have-a-lot-of-ocs]

Tempted to write a replaced au twst fic where Yuu (or alternatively, I'll use my Yuu, Riyuu, who is basically who I'm writing this for) used to be the cutest girl around, the cheery one who's always around everyone, the one you can't seem to dislike even if your crush falls for her because she earnestly says sorry (even though it's not her fault) and will always help you out if you need her back in her old school. But one day, a new girl comes around and her whole reputation got destroyed. She helps the new girl adjust, tells her all the rumours and introduces her to all the popular kids. But the girl ends up backstabbing her, telling the popular girls rumours about how she intentionally plays up the act to steal their crushes to her, and lies to the boys, telling them she's just playing with their hearts and that she's a horrible person.

Yuu ends up alone and excluded, being seen as "annoying" and only having a few close friends who doesn't really interact with her in public in fear of their reputation being ruined. She ends up miserable at school, and wishes to not go anymore. But one day comes a saving grace, she gets whisked by a mysterious black carriage into Twisted Wonderland, or more specifically, Night Raven College. She doesn't mind working if it meant she doesn't have to deal with her old school, there was still 1 and a half years left of school and she doesn't want to deal with all ghe group projects to be assigned that will inevitably end with everyone not wanting to team up with her. Plus, as annoying Grim is, he's like the animal friend all of the anime and storybook protagonists she knows has, and she doesn't mind him too much.

Some things did change after she and Grim got officially enrolled, but she had no problem adapting to the social expectations of the world, part time jobs with Sam -- and occasionally the canteen -- paid enough to get her tools for cooking basic but delicious food, and new friends without the weight of her past helped her get settled comfortably.

The existence of Overblots stunned her for a bit, but a peek into Riddle and Leona's memories helped her understand the concept, even if just a little. However, things began to change eerily simlarly to her old school when a new girl comes, also in a similar position to her, getting transported to a new, unfamilliar world, and seemingly hailing from a similar world to the Earth she knows. She warmly welcomes her, eager to finally befriend another girl, but it seems that the girl does not share the same enthusiasm.

The girl only barely responds to Yuu's attempts at forming a friendship, and always seems to talk her in a condescending way, and often dismisses her, and especially so whenever there are any boys around.

Yuu will not deny any statements claiming she's an attention seeker or that she plays up her sweet innocent girl act, but she knows to never, ever sacrifice a bystander for it. But if someone insists on war with her... well that's another, different story. She's learnt her lesson of being overly optimistic, and she will not make the same mistake twice. She will not let her make her life a living hell more than it already is with Crowley's irresponsibleness.

Aaand thus begins the story. Or well, however you wanna continue it. I'm honestly in favour of most Housewardens (Kalim, Vil, and Idia in particular. I'll put my reasoning in a few paragraphs down) Adeuce, Tweels, and Ortho for team Yuu. Why?

Well, first of all, Adeuce. This is mostly because the duo is like. with Yuu since Day 1, as much of a bitch as Ace is, I think those two are the most likely to trust and know Yuu well enough to not believe the lies R (< Replacer) tells. Especially Deuce, he doesn't want to betray a friend he knew for quite a while, that would not be very honor student-like of him!! And she helped him out in a lot of situations too! He doesn't want to hurt you after all the trouble you go through to help him, and also knowing how horrible your living conditions are. Ace would most likely give in to peer pressure if the student body is overwhelmingly in favour of R, but as of now, he maybe enjoys your company just a bit more than R. Just a bit, promise.

Tweels I feel like is self-explanatory. Those two are perceptive as fuck istg it scares me. Jade especially. I feel like the two would just toy with R for a bit despite her facade and lies before dropping her after she bothers them for attention and favours one too many times.

(Ortho ties in with Idia so I'll explain him in Idia's paragraph)

Kalim is actually very emotionally intelligent. He can come off annoying and stupid, but from all the scenes I see of him, he's actually really good at dealing with people. Have you seen how he deals with the Scarabia residents after Jamil's OB??? The way he phrases his sentences?? He didn't force or even plead with them to forgive Jamil, he simply asks them to wait before making permanent judgements, and I think he's gonna be uncomfy with how condescendingly R talks to Yuu, and even if he's used to people going after him for money, I feel like R mostly eyeing him for money and how she "secretly" sighs in annoyance everytime she goes out of the party for a "bathroom break" will only solidify his dislike/discomfort, even if he doesn't show it.

Vil is also kind of self-explanatory if you read into his character and not just the shell the official English localization makes for him. (I could rant for hours about how the official tl portrays his character istg. He's hardworking and he actually didn't attempt to poison Neige out of pure jealousy, he did it because he felt like all his efforts to be beautiful will never be able to surpass Neige, who, in his eyes, always seemed to be innocent and naturally beautiful. He feels like the villain in Neige's story. He feels like he is reduced to what he often plays as, a snobbish, overconfident villain obsessed with overthrowing the hero. And because of it, it became a twisted self-fulfilling prophecy, pushing him to, in a fit of despair, be that same villain everyone sees him as.) I really don't think he will take well to R's condescension to Yuu, who genuinely wants to befriend R. (I actually have a whole thing in my head where Yuu and Vil occasionally have sleepovers where they do skincare together after the whole VDC thing happened. I feel like this is also a "vent sesh" of sorts for the both of them, just to air out their grievances without much seriousness, and I think Yuu would admit to wanting a fellow girl in the school that she could befriend, since no matter what, being the only girl can be exhausting.) Ik Vil's not a girl but he is such a girls' girl istg.

Idia... this mostly ties into Ortho and The STYX Incident, but like,, I think we can all agree on this one,, Idia is smart and capital V Very pessimistic. Would you rather trust the girl you've known for a while, who saw your memories, who helped you in awkward social situations when she can and is besties with your brother or some random new girl who trash talks said girl behind her back? The former, right? Plus, even if Yuu did only hang out with him and his brother because she likes to secretly laugh at him behind his back, there's mo guarantee R wouldn't do the same, given his experience. And he would rather have someone who actively helps him and his brother out than someone who wouldn't.

I didn't put Malleus in because of how canon him actually treats Yuu. I feel like the fandom kind of put on rose-tinted glasses on with his character, and kind of ignored some things like, idk... him just leaving them to fend for themselves homeless during Octavinelle... maybe he thought Crowley would offer them a place to stay but like... I'm still bothered by how didn't atleast offer a spare room in Diasomnia. He's a housewarden goddamnit. He's not as distant or scary as the rumours say but like. still rubbed me the wrong way.

Anyways I don't think my attention span will let me write it to completion so if anyone likes this and wants to write it feel free. Pls tag me if you do tho. I would love to read it :3

[sprimps]

they're thinking about very different things