#TRICK QUESTION its everything. to me

[officialspec]

modern au but set in brisbane. is this anything

[mxwhore]

should i tell my very selfish and stubborn father the many ways he has hurt me these past few months in the hopes that he'll apologize and change his behavior or should i do something productive instead?

[sanstropfremir]

TOHO SPIRITED AWAY?? PLS GIVE ME THE DEETS

oh it was soooooooooo good i'm so happy i got a chance to see it!!! gorgeous design all around, there was no standout elements bc everything fit so well together. all the spirits + magical elements were done with traditional (japanese and western) style puppetry, so everything was articulated and manipulated by an operator, which had this really wonderful almost youth theatre vibe. a lot of times with shows that involve puppets, they'll try to make the puppets as advanced as possible to not make them 'childish' (see: war horse), but for something that's based heavily in folklore and IS a children's story, to me the only logical sense is to emphasize that particular angle. the puppets were also incredible, very well made and sooo accurate to the movie??? like impressively accurate. my faves were probably kamaji and haku? kamaji's six extra arms were each operated by a separate person who had one hand operating the elbow and one hand as the actual hand, so all eight hands were able to do everything, which mean there was some REALLY incredible choreography of just. all the stuff that he was doing, but also when he got up and walked it was soooooooo cool. and haku!!! he had two puppets actually, one 'full size' that was a big long foam articulated body that took i think four puppeteers, and there was a tiny haku that they used for the flying scenes that was basically just a little head and a ....idk what the actual technical term is but it was basically just a wind sock as the body on a big long pole so the puppeteer could essentially move him like you would a big ribbon! the scene were he first transforms and flies off was sooo pretty, the actor haku did a lil setup to a GORGEOUS spinning jump and when he landed he ducked down behind some of the chorus members and as he disappeared the tiny ribbon haku shot up from the same spot and started looping around.......... actual magic. also wow the actor playing haku was so pretty. and very tall. which i did not notice until the very end. i would not be suprised if he had ballet training bc tall and he had the ballet dancer chin/head posture. also the actor playing lin (also doublecast as chihiro's mom) was crazy hot. just so unbelievably hot. anyways. speaking of casting: noface as a popping dancer. UNREAL and incredible galaxy brained choice. he had a solo while they did a set change and WOW. spooky and gorgeous and also weirdly welcoming? really excellent job of embodying a sympathetic physicality that made it understandable why chihiro would let him in to the bath house in the first place. also for the curtain call he put the mask on the back of his head and literally did the bows backwards. insane. my ONLY complaint is that i didn't love noface's giant form, but that's mostly because years and years ago i saw a (different) puppet show with a grim reaper character that was very similar to giant noface (the telescoping neck + large body) and i literally thought at the time 'if you were going to do puppet noface that is exactly how you should do it', so 1) expectations 2) i'm pretty sure that version was done using quite a sophisticated extending mechanism, which would be antithetical to the rest of the puppets in the show, and 3) this giant noface was VERY big (probably at least 10-15 feet across? he was at least eight puppeteers with the original actor as the mask) so the logistics would not have worked. regardless. it is a very small complaint that literally no one else would have had unless they had seen the same show that i did in like. 2015. costumes were all unreal, the set was phenomenal; it actually took me WELL over an hour to figure out that the set literally stayed the same the entire time, it was just being rotated (it was on a turntable) and redressed + had a couple balconies flown in. also live orchestra?? in the set??????? i didnt even know they were THERE they had them behind a scrim on an upper level platform in the back and they pulled it up for curtain call and there was like. 15 ppl sitting back there????

ok but if i had to pick ONE thing that was my favourite, it would be that ALL the living things were played by someone alive. i know that sounds obvious, especialy for like. the dancing vases and the frog and the soot sprites, but even the PLANTS were puppets in their own way. like the hydrangea bushes that chihiro hides in at the beginning and the flower field that she and haku run through were done with chorus members wearing these beautiful flower head/chest/arm pieces. even the stone guardians at the tunnel at the beginning of the play were actors. it really underscored the magic of everything to have all the life be actually alive.

[mostly-imagines]

Banished

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason misses his girlfriend

warnings: extremely mild angst, he’s just mopey (he’s fine)

Jason sits slumped over the kitchen island, head lying in his crossed arms. His now soggy cereal disregarded after barely a few bites.

Dick’s been rummaging through the cabinets for the better part of twenty minutes and Tim sits atop of the nook table shoving donuts in his mouth for the better part of thirty.

Damian trudges past them to the nook bench, taking out a knife and beginning to whittle away at a block of wood.

He glances at Jason with a scowl. “If you’re going to be so miserable, can’t you do it in your own home?”

Jason just grunts.

He wishes. You and Bruce had conspired to trap him at the mansion for the week so he could heal from injuries sustained during the last mission without risk of him suiting up and sneaking away from you in the middle of the night.

It’s not even the fact that he’s basically being babysat that’s got him so disgruntled. He wouldn’t mind it at all if you were here too. But you were dead set that the manor was too far out of your way for work, so you’d stay behind. A lose-lose for Jason.

“He’s just mad his girlfriend kicked him out.” Dick teases, swiping through the fridge.

Tim snorts from the doorway, “Me too. He’s a lot more depressing on his own.”

Jason kept his head down as he blindly reached for the spoon in his cereal and chucked it at Tim’s head.

Tim catches it without thought, continuing, “A lot more irritable, at least. Why isn’t she here?”

“She’s gotta work.” Dick says, scanning through the pantry.

Damian peeps his head up from his project. “But Todd has a rather large supply of less than legally obtained money, does he not?”

“Yeah, but she said she wants to pay her own rent, I think.” Dicks hums, finally giving up on his quest for a snack.

Damian pauses.

“So she wants to live in a tiny apartment?” He asks, a mixture of confused and horrified.

“Watch your mouth.” Jason mumbles.

“It was a genuine question!” Damian protests, face screwed up.

Jason finally lifts his head up, turning to his little brother with a raised brows. “And I’m genuinely going to break your nose.”

It’s an empty threat, maybe. But it was enough to shut Damian up anyways. Jason turns back to his cereal and swishes the bowl around.

Dick rests his arms on the counter across from Jason and speaks lowly. “You know, it is just a few days. She’s coming back.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Jason was never one for showing his feelings—let alone talking about them.

He misses you, plain and simple. Dick could see that much clearly, though the longing looked unfamiliar on Jason.

Bruce lingers in the hallway, just past the island, listening.

He’ll admit (to himself) that he’s worried about Jason. It’s been three days and Jason has yet to show a crack in this demeanor. And while it’s not uncommon for him to stow himself away, there is something quite wrong with the way he hasn’t countered his brother’s jabs at him or teased them.

And while he could do without the blatant threats, he’s proud to hear his son defending his girlfriend, even over trivial things. It’s one of the few moments where he feels like he did right by him as a father.

And now here’s his son, caring about someone else more than he cares about himself. Someone who’s a good person, no less. It had been your idea to trick Jason into staying at the manor, you were scared that he would push his body past its limit when you couldn’t do anything to help.

Bruce knew you didn’t feel great about basically banishing him for the week but he could see that you just wanted what was best for Jason. He could see it so clearly. Maybe Bruce could never have been a perfect father, could never have given his son everything he needed despite having more money than he could ever use. Maybe he couldn’t help him, even now.

But you could.

Bruce peers around the corner, leaning up against the doorframe.

He watches Damian give up on carving at his block and start into the leg of the table.

He watches the bickering that broke out after Tim grab the last glazed donut, which was apparently the only thing Dick could possibly fathom eating.

And he watches Jason.

As Jason’s phone lights up on the counter next to him. He glances down at it with a frown before his face absolutely lights up.

He scrambles to pick the phone up and starts typing away. A quiet action that catches the attention of all of his brothers.

He types and types, waits for ten seconds for a response and types and types again—smile on his face.

The Waynes didn’t need to be the greatest detectives in the world to know who he was texting.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Dead on main. No trick only treat.

~~Сhildhood friends and deals~~

The Justice League has to summon a ghost from another dimension to address the threat. They don’t know what price the Ghost King will take but there’s little time to bargain. Another spirit threatening them has already seized all the computers on their base. John doesn’t know what else to offer. A summoned ghost starts to look bored. Gold, jewelry? A favor from a member of the League? Like the Ruler of All Dead needs it. No one dares to make another offer, and the King is in no hurry to set out his demands. Maybe try to pull off a soul sale scam?

Suddenly, Red Hood breaks into the hall, walks up to Phantom and shakes his shoulder vigorously. Red Hood: You, get Technus out of here right now. I need access to the files and fast. Phantom: That’s rude, dude. Where did you grow up? in the cave? No "hello, no how are you, Danny", really? Red Hood: I’ll pay the usual price. Phantom: Deal.

What is the price? John sees Batman and gets in his way. The usual price, his guy said. Means Jay was already out of the deal alive and well. This hyperprotective bat would only piss off the ruler if he interfered.

The King quickly deals with his subordinate using a thermos and remains to watch working Hood. Red Hood: What do you want? I’m busy. Danny: You and I have a contract~ Red Hood: All right, all right. Jay throws M&Ms right in the face of the ghost. But king doesn’t look angry. He opens the package and starts sorting the candies by color. Phantom quickly eats up all the green ones and passes the red ones to Hood. Jason takes them without any questions.

Strange. John has never seen a summoned creature share its reward with a human. And the son of a bat looks too comfortable with it. Wait, since when do super-powered beings think that candy is a decent wage?John makes one of the most likely deductions using his experience. Constantine: Batsy, how long has your son been sleeping with the King of Ghosts? Batman: He…what?!

~~~~~~~

Dick *knocking at the door*: Little Wing, you hate ectoplasm and everything what is neon green, so why? He’s dangerous! Jason who turned on the music to not listen to his crazy family: ~He’s poison but tasty~

Dick: NoOOoo

~~~~~~

Jason: And now everyone thinks that I sold my virginity to you for a bargain or something, because interdimensional creatures like you aren’t supposed to help for nothing. Like you’re playing favorites. I’m gonna fucking kill John. Danny: Well, I wouldn’t say no to that. Jason: What? Danny: I mean, to k-kill John, yeah. How dare he.. Jason: Omg, you’re still so terrible liar, Fenton.

Danny: Sorry :(

Jason: No. Say it again.

~~~~Twelve years ago~~~~ Maddie wasn’t thrilled to learn that Danny was trying to make friends with Todd’s son. Their neighbor was terrible. And his son was definitely a street rat and probably a juvenile delinquent. Maddie: Danny, honey, there’s got to be a reason this boy is talking to you. Even kids from the crime alley are always looking for a bargain they can make or a fool they can fool. Danny: But Jason is so cool! He knows so much about books and alleys and.. Maddie: But you don’t want to be a fool, do you? Danny: Okay, Mom, I get it.

So, if Danny wants a cool friend, he’s got to offer a bargain.

He didn’t have a lot of pocket money for every month but Jason needed it more anyway. And his lunch that Jack was picking for him was big enough for two and only bitten on Tuesdays. Nice. Jason: Do I understand correctly? You will pay me and give me food, and I, what? Protect you from bullies? Danny: No! I’m not weak, I don’t need to be protected. Just..maybe we could sit together at lunch and walk each other home sometimes? Jason: Nay Danny: But why? You want something else? Jason: Money’s fine but your homemade food is…strange. Danny: I can bring sweets if you want. Jason: Deal. 3 pop tarts for a joint lunch, a party size bag of M&Ms if you waste my time out of school.

~~~~

Sometimes they share sweets when they hang out but more often Jayson takes them home to save in case his parents have money problems. Sweets have a long shelf life stored and he may not be afraid to poison himself. Over time, candy becomes their currency and a secret language for all occasions. Need help without unnecessary questions? M&Ms. Problems with learning? Skittles. The question is about family? Snickers. There will be a serious conversation? Pop Tarts.

Jason: One snickers and a pack of gum. Danny: Yeah, Jason? What do you want? Jason: My mom wants to meet my friend. Come to lunch on Sunday. Danny: Okay, you managed to pay for my expensive services. Jason:…and you just lost the gum from the deal.

~~~~~~

Jason threw a package at Danny: Three pop tarts. We need to talk. Danny: All right? Jason: Why are you avoiding me all week?! Danny: Well, it’s just..you’re Wayne now. Jason. Still Todd. And what about that? Danny: You can hang out with the cooler guys now, I didn’t want to embarrass you. Jason: Bullshit! I’m still the street rat, and you’re trying to avoid our contract. me. And I don’t even need money from you anymore. What the hell? I thought you are my friend. Danny: And I am!

~~~~~~

Robin: What’s a schoolboy doing in an alley at night? Danny: Um, I…nothing? Don’t tell my parents, Mr. Robin sir. Robin: It will cost you so many Chunky Bars, you have no idea. Danny:...Jason? Jason: N-no. Danny: Damn yes. What are you doing in green shorts on the street at night?! Jason: Cosplay. Danny: Oh yeah? Then I’m just your hallucination. Don’t hesitate to ghost me. I’m going home, Disgrace In Pixie Boots, bye. Jason: fu%&c$#u

[dramaticals]

following instructions

pairing: theodore nott x gryffindor reader

summary: enemies with benefits with theo where they're constantly insulting each other but they still can't get enough. smut. au where characters at hogwarts are aged up to be 19+. mdni. / requested by anonymous.

author's note: co-wrote this with lily (@softeliza) <3 we honestly wrote this as a theo x hermione, but swapped hermione for reader

✧ read part two: following instructions (headcanons) ✧

Theo's judging eyes watch as you dice the sopophorous bean before tossing it into your cauldron, your gaze shifting between your opened textbook and your cauldron. A bead of sweat drips from your forehead. You were meticulously following the directions, and yet something still didn't seem right about your potion.

Theo scoffs, shaking his head. What an idiot, he thinks.

"You're supposed to crush it." Theo says, demonstrating pointedly with a silver dagger and popping the squashed bean into his own cauldron. The cauldron bubbles, and the liquid shifts a shade darker.

"You're supposed to follow the instructions, which clearly say to cut it," you say through gritted teeth.

Potions was the one class Theo never followed the directions for, and yet he always seemed to be doing significantly better than you. You hated that.

"You know," you add with a huff, annoyance laced in your words. "Just because you don't respect the rules any other time doesn't mean you shouldn't follow a simple recipe."

There was something about pissing you off that gave Theo the right amount of joy to get him through the day. Hearing you huff at his words was like finding a jelly slug in a mountain of acid pops. It was glorious.

"Do you believe everything you read?" Theo asks mockingly, his eyes unmoving from the cauldron in front of him. He doesn't know why he was helping you—this was meant to be a competition for the coveted felix felicis. Maybe it was because Theo knew you weren't going to listen to him anyway. "Besides, I respect the rules." Theo says, but even he can't keep a straight face at his claim, his lips tugging into a smirk.

"I believe everything I read in a textbook," you say, your eyes narrowing and your mouth falling open in shock. Was he serious? "You know, that book of words that literally outlines how to make the potion? How else would you know how to brew it?" You hope he doesn't notice the genuine curiosity in your question. You actually wanted to know how Theo knew what to do all the time. It was so infuriating.

"Natural intelligence and charm." Theo says coolly.

In actuality, Theo had managed to find a textbook filled with inscriptions, correcting the printed text with tips and tricks on how to brew a potion every time. But he wasn't going to tell you that. Theo would gladly and happily let you believe he was gifted.

Theo peeks at your cauldron and has to hold a snort back. It looked just about ready to implode.

"This is a simple recipe, huh?" Theo muses. "Is that why your potion looks and smells like absolute shit?"

"Maybe I just thought I'd throw you a scrap with this one. I mean, we both know you're in desperate need of some luck, especially on the Quidditch pitch. If anyone needs this win, it's you."

"Oh, so you watch me on the pitch, do you?" Theo says with a smug grin.

You roll your eyes. Curse him.

Theo stirs counterclockwise a few times and then once again clockwise. The potion bubbles again. This time, it shifts into its final colour form. Bingo.

Theo, with an expression beaming with pride, calls over Professor Slughorn to inspect the potion. You zero in on Theo's cauldron and let out a small sigh. You didn't need confirmation from Slughorn to know that Theo did it. That bloody asshole did it.

Slughorn tosses a single leaf into the cauldron. The leaf disintegrates, and Slughorn clasps his hands together and announces, "We have a winner! Class dismissed!"

As Theo receives congratulations from all around, you begin to tidy your workspace, empty your cauldron, and pack your things. Anger boils in your stomach. As much as you tried to avert your gaze from Theo, your eyes are drawn to the tiny vile Slughorn passes to Theo. With a triumphant smirk thrown your way, he tucks the potion into his pocket before cleaning his workspace.

"Try to use it for something other than trying to sleep with girls," you quip, clutching your books to your chest. The confident, holier-than-thou persona slips over you like a glove. It was a default shield whenever you felt threatened, especially academically. And Theo was often on the receiving end of it all. "I mean, I'm sure you could use some luck in that department, but I doubt that's what Zygmunt Budge had in mind."

"I'm doing quite well in that department, actually." Theo says. With looks and an attitude like his, girls were flocking to him like nifflers to gold. "Much like potions, really. They all just come to me."

Theo awaits your signature glare and snarky remark, but he was simply met with a silent shove to his shoulder as you headed to the door. His brows furrow, disappointed in the lack of repartee, before Theo's walking after you. He falls into step with you, following you through the dimly lit corridors of the dungeon.

"What's the rush, little lion? Can't stomach losing?"

"I'm not in a rush; I just don't want to be around you. Don't you have some dingy hole to crawl back into?" You fume, your grip on your textbooks tightens, and your pace quickens.

"You wound me." Theo simpers, clutching his chest in mock-hurt.

Being in Theo's presence was getting you more and more riled up. You felt like you were minutes away from becoming a human version of a Filibuster Firework. Theo loved when you got like this. He can't quite pinpoint the exact moment he realized why he liked seeing you so worked up, but he's quickly reminded by the staggered breathing and the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

Theo continues to stroll alongside you, an air of arrogance in each step he takes. You quickly realize you have no idea where you're headed. The echoing of both your steps, coupled with the hovering nuisance on your side, makes you let out a sharp, frustrated exhale. You turn to Theo, glaring daggers into his stormy eyes.

"Can you just go? You're so—ugh." You growl, unable to find the proper words.

Theo's brows perk upward. There's something familiar about the expression you give him. He'd seen it before. Last time he'd seen it, the two of you ended up christening the boy's change room after a Quidditch match—Slytherin should beat Gryffindor more often.

Before you can articulate your frustrations, Theo grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into a vacant classroom. The feeling of his fingers around your wrist sends a jolt of warmth straight through your body. Theo pins you against the door, your books falling to the floor with a sharp thud. He skillfully locks the door with a slight flick of his wand before muttering the muffliato charm and putting his wand away. Darkened eyes meet your gaze, a mixture of amusement and want in his eyes.

"I'm so what?" Theo demands. His hand caresses your cheek before roughly wrapping around the base of your throat. "Use your words."

Your mind goes hazy, as if you've been confunded, the moment you feel his hand on your throat. You'd never admit how much you loved when Theo did that.

With a shaky breath, you meet his intense gaze to say, "Infuriating."

The way you reacted to Theo's touch was unlike any other girl he had the pleasure of fucking at Hogwarts. You were just so obvious, and Theo had no shame in admitting that he found it all extremely arousing. Of course, your mouth would claim otherwise, but Theo always had a plan to occupy your pretty little mouth.

You bite down on your lip, stifling the whimper begging to escape. Your breathing is in sync with each other, and the sexual tension makes the air around you thick.

"Are you going to fix it? Or are you just going to stand there like an idiot?" You tempt, leaning up slightly, just to see if he'll close the gap between your lips and his.

"I don't know," Theo responds, keeping a fair distance—only enough for your lips to brush lightly against his. To keep you wanting. Theo leans into your neck, ghosting breathy, teasing kisses up until he's milimeters away from your ear. "Are you going to say please?"

"You've got to be kidding," you huff, shooting a glare at Theo as you try to keep your breathing steady.

You weren't exactly experienced, at least not like Theo. You had a few moments with others, but no one had ever gotten you to feel as good as Theo did. It enraged you that Theo knew how good he made you feel, but you also took pleasure in knowing that you must be riling him up just as equally because Theo always seemed to come crawling back.

You bring your free hand up, tangling your fingers in his lush, brown locks, before tugging his head back a bit so he could look at you. He groans at this. It was one of many acts that really got Theo going, and it just so happened to be where your hands gravitated to the most.

"Please," you say, the tiniest of smirks on your lips.

Anticipation runs through your veins. You didn't need to say anything else. By the way he was looking at you, his lustful eyes boring into your gaze, Theo knew you needed him right now.

"Good girl," he muses with a cocky grin.

The first time Theo had praised you like that, while laced with ridicule, it had elicited a whimper that had him reeling. Today was no different.

Theo moves his hand from your throat and down to your waist, expertly pulling you away from the door and onto the desks behind him. Theo wastes no time and captures your lips with his. One hand finds your thigh, teasing up your bare skin and under your skirt. Your hands find and tug at his belt. Theo unbuckles it and tosses it aside.

"Let's see if you can keep it up." Theo says hotly against your lips.

It was in your nature to be good. But with Theo, there was that bubbling voice inside you that beckoned you to misbehave—to get under his skin. To be bad, all so he could teach you a lesson. Which is why, as Theo plants nippy, wet kisses down your neck, you can't help the words that blurt out of your mouth.

"Let's see if you can make me shake, like—what was that bloke's name..." You trail off, pulling him up by the collar of his shirt for another kiss and wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him close.

There was no other guy, of course, but you wanted him to think otherwise. The mischievous glint in your eyes changes to amusement as Theo's eyes darken. His fingers drag possessively across the insides of your thighs. It was hard for Theo to imagine you with someone else. You two weren't exclusive by any means, but the way you'd whimper and dig your nails into his back had him feeling territorial.

"Shake?" Theo asks against your lips. There was a tinge of something in his tone, and, deep down, you wanted it to be jealousy. "I'll fucking make you shake."

Feverish kisses move down your neck, eliciting a whine out of you, his free hands taking residence on the base of your throat. He plants open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive spots along your neck, sucking softly on the skin, surely leaving a mark everyone would be able to see. Theo pulls back to admire his work. He's pleased. You, on the other hand, were equal parts excited and annoyed. Excited because the sensation made the blood rush to your cheeks and to your core, and annoyed because you had to explain the markings to your friends.

"Theo," you hiss. "You know better."

Theo doesn't listen, obviously. Instead, he moves down your body until he's crouched and face-to-cunt. Slender fingers reach under your skirt, hook onto your panties, and slide the garment off. In an instant, Theo's between your legs, lapping his tongue relentlessly over your clit.

"Oh my god," you gasp, one hand grasping onto the edge of the desk, your back arching instinctively to bring yourself closer to his tongue. Your free hand finds his hair again, your hips rolling to meet his movements.

Theo's smirks into your core, a low groan escaping his lips as he feels you roll onto his mouth. Strong hands position themselves on either leg, urging you to spread your legs wider. You try to obey his silent requests, but it's not enough. Impatience hits him hard, and he's repositioning your legs so they're slung over his shoulders, a firm hand pushing your hips down onto the wooden desk. The new position allowed him to be flush against you, his tongue circling your entrance and lapping up any arousal.

"Theo," you moan, louder than normal.

You could tell he was pissed. It'd always been your goal, especially in intimate settings, but Theo had never been like this. He buries his face between your legs, his nose rubbing against your clit as his tongue works on your opening. He dips a finger in and withdraws it out of you slowly, contrasting his unyielding tongue. Your eyes flutter shut with pleasure.

"More," you choke out. "Please, give me more."

Your moans were fueling the already raging fire in him. Fuck, he needed to hear more of that. Theo uses his free hand to hold you steady, his tongue and lips unrelenting. He adds another digit inside of you, curling his fingers against your spot. Theo wanted to make you cum now more than ever. He wanted you to remember that even if you were fucking someone else, he was the only one who could make you unravel like this.

"Sit fucking still then," he growled against your slit, stormy eyes shooting up to look at you.

You fight hard to listen to him, desperately trying not to squirm. Theo was cruel enough to stop and leave you high and dry, so it was in your best interest to do as instructed. You dig your nails into the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep your focus on something other than the pleasure growing inside of you.

"Th-Theo," you gasp. "I—"

You're close, and you know what Theo wants—what he always wants. Theo wanted you to ask for permission, and with the image of someone else messing with you fresh in his mind, Theo needed to know he had that control over you now more than ever. Breathy pants fill the room, and you fear you can't hold it back any longer.

"Fuck, please. Can I please..." You moan, throwing your head back against the desk.

"Please what?" Theo says roughly against you. If Theo's cock wasn't already erect, it would be now. Your moans and gasps of pleasure were truly something that needed to be studied. Who knew these delightfully ragged breaths could come out of someone so irritatingly uptight? "Words, Y/L/N."

The fog of pleasure Theo has you in has made it impossible for you to do the one thing you pride yourself on: following the instructions. Typically, Theo would remove himself and make you beg for contact. Today, though, his actions were ceaseless. Despite your strong will to be good, your body wouldn't cooperate.

"Oh my god," you whimper, your back arching as an intense orgasm washes over you. Your body jerks—no, shakes—and your moans are broken up by desperate gasps as wave after wave hits you.

Theo curses under his breath. As pissed as he was that you didn't ask, Theo graciously allows you to release on his tongue, lapping up your sweet fluids. He'd reprimand you later. As you come down from your high, your body collapses onto the desk. You've never felt anything like that before.

Theo stands and slides his fingers out of you slowly. His darkened, lustful eyes are trained on yours. As much as he enjoyed the view, Theo wasn't happy.

"Don't," you breathe. "I know—I should have... I know."

"So much for following instructions," Theo says, disregarding your words. He licks your arousal off his fingers casually, and the sight makes you shift and clench your thighs together. He was the hottest irritant you've ever seen.

"Fuck off," you say with an exasperated huff. You prop yourself up by your elbows, slowly moving into a sitting position. "You didn't exactly help the situation."

So maybe Theo was being a bit of a prick. Not like he could help it—you squirming and moaning for him like that triggered something primal in him. Theo didn't want to stop; he wanted to make you scream for him. Still, it really shouldn't have been hard to ask.

By the way Theo was looking at you, you could tell it would take more than a crass brush-off to wipe the icy glare and pouted lips from his expression. Delicate fingers grip onto Theo's shirt, tugging him closer to you. You ghost your lips against his, meeting his steely gaze. "Will you let me make it up to you?"

You don't wait for a response. Instead, you nip at his bottom lip before pulling him in for a slow, deep kiss. Despite his annoyance, Theo kisses back, placing a strong hand behind your neck to keep you in place. The kiss is full of passion, anger, and need.

You maneuver yourself off the desk, unbreaking the hot kiss, as you reposition so that Theo's the one against the desk. He acknowledges you taking charge, and he allows it because, quite frankly, whenever you did take charge, Theo found it extremely intoxicating.

Only now do you break the kiss, peering up at Theo as your hands fumble with his pants. He kicks them off just as you remove your own top, making a point of leaving your bra intact. Theo's breath catches. God, he wanted to bury his face between the valley of your breasts.

"So?" You ask again, a devilish smirk on your lips, your fingers making progress on unbuttoning his collared shirt. "Will you?"

"Go on, then." Theo says. It's not lost on him how much leniency he gives you—not just in this moment. Any other girl who disobeyed his instructions would have been tossed aside so he could move on to the next. But with you, as vexing as you were, you also very much intrigued him.

At his permission, you lightly push him back so he's sitting on the desk, giving him a much comfortable position to watch as you slowly unhook your bra, letting the garment fall to the floor. You can sense his probing eyes on you, and you can't help the sly smile that appears as you straddle him, one leg on each side of him.

Theo's hands find your waist immediately, slowly sliding up your sides, to your bare back, and then to your front. He squeezes your breasts, eliciting a breathy moan from you. Your skin was soft under his rough hands.

"And I thought you were going to let that ego of yours make a horrible choice for the both of us." You tease.

Theo's too enamoured with this new position (and view) to respond to your jests. One hand rests firmly on your jaw as he pulls you in for a kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. Meanwhile, your hand moves to stroke his length, feeling Theo grow even harder at your touch.

"Shit," Theo groans.

"Someone's missed me," you whisper against his lips. Your thumb teases the tip of his cock, evoking a slight twitch out of him.

"God, shut up."

Theo wanted nothing more than to wipe—no, fuck—that smug expression on your face. And he's just about ready to take matters into his own hands, but you beat him to it.

Still wet from your previous orgasm, you were beyond ready to have Theo inside you. You lift yourself up slightly, guiding him to your entrance. He bites back a groan, his hands gripping your waist. You lock gazes as you slowly lower yourself onto him, your mouth falling open in a glorious 'o' shape as you take all of him into you.

While this wasn't the first time you had Theodore Nott resting deeply in your cunt, you took a moment to adjust.

"Are you going to move, or what?" Theo growls impatiently, bucking his hips and roughly nipping at the soft skin on your neck.

His impatience makes you smirk.

"Hey," you say, with a wry smile. You snake your fingers up to his hair, tugging his head back slightly to give you room to trail a path of kisses along his neck. You were going to prolong this and make you both ache for more. You didn't want to be the only one who was a moaning mess today. "If I'm making it up to you, then it's my rules."

"You know I don't give a shit about rules."

"Too bad."

This makes Theo's jaw clench. Before he can utter another quip, you're rolling your hips, feeling him embedded inside you. The movement feels good, but you know it's not enough for either of you just yet.

"God, I'm thankful your ego isn't the only thing that's big," you moan against his ear.

This makes Theo's jaw clench. You hear a string of curse words in another language, something you've noticed Theo does in moments where his brain had short-circuited. Enough sense, it seems, is knocked back into him as you can understand the breathless words, "And you take me so fucking well."

Theo's lips find the top of your chest, kissing down feverishly. His tongue flicks expertly against your right nipple as his hand moves to grip your bare ass from under your skirt. You arch into him, letting out a sharp gasp at the dual sensation. Despite his sentiment about rules, Theo lets you control the pace. He holds back the strong desire to thrust upwards into you, to fuck you hard.

"Oh, Theo," you whine as you continue to roll your hips. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and lift yourself up, almost completely off his dick. Ghosting your lips against his, you push yourself back down—hard—feeling him go even deeper. You repeat these movements, your moans growing louder.

Theo can't stop the thoughts of how gorgeous you looked from clouding his mind. You weren't bad to look at normally, but seeing you fuck yourself with his cock had to be one of the wonders of the world. Only if that were a reality, Theo's not sure he could stand anyone else ogling you like this.

"Yes, that... that feels good." Theo groans, his cock throbbing from your movements.

You press your forehead against his, your eyes locking with his as you continue. One of the things Theo liked most about this little arrangement was your unnerving ability to keep eye contact—there was nothing more sexy than seeing the woman you were pleasuring crumble. Eyes can tell you everything.

"I'm trying to—" you breathe, rocking yourself against him. The movement wasn't nearly fast enough, but the way you were moving had him reaching depths you didn't know were attainable. "—to be good."

"Are you?" Theo asks between pants, squeezing your ass roughly. He leans into your lips. "Can you be a good girl for me now?"

You give him a small nod, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Your breath is quavering as you try to speak; your eyes re-lock onto his. "Am I not being good for you?"

This makes him chuckle darkly. Theo wasn't an idiot. He knew you practically yearned for his words of praise. The knowledge was something he took advantage of from time to time, withholding and dangling his praise in front of you just to see how far you'd go to make him say it.

To prove to Theo you were being good, you push yourself down onto him roughly, a whimper escaping your lips. You increase your speed, unable to hold out anymore, fucking yourself hard, deep, and fast on his cock.

"Fuck." Theo swears, and he can't help himself now. Hands keep you in place as he fucks up into you, cock hitting your spot repeatedly and mercilessly. He relishes the feeling of your wet core around him. Your clit presses against his pelvis at each thrust.

You took pleasure (literally and figuratively) in Theo's natural ability in knowing. He knew what to say, how to touch you so you were melting, and when to take back control. His hands digging into your hips told you everything you needed to know: Theo was going to fuck you senseless.

"I want to be good," you pant, your nails digging into his back, grasping for a release.

"Then you know what I want to hear."

He holds you flush against him, arms wrapping around you as he continues to thrust. He can feel his own pleasure grow. Your head falls onto his shoulder as you feel it building up in your stomach again. This time, you weren't going to wait until it was too late.

"Theo, please," you practically beg. Theo was the only person who'd ever make you feel like this, and you were past the point of caring whether he knew it too. "Can I cum, please? For you."

"Yes," Theo hisses. He was close too. "Cum for me. Now."

Your orgasm hits you hard and fast, your head falling back as you drag your nails into his skin. Theo continues to thrust up sharply, chasing the high for the both of you. You clench around his length, the sensation mixed with your moans pushing Theo over the edge.

"That's my good girl."

Theo's praise for you was not lost in the chorus of breathy moans and grunts of pleasure. His addition of the word 'my' made you shake even more as another wave of pleasure washes over you.

"Oh, God, yes, Theo."

His hand moves to the back of your neck desperately, guiding you into him for a passionate kiss as he spills into you with a moan.

Ragged breaths fill the room. There was always a moment of limbo after every encounter—a moment where the two of you stayed entangled and nestled with each other, savouring the proximity and stealing last, sweet kisses. You knew the moment you got up, the two of you would go back to despising each other again, until next time.

"So?" Theo asks after a moment, expectant of an answer, as if you could read his mind. "That dumb git you mentioned earlier. Was he better than me?"

His question makes you smirk, and you have to bite it back so as not to show how content you were that he had lingered on that thought.

"You don't want me to answer that," you say, giving him a small pat on the shoulder before getting up. You slip back into your clothes and adjust your hair.

The answer should have been obvious to Theo, but you weren't giving him the satisfaction of admitting it because it did nothing for your reality. This was as far as this would go. Theodore Nott was a pretentious asshole who just so happened to be a good fuck. There was never going to be more than that.

"You definitely exceeded expectations today, Theo," you say, gathering your books from the floor. "But you didn't do anything worth an outstanding."

With a swift flick of your wand, you unlock the door and leave Theo in the vacant classroom, already fantasizing about next time.

[talkdutchtome]

Do you know this tiktok trend where girls tell guys about paying at the mechanic's for premium air for their cars 😭 could you write a fic where y/n does that prank to Max?

"Premium Air?" - Max Verstappen

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader )

genre . . . fluff )

wc . . . 825 words )

read my other work . . . here )

request something . . . here )

“Oh Maxy, I was supposed to mention, I took your car to be serviced. I know you’ve been so busy lately I thought I’d do that and give you one less thing to worry about” You said to your boyfriend, trying your hardest to suppress any giggles that wanted to escape. Your phone sat propped up on the bookshelf, strategically hidden so Max didn't notice.  

You had been seeing so many videos on TikTok where girls would prank their boyfriends or husbands by convincing them that they had bought “premium air” for the tires of their cars; and you decided that since so much of Max’s life revolved around cars, it would be the perfect way to prank him. 

“Oh, thank you very much baby, that’s kind of you, everything okay with it?” he said, never lifting his head up from his phone. 

“You’re welcome, yeah everything was okay they just said something about low tire pressure or something? I don’t really remember but I sorted it.” You said, fighting the mischievous grin that is trying to take its place on your face. At your words Max finally lifts his head up and looked at you, his brows furrowed. 

“Really are you sure? They seemed to be fine last time I drove it” his voice has a hint of concern lacing though it, clearly unsure where this is leading.  

“I’m not sure, that’s what the man said anyway. But I got it sorted. I even sprung for the premium air for you!” Your excitement was clear and the second the words left your lips, Max put his phone down, his full attention now on you. Confusion was etched on his face, his brows furrowed, and his lips pressed tightly in a fine line.  

“Premium air?” he questioned 

You nod enthusiastically, maintaining your poker face. "Yeah! It's the latest thing. It makes your car run smoother, improves fuel efficiency, and who knows, maybe it even adds a few extra horsepower."  

Max looks at you like you’ve got two heads and you come so close to ruining the whole prank and bursting out laughing.  

“Premium air?” he asked again, like he couldn’t find any other words to respond to your ridiculousness. “How much did this premium air cost you?” he asked with a bemused smile, that smile however, dropped as soon as you answered his question. 

“Oh, it was a steal! Like €150 a tire.”  

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "€150 per tire? Are you serious Y/N? There's no such thing as premium air!" 

You feign innocence, "Oh, come on, Maxy, it's a special service they offered. You can't put a price on a smooth ride” Max sighs, a mix of frustration and amusement on his face.  

"Baby, I think you’ve been scammed. There's no such thing as premium air. Next time, let me know before you spend money on something like this." 

You play dumb, widening your eyes in mock surprise. "Scammed? But how could I buy it if it doesn't exist?" 

Max laughs, shaking his head. "You're too precious. Next time, let me come with you to the garage, okay? I'll make sure you don't fall for any tricks." 

You're left feeling a bit confused. Most of the prank videos you’ve seen end with frustration or annoyance, but Max seems more amused than anything else. 

As you sit there, still feeling a bit bewildered by Max's surprisingly lighthearted reaction, you gather the courage to ask him the burning question. "Hey, Max," you begin cautiously, "why aren't you mad at me?" 

He looks at you with genuine confusion. "Mad? What do you mean?" 

You take a deep breath and decide it's time to come clean. "The whole premium air thing—it was a prank," you admit, pointing discreetly at the camera you had strategically placed in the room to capture his reaction. 

Max's eyes widen in realization, and he breaks into a hearty laugh. "You got me!" he exclaims, playfully pushing you. 

You can't help but smile at his reaction, relieved that he found it amusing. "Seriously, though, why aren't you mad? Everyone else in those prank videos gets upset." 

Max wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. "I didn't want to make you feel bad," he confesses. "You were just trying to do something nice for me, and I didn't want to ruin that by getting angry over a harmless mistake” You look up at him, touched by his understanding and kindness. "But I wasted money on something that doesn't exist. You could have been really mad." He leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Money comes and goes, but you trying to make me happy means the world to me.” 

"I love you," you say, a mixture of gratitude and affection in your voice. 

Max smiles, his eyes filled with warmth. "I love you too, baby. Just remember, next time you decide to prank me, I'll be one step ahead." 

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Thirteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Nurse!reader. Domestic slice of life. Feelings of fear, self loathing, anxiety, dread. Complicated emotions. Verbal depiction of domestic violence. Non sexual intimacy. Scars from cigarette burns. Very brief daddy kink. Sick character (not reader). Comfort. Confessions.

The park is quiet.

You hoped it would be- middle of the day, in the middle of a work week, in the middle of the city. There are a few people around, walking, running, lingering. Enjoying themselves, the warmth of the sun on their face, a bright spot amid a typically grey winter.

It makes it easier. To look.

To watch.

To wait.

And you do. You wait, and you wait. You sit steady on the park bench, pretending to be remotely interested in the rough paperback cradled in your lap, spine already cracked flimsy by Simon’s grip. It’s Stephen King. Carrie, if you’re precise. A story of stolen girlhood and rage.

You swallow the shards of glass and acid the pages bring forth.

Deep breath. 

The breeze gusts, and your shoulders nearly shake. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve sat out in the open like this.

Easy prey.

You may have always been easy prey. Easy and young and stupid, easy, and naïve and manipulated. You fell for every trick in the book. You didn’t see the signs until it was too late.

Still, you watch. You wait.

You considered, for a while, that if Philip was around, if he was in the city, looking for you- he’d arrive here. Like magic. Like a classic villain, materializing in a plume of smoke.

And while it’s not exactly comfort you feel as each minute ticks by and he fails to appear, there’s relief in your soul for certain.

It’s a risk, to sit here. A question. With an answer, for now.

Will he? Won’t he? 

Today, the answer is he won’t.

Your phone vibrates, and you don’t need to look at it to know, guilt worming its way into the depths of your heart, anxiety piquing as you imagine both Simon and Johnny at their house, their home, worried.

Don’t fool yourself. Don’t give yourself too much credit. Don’t get carried away. 

Someone clears their throat over the back of the bench, and you whirl.

“Hey, sorry.” Your pulse slows from a gallop to something slower, and you shake your head.

“You can’t sneak up on me like that.” The man shrugs his second apology, legs spreading into the spot next to you. You’re practiced at this, familiar. Knowledgeable enough to keep your hands from shaking, even though the tremor builds through your bones.

“Been waitin’ for you to call.”

“I’ve been busy.” You eye the black bag in his hands, a small black fabric pouch, gold zipper glinting in the sun. “That everything?” He nods.

“Can I ask-“

“No.”

“Just seems strange, is all. Pretty, polished thing like you, needin’ all this. Most of my clients are more… rough around the edges.” Your teeth dig into your tongue. Already, this guy is less discreet and more obnoxious than your last purveyor. You wish you had hidden your face.

Like Simon. 

“We’re solid, then?” You unzip the pouch, cursory eye roaming over the collection inside, checking off a mental list. Usually, you would feel relief at this point, but today, it sours and rots. Liberation burns into a roaring wave of uncertainty, and your fingers tighten over the zipper.

“We’re good.” He stands, giving you one last long look, and then his mouth shifts into a half smile. “Good luck.” Your polite nod is strained and forced. A nonverbal fuck off.

He takes the cue, and slinks away, disappearing around a corner and out of sight.

The bag weighs heavily in your hands. A terrible reminder of the truth.

You’ll never have a life. You’ll never have a family. You’ll always be alone. 

You’ll never be pretty or polished or perfect. 

You’ll always be this. 

Scarred. Sectioned off. Scared. 

Desperation wells, and you close your eyes. You see Johnny, and Simon. Their faces. Sunlight in bleak darkness.

Love and family and strength.

The ache in your chest widens. You want to be home, with them. Curled up, with them. Sitting at the table and eating dinner, with them. All these things, these domestic, familiar things that once seemed so unattainable, now within arm’s reach.

But still so far away. 

Your shoulders relax a fraction, dipping lower, the strain on your injury zinging through your muscles as you roll them, and you shove the little bag into the backpack, above the clothes you pulled from your apartment.

Deep breath. 

Johnny’s the first you see after locking the front door. He’s in the kitchen, half leaning on his crutch, fishing something out of a pot, a noodle of some kind, and he freezes, eyes heavy with relief, when you come around the corner.

“Bunny.” His good arm reaches, fingers brushing together, cold against warm. He coos. “Ye’re freezin’.”

“It’s cold.” You agree, unzipping the front of your jacket. He slides cautious and slow touch around your waist beneath it, and you go with him, face burrowing into his chest, just below his collarbone. Your nose is nearly smashed, but you can still breath him in, feel him, be in this moment with him.

His hold tightens. “What is it?”

“Sorry it took me so long.”

“That’s alright, was jus’ worried is all. Text us back next time.” You nod, but stay silent, still taking gulps of air, nosing against the collar of his shirt to find his skin. “Pretty girl,” his hand strokes over the back of your head, warm breath on your cheek. “Ye alright?” You breathe through the threat of tears, though they sting and threaten to sink you.

“Ye-yeah.” You choke, and he tries to pull back, grip steady on your upper arm, but you follow him, still trying to crawl inside and hide, wrap yourself up in him and disappear.

“Hey now,” he clucks his tongue, trying to re-focus you, trying to get your attention, nimble fingers cradling your jaw, “what is it?”

There are no words to explain it, these feelings. The fear. The dread. The bile rioting in your stomach, the anxiety churning like a turbulent sea. It’s like no matter what you do, it all comes back, no matter how deep you bury it or how much you try to change the tide.

It’s easier to lie.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, and he rubs your back.

“Did ye eat?” No.

“Yes. I got something at the hospital.”

“Paperwork all in order so ye can hang out wit’ us until ye’re better?” His smile is infectious, a mirror blooming across your own face, and he dots your nose with his lips. “There’s our girl.” Your toes curl. He tugs the backpack into his grip, and you let him, let him push you up into the counter, drop your bag to the floor, slip his tongue between his teeth. You let it all go to your head, let yourself get lost in him, twist your fingers in his hair, nipples pebbling stiff as his mouth finds the sensitive skin of your neck.

He takes it all away. Every time. 

“Johnny.”

“I’ve got ye.” He finds an opening, a soft spot between your jeans and your shirt, hands roaming upward and over, everywhere. He’s everywhere, effortlessly, and you’re along for the ride, clinging so tight like you’re afraid you’ll fall.

And then-

It stops.

He’s holding your face, blue gaze unwavering, focused. “Bun, talk to me.” Your throat throbs, words sticking like taffy, clawing their way up in a jumbled mess until the only thing intelligible is what spills out.  

“Is this real?” You’re a child. Small and scared, desperate for some sort of reassurance, some semblance of security.

“Is what real?” His fingers close over yours, lifting them to his lips. “This? Us?”

“Everything. All of it… I- I-“

“It’s real. It’s been real since ye held my hand the first time. Or at least, it’s been real for me… since then. Thought ye were an angel. An answer to a prayer.” He cracks a smile, thumb rubbing across the slope of your cheek. “An’ I’m not the praying type.”

“There’s… you don’t know me, Johnny. There’s so much… you don’t know.” Your chest heaves, anxiety stuttering inside your lungs, air turning thin in your mouth.

“I know, shhh. I know.” You press your face back into his chest, words slowing to a stop, a trickle. “Ye remind me of him, ye know. A lot prettier though.”

“Who?”

“Si.” He kisses your temple, your forehead, peeling away to peer at your face. “Guarded… but scared under it all. Ye dinnae even know how life can be, too busy runnin’ away.”

“Johnny-“

“Ye’ve got secrets, I know. But it’s the same thing I used to tell him. Eventually you’ve got to let go, let me in. Let us in, Bun. We’re not goin’ anywhere. We’re not afraid. Let us prove it.” Your lower lip trembles, eyes burning with the brunt of tears. “Shhh, dinnae cry. Ye’re alright, everything’s going to be okay. I swear it.” You do nothing, nothing except stand there, half folded into him, breath and touch agonizingly slow, steady in his hold.

The two of you stay there, in the silence, until the agonized sear of distress starts to fade, and you begin to balance, ship righting itself after a long night in rocky seas.

Penny’s bedroom door is open.

The soft glow of a nightlight floats into the hall, and you peer past, finding Simon with his arms full, reclined in the rocking chair, a nearly asleep Penny gap mouthed in his arms. You wave.

“Hi,” he whispers, “get everything you needed?”

“Yeah, all set.” You nod to the baby. “She’s knocked.”

“Bath time was rough.” He traces her cheek, twirling a finger in her hair. A soft, faultless picture, his features delicately framed by shadow, thick arms the perfect place for a baby, an easy cradle.

It’s an intimate moment, and inside it, you feel out of place.

“I’ll see you downstairs?” You shift away, motioning, and he hums.

“In a few.”

Everything is slow with them in the evenings, you’ve realized.

They move leisurely, dancing around one another, Simon constantly watching and waiting, for both you and Johnny, anticipating. It’s a natural role, one that seems more permanent over necessary considering the circumstances, Johnny falling into an unhurried pace, languishing on the couch after dinner and dishes are done, fingers mindlessly stroking into the soft spot beneath your ear. Simon leans over, kissing Johnny and then settling at your side, an arm stretching around your back. “Should we watch something?” Johnny brightens.

“A movie?”

“If you’d like. Bun, any suggestions?” You blink. It’s a surprise, one that’s never occurred to you, the ability to simply choose a movie.

“Umm… no?”

“What’s yer favorite?”

“I don’t know. Whatever is fine. What do you guys like?”

“We know what we like. We want to know what you like.” What do you like? Comedies, you suppose. Something light and funny, something to distract the never-ending stream of thoughts cycling through your head.

“Uh, have you guys ever seen Forgetting Sarah Marshall?” Johnny chuckles.

“It’s been a while.” He flicks through the icons on the screen, thumbing over to where he starts to type it in. What if they don’t like it? What if they’re humoring you? What if you picked wrong? “Or, if you don’t like that, we can do something else. Anything. I’m not picky. It doesn’t have to be-“

“Hey,” Simon murmurs, warm palm resting on your knee, “that’s perfect. We both like that one.”

“Dracula musical.” Johnny smiles, finding it easily and clicking play. Your breath catches at the ease of it all, of picking a movie and that being that, no anxiety about a reaction or something triggering popping up on screen.

You can just… enjoy it.

The light in their bathroom is a little too bright.

Your toes stretch across the tile, nerves thrashing in the pit of your stomach as you stare in the mirror.

You don’t know who it is looking back at you.

You don’t recognize the girl getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth, wearing a pair of pajama pants and Simon’s shirt.

There’s a disconnect, some semblance of wires crossing, some phantom of someone else, living in your skin.

Because it can’t be you, getting ready to crawl into bed between them. It can’t be you, who fell asleep with her head on Simon’s stomach during the movie, can’t be you who stole a kiss from Johnny as Simon propped his leg up on the stack of pillows.

You’re playing house. Playing a game. 

It won’t last. 

It can’t.

You wrap a finger up in the hem of Simon’s shirt, frayed and torn edges pulling apart below the seam. It’s an old one, something he tugged out of a drawer and tossed on the bed, faded graphic turned from white to grey against a rusted black backdrop. It’s soft, and worn, and comfortable, an article of clothing well loved, and you wonder if Johnny’s worn it too. If it’s been passed around, washed, and dried a hundred times.

“Everything alright?” Simon leans into the bathroom, Johnny in view just past his shoulder. He’s not wearing a shirt, just soft, flannel pants, and you stare at the scars dotting his torso before dragging your gaze away.

“Yeah, sorry… I got distracted.” You turn the tap, rinsing your toothbrush before placing it by itself on the edge of the sink, out of place next to the cup holding theirs, and Penny’s.

You blink slow, allowing your eyes to close for a fraction of second.

“Ready for bed?” Johnny beams at you, lush and sleepy, hand outstretched, reaching.

You take a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Simon’s bedside lamp is still on, barely illuminating the dark. It’s quiet, and warm, and you bask in the space between their bodies, fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt.

When Johnny’s fingers graze the skin under the fabric, your chest tightens. He strokes back and forth, over your navel, blazing heat from his palm tingling into your skin. You’re being torn in two, swallowed by the ocean, tugged in different directions.

You struggle to regulate your breathing, small draws coming in quicker, and Simon covers Johnny’s hand with his own, stopping the movement.

“Will you show us?” He murmurs.

“Sh-show you?”

“The scars.” Oh.

Will you? 

Even though Simon’s already seen them, this feels different. This feels like a choice. Like you’re peeling something back, baring yourself.

You close your eyes and pull the bottom of your shirt to the top of your ribcage, cool air ghosting over your exposed skin. Johnny makes a sound, a twisted whisper of something pained, and you shiver.

A thumb slides over the raised skin on the left side of your belly. “These are from cigarettes?”

“Yes.” You almost want to look, want to see, but can’t bring yourself to do it, to witness their disgust, their shock. You’re hollow. Drifting. Falling away from them. Someone shifts, the bed moves, jostles slightly, but you block it out. Every muscle in your body is taut, jaw locked, and fists clenched.

This morning was intimate but this… this is something else. Something more. 

“Can ye feel them, still? Do they hurt?” Two hands roam, rubbing gently, skimming.

“No but… they’re hideous.”

“No.” Simon croaks, voice thick. “There isn’t a single part of you that isn’t perfect.” Your heart cracks, and the light touch of fingertips disappears, replaced with a swath of breath and then-

Lips. 

He’s kissing them. 

It stops your heart, dries your mouth. Robs you of your breath, your head spinning into an enormous vortex of disbelief. Simon’s mouth travels, dotting your skin between each ugly, raised bump, carefully pressing a kiss to each one, gradually. He takes his time, and with your eyes closed, you can feel his body hovering above you, holding steady just over your frame. Johnny’s forehead rests against yours, and he cups your face, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek, sweet and slow.

“Will ye tell us… about how you got them? Who gave them to ye?” Simon cradles your hips, firm pressure folding into your skin, the curve there, and he squeezes, prompting you, expecting. You don’t know how he does it, how he’s so easily able to guide you, and Johnny. It’s seamless.

“I…” You don’t know what to say, if you were to say anything at all. How to answer. How to begin to explain. How to confirm what you know they already suspect, how to start this story. This nightmare.

Are you really doing this? Could you really do this? 

There’s a sliver of sun, begging. Pleading. It rails against the cracks in your heart, desperate.

So, you spit out the only thing you know for sure.

“He liked to hurt me.”

“Who?” Simon’s question is immediate, and your ribs expand with a long breath.

“My… ex.” Stop talking. Stop this, stop it, stop- “He’s a monster.”

“The healed breaks on your x-rays…” He trails off, and you reach blindly, searching for an anchor. Johnny gives it to you, clutching your hand in his, thumb soothing over your knuckles.

“Yes.”

“And more.” Simon whispers, and Johnny draws a sharp breath. You nod.

“And more.”

“Your neck, and shoulder?” There’s a long silence, as you sit atop the wall. As you wait and try to decide if you want to jump off or continue to sit here… trapped at the top, teetering on the edge while they wait below.

You’re in their life now. You said you’d try. They should know. 

You trust them. 

Don’t you? 

“He found me.” You confess, cracked and bleeding and hung out to dry. Three words barely scratching the surface of the truth, saying almost nothing at all and still so much. You stumble, and panic, fear bubbling up to the surface. “I’m sorry, I told you before- I said-“

“And we told ye; nothing is going to get ye while ye’re with us. Ye’re safe, bunny.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about!” you blurt, a near snap, and Johnny freezes. “It’s you guys, and Penny, and your friends, you- you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t understand. He’s chased me across the world, he always finds me, no matter what, no matter what I do, o-or where I go-” You’re rambling, nearly hyperventilating, and slipping away, succumbing to the rolling black clouds overtaking your mouth and mind, stuttering and falling, drowning in an endless darkness.

They don’t know. They don’t understand. They can’t. 

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re nothing. 

You’re a child again. A lost girl. Alone and scared. Trapped in the dark.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” You shake your head, and Simon catches it between his palms, holding you still. You can fight and flail and run, but he’s still there. Strong and safe and beautiful in every way, a foundation of love, of trust. “It’s just us, we’re here. With you. Look.” Johnny tightens his hold, and your bones rattle inside your skin, aching and splintering, shredding you from the inside out.

“I can’t.” You hiss, trying to curl away. You can’t face them, or this. The reality. The truth.

It’s easier to run. Who were you kidding? You can’t do this. You should have already been gone. 

But they won’t let you go. Not now. Not when they have you so close to the light. So close to the sun. 

And maybe it’s time to accept it.

“Look at me, pretty girl.” Johnny murmurs. “Ye can do it.” The pull of his voice drags you closer, comforts you, and you long for him, long to see his blue eyes, overgrown mohawk and gorgeous smile. You long to relax into him, to hear the thump of his heart, steady and strong. He’s a lighthouse in the pitch-black night, a guiding light. It’s enough to lessen pressure building in the back of your skull, and you slowly blink, both of their concerned faces coming into view.

The three of you linger silence, holding each other, decompressing from your confession, your fear that feels too much sometimes. It all fades, night turning long, and eventually you yawn, blinking away the sleepy stars in your eyes.

“There’s our bunny.” Simon kisses your cheek. “My good girl.” My good girl. Turning it over in your mind makes you squirm, allowing it ricochet back and forth with his accent, and you wish you could latch onto it, memorize it, hear it every day. Johnny gives you a bemused smile.

“Ye liked that?” He raises an eyebrow at Simon, and then presses his lips to your ear, whispering. “Ye want to be a good girl for daddy, little bunny?” Daddy. You choke. You anticipate disgust, revulsion, but none of it comes.

Only… intrigue. Warmth.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” Simon interrupts gently. “Thank you, sweetheart. For trusting us. I know it’s hard.” You turn into Johnny, and Simon rolls to flick out the light, pulling up tight behind you, sliding an arm under the pillows. You burrow deeper into the blankets, snuggling between them to find the warmest spots, and sigh.

“You both… make it easier. You make it easy.”

The world from yesterday is forgotten the next day when Penny wakes up with a fever.

The house is thrown into confined, regulated chaos, but chaos all the same. She wails almost the entirety of the morning, miserable, and you ache for both her, and her dads, who are unmoored and anxious. You don’t even balk when Simon asks you to hold her, explaining he has to call her pediatrician.

“Hey, you’re okay.” You coo, rubbing her back. She’s warm to the touch, but not scorching, and it gives you some comfort, even with what little you know about peds. You rock her, pacing, as Johnny watches uneasily from the couch, typing unending questions into a web search about babies and fevers. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel good.”

“It’s 38.1… that’s fine, right? As long as it’s under 39?”

“I think so.” You try to reassure him. “I’m not a little human nurse though, so I can’t be sure. But it hasn’t been that long, Johnny. We don’t need to worry until at least twenty-four hours.” He nods, lips quirking into a small smile. “What?”

“Ye said we.”

“Well… yeah…” you trail off, and he shakes his head.

“Jus’ like the sound of it, is all. Like how ye look, holdin’ our baby.” You give him a look, half exasperated, half doe eyed, as always, because you can’t help but feel a little lovestruck or dazed whenever you glance his way, always taken by him, no matter the moment.

Simon steps back inside from the patio, swooping to rub his nose in Johnny’s hair and squeeze his shoulder affectionately. “The pediatrician says if she gets worse, or doesn’t improve by tomorrow, to bring her in.”

“Good.” You bounce her, propping her up on your shoulder. “That’s good.” She gurgles, croaking through her miserable fever. “Poor baby girl, I’m sorry.” You pat her again, trying to help settle her-

She coughs, and something warm runs down your back.

“Shite.” Johnny curses, Simon immediately trying to pull her from your arms, but you shake your head.

“There’s no sense in her throwing up on you too.” You explain.

“I’ll go grab a towel, and some clothes. Do you want to change your shirt?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You keep your hand steady on her back. You’ll both need a thorough wipe down now, maybe even a shower.

“Sorry, bun.” Johnny frowns, but you reassure him, still rocking Penny in your arms. 

“It’s fine, really. I’ve been through way worse with bodily fluids, trust me.” The bottom stair creaks, in the way that it only does for Simon, his mass too much for one of the wooden slats.

When you look up, you realize he’s not moving, only standing shock still, clothes and towel and a baby blanket in one hand,

and the contents of the little black bag in the other.

You left it on the dresser. You left it out in the open, unzipped, on the dresser. 

Your blood freezes. Johnny frowns, looking between his partner and you, trying to desperately draw a conclusion that doesn’t come.

Simon holds the little navy-blue book up, the one with your picture in it, but with a name they won’t recognize. A person they wouldn’t know.

A person you don’t even know, yet. A new life. A new identity.

“What’s that?” Johnny’s quizzical, intrigued.

“Bunny.” Simon breathes, and you shake your head. It’s all you can do, just shake your head back and forth until your brain is rattling around in your skull.

You can’t stop it.

They’ll never love you. They won’t accept you. They won’t understand. 

“It’s- it’s j-just in case,” you stammer, panicked and tongue tied. “you… you don’t understand, I have to have it… just in case.”

“What is it?” Johnny demands, and Simon flips the front of the booklet around-

revealing the cover of a brand-new American passport.

[sparkrls]

simple questions

MASTERLIST

Summary: in which Harry is eager to makes his girl happy and she just wants answers to simple questions

Author’s Note: a blurb i wrote based on these Harry pics because I am NOT over it

Word Count: 2.6k words

•••

Her boyfriend was an idiot. That’s what Y/N resolved as she watched him stumble over his words as he was asked a simple question of, “Who’s the girl you’re with?”. It wasn’t even anyone important asking, just a fan who’d noticed Harry and felt brave enough to ask for a photo, albeit with hands that shook as she passed over her phone.

It had started as Y/N’s idea. She knew she was entirely at fault for Harry’s nerves, but it wasn’t even completely her idea. She had just asked him, “Have you ever had a public outing with a partner?”

It was an innocent question, asked due to pure curiosity, not with any ulterior motive as Harry suspected. He had given her a look, trying to get a read on her intent behind those words. He tended to do that a lot. Doubt people’s words, like they had some double meaning, and they were trying to trick him into making a fool of himself. She had a tough time getting him to trust her enough as to not doubt her as much, but the trust issues slipped through every once in a while.

Harry then stumbled over his words, the way a newborn doe might trip and fall as it clambered onto its frail legs. Simple questions were never his forte. He could answer you deep, philosophical questions and ponder them in his mind without hesitation, but it was the simple questions that tripped him up. A whole conundrum, if you asked Y/N.

Eventually, Harry admitted, “No.”

She’d stared at him with a deadpan expression, because it had taken an extraordinary amount of ‘um’s and ‘uh’, along with some weird humming sounds to get a one-word answer from him.

So she followed up with, “Don’t you wanna?”

“Do you want me to do it with you?”

“Well, no, I was just asking because-“

“I’ll do it with you,” Harry rushed to say.

Sometimes he tended to rush himself into doing favors for people he didn’t really want to do. A tendency lots of overly kind people had. And he’d always have this particular warm, soft tone when he did. And she loved that little tone that indicated he was feeling kind. But lots of times he regretted agreeing to those things and would stumble home to her apartment, grumbling and griping about whatever stupidity he’d been forced to do. So it grew into a strange mixture of adoration and disdain for that tone. Because she never liked to see her boy tired to the bone because he was too polite to back away from a promise. (Although she did love running her fingers through his soft hair until he fell asleep with his head on her lap)

This time, however, Harry wasn’t using that warm tone. It was a much different one, a bit of a higher pitch, and with a much sweeter undertone. It was a tone he used when he was trying to win the favor of his girlfriend.

She chuckled, “Baby, I didn’t ask you to-“

Harry had one arm rested on her waist and the other underneath the pillow she rested her head on. “But I wanna,” He said with a small pout, an almost whiny quality to his words. His cherry lips looked so kissable when they stuck out that way. “Wanna show the world you’re mine.” He leaned up until his nose was nuzzling her neck, and his lips brushed against her collarbone. “Mine and only mine.”

His lips clamped down on her skin, sucking at it for a moment before allowing his teeth to nibble lightly. Sharp stings followed wherever his teeth sunk in so deliciously, sending sparks throughout her whole body.

Y/N had learned early on that Harry had a very possessive side to him. He’d spent years feeling that everything he was belonged to the public, including all the dirty details of his personal life and his friends and partners. And now he had regained that privacy (he’d had to pry it by force from the unfailing grip of the media), he wanted to claim everything as his own.

It was why Harry was so fiercely protective of his friends and loyal to a fault. He felt the incessant urge to always stick by their side. He finally knew what it was like to have something belong to him, and it was his greatest fear to lose it.

After a lot of therapy, communication and compromise, Harry had not only found a healthy balance for himself but for his relationship with Y/N as well. A certain possessiveness that she wouldn’t deny him because she could never refuse anything he asked, and it was just part of who he was. But a harsh line as to not become controlling or overprotective as Harry had threatened to do in previous relationships.

The habits snuck into their daily lives, as Harry had a tendency to leave marks where everyone could see them. Therefore, the hickeys on the neck which Y/N always had to cover with concealer because she despised turtlenecks with a passion.

“Love, I’m not doubting your choice,” she began to speak, interrupted by Harry leaving open-mouthed kisses from her jugular up to the base of her jaw. And it was getting hard to think straight when his lips were on her and his tongue was tracing delightful patterns.

Y/N cleared her throat trying to focus. “However, I don’t want this to be an impulse decision. Think it through.”

Harry separated his lips from her skin long enough to murmur, “I’m sure. I wanted to make it public to everyone soon anyways, might as well go out together.” As he spoke, his warm breath grazed against her sensitive skin, causing goosebumps.

“Go out where?”

“The Man U match, obviously.”

And that was why Y/N spent the next week fussing over her choice of hairstyle, whether to leave her natural waves or straighten it or straighten it and then create strategically messy waves. And then freaking out on the phone to her best friend about whether her outfit was a good choice or not. Because of course, she had to look stylish for her first public appearance with Harry- those photos would be circulating the internet until the day she died- but she also had to dress for the unforgiving winter and plan for rain. Even if she was going to be in the VIP suite with Harry, the entrance and exit could possibly have rain, and she couldn’t always count on an umbrella. She’d learned that the five times she’d gotten stuck in the rain while waiting at a too-full bus stop in peak traffic in London.

The point was, Y/N didn’t want to let down Harry nor the fans by wearing the wrong hairstyle, clothes or makeup. Resulting in overthinking every tiny detail down to the jewelry.

The morning of, it was Harry who soothed her nerves saying, “Love, if you don’t want to do it we don’t have to. It was always a choice.”

“I want to, but it’s just…” She looked up at him with a shaky breath. “It’s scary.”

“We can wait,” Harry replied, placing her face in his hands, his thumb caressing her cheek. “We’ll stay home and watch the game on the telly, we’ll wear our sweats and I’ll order in some food from that Thai place you’ve been wanting to try.”

Taking a good look at Harry from top to bottom, from those dress pants that clung to his thighs in the most delightful manner, and the button-up that tragically hid his well-sculpted biceps to the sweater vest he’d bought the first time they’d gone shopping together. He looked so soft and warm, yet so confident and sure of himself. Like a scale that had finally found balance.

Harry had an energy that screamed youthful, but he’d recently settled into the warm feeling of peace that came not with age, but the realization that chaos wasn’t necessary to be happy. He wasn’t afraid of his career always being on the chopping block, or the precarious opinions of outsiders. He had found himself, and with it, found an inner peace he’d never had before.

And it showed. From the way he dressed, to the courage of him showing up to their hotel room with the surprise of a shaved head one day, to the way he carried himself so firmly. He was centered. He was calm. And he was happy.

This was the first time everyone else would get to see Harry after the latest stage of his self-discovery. And Y/N wouldn’t be the one to hold him back. “No, I want to go,” she said firmly. “But I want you to pick my outfit.”

To no one’s surprise, Harry picked an outfit that was primarily made up of clothing from his own closet, completely shoving aside the outfit she had previously picked out for herself because, “Babe, I have better taste than you.”

Y/N didn’t have bad taste, but when it came to fashion, she laid her trust in Harry… most of the time.

The only thing he kept were the jeans she’d picked out, a new pair she’d gotten recently which flattered her figure. They were high waisted and cropped at the ankle, the color a grayish tone of the classic denim. Most importantly, they highlighted her ass. The one thing that no matter how insecure she was, she always loved. And Harry did as well, if the way he swatted her ass playfully a couple of times a day was any indication.

He paired it with a long-sleeve white top that clung to her skin, a green sweater on top that was slightly baggy on her figure as it was one of his and one a black coat that would keep her warm. Harry was careful to make sure all the layers would keep her warm even in the winter air, as he knew she tolerated much less cold than he did.

“Cute,” Harry said with a dimpled smile when she finished putting on the outfit and gave him a twirl to showcase it. “You’re really pretty, darling.” He hooked his fingers through her belt loops and yanked her forward until she almost toppled into his chest as he sat on the edge of his bed. He gave her a soft smile, the kind he gave her right before a heartfelt message- “And ten times prettier because I chose the outfit.”

Y/N swatted his arm playfully at his joke, and he simply laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “It’s a basic outfit.”

“Aw, don’t be mean because the outfit I picked out is better than the one you did.”

“You’re such a bully.”

Harry grinned at her. “Is that so?”

She nodded in mock earnestness. “Yeah. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Harry replied simply.

“No, I don’t.”

With a couple of more kisses which included wiping the lipstick from Harry’s lips, the couple got into the car and held hands as the engine started and drove them to the stadium.

“So, we’re cheering for Man U, right?”

Harry sighed heavily. “Love, do you even know me?”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” She said with a chuckle, raising her hands defensively. “Man U for football and Green Bay Packers for the other football.” She gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry baby, but I know nothing about football.”

“I’m going to be explaining all the rules, aren’t I?”

Y/N’s silence was enough of a response.

But then it was time for the most dreaded moment of the day, when they entered the stadium hand-in-hand, walking past press and media and paparazzi.

Harry laced his fingers between hers and gave her a small squeeze before opening the car door and stepping out. He was quick, making her almost jog to catch up with his long strides. He’d warned her he would move hastily as to avoid lingering around the cameras longer than necessary.

There was one quick snap and a small flash and then-

They were inside the stadium and no press could chase them in any longer.

“Wait, that was it?” Y/N asked, glancing at the door they’d just walked through as their pace slowed down.

Harry glanced at her quizzically. “Did you expect more?”

“Well, you always describe it all huge and dramatic, flashing lights and a billion cameras and a huge crowd of screaming lunatics-“

“Football matches are different,” Harry said, chuckling as he interrupted her rant.

“I got worried over that?” Y/N signaled over her shoulder, her jaw dropping. “Seriously?!”

Harry laughed. “What do you expect me to say? You’re an overthinking maniac?”

She huffed, “This is your fault.”

Harry kissed her when her lips pouted. “Love you, darling.”

“Love you too,” She grumbled as they made their way to the VIP suite.

And that’s the full story of how they’d ended up at the Man U match- which they won, thank god, because Harry would’ve teased her relentlessly for being bad luck- and with a fan asking for a photo and asking who Y/N was.

“Um, well- she- we met- me and her-“ Harry couldn’t seem to form a train of thought, so she rolled her eyes and took control of the situation.

Holding out a hand for the fan to shake, Y/N said her name and said, “I’m Harry’s girlfriend. Nice to meet you, babe.”

The fan’s jaw dropped. It was a bit hilarious, but out of sheer politeness, Y/N held back her laughter. “You are definitely hot enough. Cool. Bye.” Turning on her heel, the fan walked away.

Harry seemed in shock as Y/N laughed, turning to him, completely bewildered. “You hear that? I’m ‘hot enough’!”

Without a care in the world of the dozen of cameras probably pointed at them, Harry grasped her face in his hands and gave her a deep, loving kiss.

Y/N scanned his face, a giddy smile on her own, “What was that for?”

“For being my girlfriend,” Harry replied before pulling her back in for another kiss. So maybe she’d allow her boyfriend a celebratory kiss or two or maybe five before they had the decency to move out of sight of the cameras. And just maybe, it wasn’t their last football match together.

Two years later, Y/N and Harry would return to the very same stadium for yet another Man U match, a bit older, a lot more mature and their love stronger after growing roots for so long. The tree flourishing with branches extending to the deeper reaches of her heart, she had never felt so fulfilled. Like the world was so much lighter and easier to endure even with the extra weight of a diamond ring on her finger, and a white gold band identical to the one on Harry’s hand.

“Who’s the girl you’re with?” The fan asked, a 15-year-old girl with her hair dyed blue and a Love On Tour shirt on, her curious eyes scanning Y/N, a flicker of familiarity in them.

Harry smiled, looking his wife up and down, admiring the outfit he’d carefully chosen for her earlier that day. He inhaled deeply, and for once, he didn’t trip over his words as he replied firmly, “This is Y/N. I’m her husband.”

[stardustizuku]

Unfortunately I came across a very strange and misinformed video about Black Butler.

It’s not good. Don’t watch it. Unless you wanna ruin your day, in which case have fun.

Despite it all, I watched it. What left me wondering, however, was how off the mark the person who made the video was on, well, everything.

From their insistence that the Book of Circus Arc theme or point is non existent, to reading Ciel’s character so badly they genuinely thought the Green Witch Arc did nothing for his character development.

While baffled, it also made me think on how someone could read Black Butler so badly.

Sure, you can say that there’s no real way to read or interpret something “in the wrong way” but interpreting The Hunger Games as a pure battle-royale action story would make you believe it’s bad.

“Why are we focusing so much on how the capitol preps them?” Or “Why isn’t Katniss winning everything?” Or “I wanna know more about the rebellion” All questions that miss the actual point of the story - which is criticizing (not solving or ignoring) the way that media distracts us from violence via spectacle.

The same thing applies here. While there is no “right” way to consume media, there’s things that the author makes clear they wanna focus when creating a story. Things that, if you understand, make the story you’re reading actually make sense.

And in Black Butler there’s three things that you have to understand to properly get what Yana is saying.

Sebastian is the protagonist

Ciel and Sebastian’s relationship IS the story.

And that relationship is, fundamentally, a positive one.

A quicker version of it would be:

Black Butler is a love story from the POV of Sebastian, and you have to ship it to get it

- but that’s not entirely true.

You can still look at it as a complex but ultimately positive rship and get in broad strokes of what it’s conveying. It doesn’t have to be romantic. Although, it helps much more than a platonic framing.

(That said, interpreting their rship as father and son, still isn’t the best way to go about it. Mostly because by its very nature of “soul consuming” their relationship is extremely sexually charged. And hey, if you’re into that I don’t judge. However, if you’re desperately trying to interpret their rship as NOT romantic to the point you fall back on heteronormative patriarchal ideals of nuclear familiar as framing device, I don’t think this interpretation bodes with you)

Now, having all that ground work:

Why do I say these are the key components to understand BB?

Okay so, first,

1. Sebastian is the Main Character. The protagonist.

There’s a lot of people who wanna argue against it, claiming he’s either the villain or the antagonist. Both wrong.

He does not function as an antagonist. Even if, and an emphasis on if, you consider Ciel to the protagonist, Sebastian isn’t a narrative antagonist.

If you wanna go back to Creative Writing 101, be my guest. An antagonist is directly defined by the protagonist. It’s the opposing force. If the protagonist wants A, the antagonist wants to stop them from getting A.

Sebastian’s catchphrase is “Yes, my Lord”. He never opposes Ciel, in fact quite the contrary. By the mere fact they’ve created contract, it means that they’ve both agreed in the inevitable outcome.

People want to frame Sebastian as the villain, because Ciel having his soul taken by a demon, would be a BAD END in the context of their moral compass. They see Ciel as a frail victim of abuse, who’s being tricked by Sebastian, who wants Ciel’s soul.

Which is an. Interpretation. A bad one. But still one.

The narrative (and whether the narrative fits your personal moral compass and lack of critical thinking is irrelevant) treats Ciel as an agent in his own destiny. The abuse he suffered was the moment in which he had no control. It’s only after he meets Sebastian that he can rid of both his guilt and his despair, and do what he wants.

In this case though, it’s revenge.

The famous “Asthma” scene shows this. If Ciel is taken back to his past, he becomes helpless. Swarmed with pain and memories that make it so that he can’t even react. Sebastian is his saving grace. If Ciel didn’t have him, and the power he wields to rebuilt what’s broken, he would crumble once more.

If Ciel has a panic attack, because of all the pain he has, Sebastian picks him up and says “you are not a helpless child anymore, you are not a victim anymore, you have the power to do anything. So, what do you wanna do?”

Ciel’s answer is to kill them.

A proper analogy would be to say that, if Sebastian offers a gun, Ciel pulls the trigger. They are both at fault. Sebastian, strictly speaking, is not here to directly cause Ciel’s downfall, but as a tool Ciel uses to plunge into the abyss.

If, again if, you were to frame Ciel as a protagonist, Sebastian falls closer to the “Voice of reason” character. Not a literal voice of reason, but a literary one. If you have a protagonist and an antagonist exchanging ideals, the Voice of Reason serves to engage with the protagonist on their own ideals.

That said, Ciel isn’t the protagonist. The story quickly falls apart if you interpret it as such.

Things such as Ciel’s character arc being…shall I say odd?

It’s not that his character arc isn’t there, but it’s never lineal. His goals stay the same, the only thing that happens is that we start to peel back the “why”s of his goals. Throughout the series it’s never about Ciel understanding himself better, he knows who he is, he knows what he wants, he knows why he wants it. He doesn’t ever need to uncover these, but simply remember them. Because it’s always about the audience understanding Ciel.

He knows he wants revenge.

In the Circus Arc: He knows that he needs Sebastian because without him, the pain of the abuse he suffered would be too much to bear. But WE are introduced to it.

In the Book of Atlantis: He knows that with this new lease he does not want happiness and peace, he wants revenge. The one being told this is the audience.

In Green Witch Arc: He knows that their revenge isn’t for his family, the real Ciel or guilt. It’s because he wants it. He’s angry, he’s upset, and this is entirely for him. The one being told this is the audience.

Except. Not really. The one either discovering or remembering these key moments - is always Sebastian.

Sebastian is the one who reassures him that he now holds the power of a demon to override the pain. Sebastian is the one who remembers that to override that pain, Ciel wants revenge. And Sebastian is the one who discovers that that revenge isn’t built out of grief or guilt, but for himself.

We are witnessing it all, through the eyes of Sebastian.

This is why we have an extremely vague idea of who Ciel is, Sebastian does not have the whole picture.

If you haven’t been reading this manga with your eyes closed, you’ll realize we have a better grasp at Sebastian’s character than that of Ciel. We get a lot of insight on how he thinks and what he values through light hearted dialogue he has with the servants. You even see the character development in these little interactions.

Think about how when he first arrived to the mansion he magically created food with no regards to taste, but when he meets Bard he states that food is created to see whoever will eat it, smile.

That is character development, more than you will be able to see from Ciel.

Because Ciel’s character, while not static, doesn’t go from point A to point B. Mostly, cause it doesn’t need to. He went through that when he lost the real Ciel and got Sebastian. Everything we are watching is the falling out.

Now, given the fact that I’ve told you that it makes more sense for Sebastian to be the protagonist/main character, and that he 100% isn’t either a villain or antagonist in ANY of the interpretations you can get:

Do you believe me?

If you don’t, you’ll probably believe Yana herself.

This is from the first Volume, where Yana herself describes the process of making Black Butler. The primary idea behind the creation of BB was a butler as a “hero”.

If you go back to the introductory chapter, you notice that Ciel is barely mentioned. He’s simply the one to give Sebastian impossible tasks and standards that Sebastian must find how to overcome.

Ciel is properly introduced until the NEXT chapter. The second chapter has this formula too, introducing Lizzie as a problem to overcome. Although, to Sebastian the best way to “get rid of the problem” is simply to indulge her.

The issue here being that the problem isn’t as simple as a business meeting but something directly tied to Ciel and Ciel’s past. Each time that Sebastian has to solve a problem, it chips away at Ciel. While with Lizzie he shows a persona, once he’s alone with Sebastian he acknowledges the toll it took on him. It serves to build Ciel as Sebastian’s master, and how some problems aren’t as simple as discarding a tablecloth.

The third and the fourth, are a unified narrative, with a similar premise to the first chapter. Ciel gets kidnapped and Sebastian must find a way to retrieve him without raising suspicions.

If the first chapter is to set up what Sebastian must do as a butler, the third and the fourth serve to set up what he must do as a demon.

The entirety of the volume, and up to Book of Circus Arc, is about how Sebastian tries to follow the increasingly absurd orders that Ciel has - it is not about Ciel trying to solve them.

That’s how they work, we follow Sebastian for the most part, because he’s the one having to come up with the solutions.

If anything, in early Kuro, where the emphasis was more on a slice of life conflict, Ciel is the antagonist. He’s the one creating problems for Sebastian to solve.

What’s more, in the second volume, the very first chapter is one from Sebastian’s POV. So far, we hadn’t gotten an entire chapter from Ciel’s POV. In fact, I would find it hard to point to a single chapter where Ciel is the POV throughout. The reveal of real Ciel and the flashback is the closest contender.

But once we move past early Kuro, and into Book of Circus, this set up changes.

It’s fairly easy to assume that Ciel is the main character, because from this point on the conflict of the plot sorta surrounded him. We spend a lot of time with him and with his story. The enemies start being people directly tied to Ciel and Ciel’s trauma. Rarely, if at all, we get to see Sebastian before he met Ciel.The framing device for the story, is Ciel.

This is where point 2 gets intertwined.

2.- Sebastian and Ciel’s relationship IS the story.

The story begins at the point where Sebastian and Ciel met. Who Ciel was before he met Sebastian, informs why he’s the way he is when he does. You have to know all he went through to understand why he’s a brat, why he lashes out. However Sebastian’s past doesn’t matter…because Sebastian himself doesn’t care much for who he was, before he was “Sebastian”. That’s also part of the narrative.

Unlike Ciel, he doesn’t seem opposed to revealing information from before the contract. He talks about how pets from where he is from are gross, he talks about how he knows how to dance because of other places he’s been to, and alludes to the life he's lived before.

Just that, to him, they're footnotes.

He makes allusions to a very bland, uninteresting life, up to the point he meets Ciel.

That’s why we don’t know more about his past.

As for why we focus on Ciel’s story…okay maybe we need Creative Writing lessons 102

I studied Dramaturgy for about 3 to 4 years. And something you notice is how play-writing is the quintessential story telling. It’s making it work with the bare bones of a story.

Some other mediums have more finesse, more depth, or more spectacle - all amazing things that work for whatever they’re created for. But understanding a play, how and why it works, helps understand the fundamentals of any derivative story telling medium.

Particularly, conflict.

Conflict is dialogue and dialogue can take many forms. A story, in its essence, is a dialogue between two opposing ideas.

Take Batman, for example, who embodies the ideas of justice and order. On his own, he’s not a well rounded character.

If you ONLY present him, in a vaccum with nothing else, you don’t have a character. You have a list of characteristics that you’re supposed to know.

You only know who he is when you have dialogue with another character.

I say Dialogue, but it doesn’t necessarily mean spoken language at one another. Dialogue can mean fist fighting, playing tabletop games, talking to other people about the other, or even just a competition. The idea is to simply to compare and contrast both ideas.

If you want an example on how tabletop games serve as dialogue, watch the video “Well, Someone Had to Explain the Liar’s Dice Scene” by Lord Ravecraft

Another example, were we to retake Batman, you have him fight Joker. Who’s the embodiment of chaos and randomness.

In the following picture, you get far more information than the one previously shown. While the Joke fights with daggers and fake guns, Batman only uses his fists. He doesn’t use the tricks that Joker does. His serious demeanor, contrasted with Joker’s glee at the dangerous situation. The fact that Batman has a deathly grip on Joker’s shirt, while the Joker doesn’t, which shows a desperation to catch him.

You are being shown, through a dialogue, who Batman is.

It’s so much easier and much more effective to explore a character through another character.

This is the reason why Shonen has a tendency to make incredibly good gay ships. If you want to explore Naruto’s personality, and his feelings of inferiority, you HAVE to have him interact with Sasuke.

If you wanna understand Hinata’s passion for volleyball, you have him enjoy himself the most with the only other crazy motherfucker who’s as obsessed with volleyball - Kageyama.

And I think that originally, Yana had this problem.

Sebastian was the protagonist, but she had little room to develop him as a character in the confines of the manor, dealing with random enemies.

She likely tried to create Grell as someone of the same stature as Sebastian. Someone who could be this other person to engage dialogue with and show or allude to his past a bit more.

The problem being that Sebastian didn’t care for his past. Or really, engaging with anyone. He sees everyone as below him, but when confronted with Grell who isn’t below him, he doesn’t wanna talk to her.

So you’re stuck in conundrum.

How do you have dialogue with a character, that as a character trait, doesn’t really wanna have dialogue?

Well, Grell also solves the problem. Because only the moment she gets him to start any semblance of a dialogue - is questioning why he’s serving Ciel.

And this is the moment when it’s perfectly cemented that the focus of the story is their relationship.

Why is Sebastian here? Why does he stay? What did he see in Ciel that made him want this extremely convoluted contract?

THATS the dialogue.

THATS the conversation we’re having in Black Butler.

We need to know Ciel because understanding who he is, let’s us know WHY /Sebastian/ is here.

Then slowly, with the introduction with the Undertaker, we find out Sebastian’s conflict.

Which is…

He’s scared of losing Ciel. It becomes apparent with the constant imagery of the Undertaker taking away Ciel and at some point even obtaining r!Ciel’s body, that he’s worried it might happen.

But he can only be worried that Ciel might be taken away if he wants to stay near Ciel.

And that’s his character arc.

Realizing that he actually likes Ciel, cares for him and the role he plays a butler that he doesn’t want this to end.

In the first chapters, he doesn’t feel a need to protect Ciel anymore than what’s strictly necessary. Just don’t die, that’s about as deep as his involvement in chapter 4 gets.

But by the Green Witch Arc, he feels a need to protect Ciel from ANY harm.

This is why I also said

3.- Their relationship is fundamentally a positive one.

In broad strokes, Sebastian to Ciel is the person who allows him to survive. He’s not worried about giving up his soul since he’s already dead. While Ciel to Sebastian, is someone who’s making him have fun. He’s slowly becoming more and more attached to Ciel and the life he has with Ciel.

Their relationship is not that of just a predator and prey, but also of master and pet.

In the terms that Black Butler itself would call: Sebastian is a wild wolf acting like a collared dog.

Ciel is aware that the wild beast will eat him at the end of the day, but if he clings hard to leash for now, he might just be able to have Sebastian maul his abusers.

Sebastian as a dog, currently finds that he enjoys being a chained dog.

(This is demonstrated in the Green Witch arc where he quite literally says, he doesn’t wanna be a wild beast and prefers to be a butler)

And much like the actual DOG Sebastian, Ciel constantly interprets his attempts to get close and protect him, as an act of aggression.

This push and pull of Ciel’s perception of Sebastian and Sebastian’s true motives is what feeds the story.

And the briefs interludes were that isn’t the case (what other people call the “plot”, but I would refer to as the connective tissue) such as Sullivan and Wolfram, the other servant’s past, the grim reapers and the like, serve as a parallel to Ciel and Sebastian relationship. Either to signify how they care for each other, highlight their weaknesses or fears, or explore how they feel.

It’s no surprise that Sullivan and Wolfram are parallels to Ciel and Sebastian. A sheltered sickly child who seeks the protection of a cold hearted machine that only knew how to kill, but who eventually found he cared for her genuinely.

Undertaker and Claudia’s relationship being heavily paralleled with them, even though we aren’t 109% sure what they had but heavily implied it was a romantic attraction from the undead supernatural creature and a Phantomhive.

Everything is a parallel.

That’s why, like the approach of the terrible original video, is flawed.

Trying to interpret Black Butler as action scene after action scene, with mystery after mystery with the only connective tissue being the mystery of who burned down the mansion - is missing the trees for the forest.

That’s not the point.

And if you’re too much of a prude to engage with gothic horror in its gothic horror game, I see little point as to why you even bother to engage with it at all.

A lot of people, including the person who create the video, simply refuse to acknowledge Black Butler IS the story of Sebastian and Ciel as a close and positive relationship, romantically and sexually charged. The reason for it being that they’re “put off” by it.

Part of me wonders how much that is genuinely true, and how much is just performative outrage. It’s like ignoring the fact that Cersei and Jami are in an incestous relationship and try to frame it as “platonic love”, because the idea of it is THAT off putting.

But regardless of that, if you don’t like the fact that it’s as canon as canon can get, I would reccomend you don’t engage with the story at all.

As I’ve explained, the entirety of the series is about them. If you refuse to see Sebastian and Ciel as, at the very least, a duo that cares deeply for the other - you aren’t reading Black Butler.

I have no idea what you’re reading.Perhaps your own biases and subconscious stigma with British aesthetic. At that point, watch the fucking British Royalty Gossip Magazine. You’d find more substance there.

Just don’t be like the person in the video, please? Don’t play dumb. Don’t ignore the fact that Yana is a Shotacon, don’t ignore the fact Sebastian is a hero, don’t ignore the fact that the entirety of the story is based on Sebastian and Ciel’s dynamic.

Because if you do, you are ashamed. You are ashamed of what this story is about. You don’t wanna engage with the text, you want to engage with yourself. You wanna project into Ciel whatever traumas and experiences you have, for the sake a vanity project, where you come out as the morally superior.

You don’t wanna talk about Black Butler, you wanna talk about how good YOU are. How you “don’t sin” by watching it “without all the gross unholy stuff”.

Which is the exact opposite of what BB is about.

So, if you don’t want to, save us all the humiliation fetish and leave.

[kyutushi]

❥🝮𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 ; 𝐩𝟏

`ఌ𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝!𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐤 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

❦ꨄ𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬; 𝐬𝐟𝐰, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 (𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐤) 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐬 (𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥), 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐭/𝐟𝐨𝐱 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥

the evening sky hung low over the city, casting elongated shadows as the city lights began their nightly glow. amongst the bustling streets and towering buildings, one named y/n found themself on a peculiar journey, one they never anticipated.

y/n was that of grace and elegance, their demeanor as poised as their steps were deliberate. of course being someone on their way to topple the ranks it was quite easy to navigate the pride ring with no threat. they had a curiosity that often led them into unexpected adventures. tonight was no different.

a peculiar flyer caught their eye, its bold letters declaring: "hazbin hotel: where every demon deserves a second chance." intrigued, y/n tucked the flyer into their pocket, the image of a grand hotel etched into their mind.

days passed, and the memory of the flyer lingered. y/ns curiosity gnawed at them until they found theirself standing before the grand entrance of the hotel. Its imposing structure loomed before them, shrouded in an eerie glow that seemed to beckon them closer.

they looked up at the red sky, heart beat quickening. what should they expect once these doors open? y/n knocked on the door, once.. twice.. thrice.. when suddenly the door was opened. there stood hells princess, charlie morningstar. her face lit up instantly, gleaming with pride, “are you.. A NEW GUEST?” she asked enthusiastically, taking y/ns had roughly and shaking it, pulling them into the hotel. the lobby was opulent, adorned with velvet drapes and flickering candles that cast dancing shadows upon the walls.

“well, i had happened to come across a flyer and i was intrigued.. how exactly does this work do tell?” y/n murmured, bringing a finger to their lips. charlie sweat dropped before bringing up a hand to speak, “actually— umm i haven’t figured that out yet! but trust me when i say it can definitely happen!” she tried to persuade you.

“i see.. care to show me around, princess?” she nodded enthusiastically and pulled you around showing you everything about the hotel.

—

“AND this is the barrrr and the bartender..!” she pointed at everything there was to see. the rugged man at the bar spared a quick glance and mumbled something before doing a double take. his eyes widened in shock as he turned towards you, “n/n..?” it was then when y/n saw him, husk, their husband. y/n’s breath caught in their throat as recognition dawned upon them. it really is him.

“..husk? what are you- what happened-“ y/n rushed over, ignoring charlie’s questioning, “what the fuck are you doing here?? you disappeared and never said anything—“ y/n took his hands (paws?) into theirs. “i’m sorry doll.. i- alastor came back.” he mumbled, trying to keep anyone from overhearing. after all, the walls have ears.

y/n frowned, “i told you this already, give me the word and i’ll get you out of this damned deal! i can’t bear to see you working yourself away for this sicko.”

“no- i cant let you, who knows what the hell he’s got up his sleeve. he tricked me and i cant let him do the same thing to you. what are you even doing here- if he sees you-“ and as if things could be worse a shadow appeared from behind y/n, manifesting. alastor came out of nowhere, “ahh what a lovely reunion! right husker!” his cheery voice rang.

husk only mumbled, growling under his breath as he tried to avoid eye contact. he took a glass and began to clean it as he watched the scene, mainly keeping his eyes on y/n. y/n looked away from husk and glared at alastor. “you fucker, why are you back? it’s been SEVEN years.” their eyes flickering slightly, turning a slightly different color. y/ns power was mysterious and even alastor himself had no idea what they could do, so all he can do himself is antagonize. he only smiled wider, “good to see you too darling!”

as both y/n and alastor argued chatted away, angel made his way towards the bar, “ehhh soo you know fluffy tits right there?” he sat down right in front of husk. “they’re my partner..” he mumbled, “never thought i’d see them again.” glancing over to see you holding back a punch towards alastor. “those two never got along.” he chuckled slightly while reminiscing. angel chuckled too, “they looks fiery, i’d love to see her stick it to alastor.” he looked over at y/n and alastor again, y/ns fluffy ears close to their head as they held alastor by his collar. “hah! yeah i can say they’ve kicked my ass a few times..” husk looked at you and smiled lovingly.

𝐚/𝐧; 𝐢𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐰 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐞 ,, 𝐢𝐟 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐦𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 ❤️

[thatbitchery]

SUCCESS FORMULA 101

Lets talk about what really makes a person succesfull. No I don't mean the recycled stuff & the magical thinking manifesting stuff. Let's talk the real stuff. What really, like really really makes a woman succesful?

1 . The idea- decision gap

Planning is a productive form of procrastination. You overestimate the amount of control you have over time- space reality if you think you can anticipate the future & hold your own. Exhibit A: covid. Yes get your skeleton nailed down and have a second third fourth opinion but you have three days after the idea to begin execution. Do not overplay your power, you don't have that much control and your powers of perception are based on the past, not future. If you must plan get the first draft down then work with that. Here's a secret- you know those ultra succesful people you know? They're making it up as they go. Adaptation>> planning. If you want success reduce your idea to execution gap to max 3 days then go get it. Risk aversion is the enemy of innovation.

2. Embarrassment

My mentor taught me to not only anticipate but be fully amenable to embarrassment. Especially if you're looking at a career in creative and performed arts you can NOT skip this one. You want to be a singer? Writer? Influencer? Blogger? Vlogger?There will be a reddit thread about how much you suck. This is the fabric of success. Resilience is a woman's best friend. Embarrassment is the portal to growth. First day in the office messing everything up asking stupid questions underdressed with that accent- that's the price you pay for sitting on that CEO seat one day. The way to the top is from the bottom.

3. Boredom

Success is found in the small, mundane, repetitive, boring day to day tasks. It's hard to get far especially in corporate spaces because the boredom is crippling & we are innately a progressive species which means dopamine & adrenaline seeking so you leave your boring tasks for the high of chasing a new goal- no. Get very comfortable with boredom or move to creative arts. Success is found in consistency and consistency is found in repetition. Closing that million dollar deal isn't what made you succesful. It was the repetitive boring practises of sitting through meetings with a collective IQ of 18 that taught you patience, negotiation, jargon and attunement. It's not meeting the right guy that gave you a successful relationship it was your 8 year long friendships that you no longer pay attention to that taught you to communicate, empathise, have boundaries , the right way to love & be loved and recognize value. We tend to credit the spikes for the outcome when it's the consistency of the mundane that got us where we are. Success is the really boring stuff. Really really boring stuff. Success is a buildup.

4. Hierarchy

The swapping of "self sabotaging stupidity" with "feminism & empowerment" is easily one of the greatest downfalls of our generation. Social species= hierarchical you're not being a boss babe queen by speaking to your superiors in a condescending manner & inserting your opinions bc "you have a right to whatever". Uh , you don't. You don't have the right to embarrass your boss or call him out, you don't. Be the boss first then you can call the shots don't let rich kids on tiktok trick you into thinking you can get away with disrespect. Know your place. Power isn't taken its transferred. Meritocracy >> democracy if you want the right to throw your mouth around be the CEO then you can call the shots till then act your paycheck & plan your exit or social climb to a point your opinion matters because meritocracy will always trample democracy. Don't be stupid.

5. Baby & the bathwater

Another culprit for my generation's failure is the witch hunt & self righteous campaign that's cancel culture & virtue signalling. Influencers build their reputation on it so Candace Owens gets to call Beyonce out but you shut your mouth. Learn the concept of dichotomy and learn to take what resonates with you &go. The higher you climb the success ladder the lower your morals go & the more terrible people you have to tolerate so you'll sit 4 hours on a table with a sexist ugly pig making wild sexual innuendo because once that deal is signed your dreams come true. If you're walking a path of self proclaimed righteousness where you can't talk to people who do this and that don't bother. & this level of dissociation & delusion that allows you to think of people as good or bad will get you manipulated left right center. You want to be succesful? Not your monkeys, not your circus. Take what's yours and go. Don't lie to yourself & sabotage your own progress bc you're on a little righteousness campaign.

6. Learn to use people

The greatest resource on God's pretty beautiful earth is human beings. And time. Every single thing you want will come from a person, learn to use people & be used by them bc a relationship requires an exchange of value, don't be a greedy leechy taker. The most important part of success is human resource. If you're struggling with communication & negotiation dedicate everything you have to fixing it. The capital city of success is mutually beneficial relationships ie relationships where people consciously consensually use each other in an equilibrium of value exchange.

7. Emotional intelligence

Sucess doesn't like emotions. In fact those two are sworn enemies since the dawn of the planet. When emotions walk through the door success jumps out the window. Now, I want us to understand- when I'm saying this I'm not saying be a robot- you're not. Emotions are important. They're a compass. You look at them, listen to what they're saying and decide what to do with that. I'm not saying make an enemy our of your humanity, emotional intelligence isn't synonymous with emotional negligence. I'm saying you don't make decisions based on them. You don't express them in public unless it serves you to. You don't shut them down- don't be a psycho- but also don't make them something theyre not- an identity. It's a compass. You need it to move in the right direction, but you carry the compass not the other way around.

8. Offensive

This is where women in particular mess it up- never play defensive. Ever. Unless it's a backhanded game & manipulation tactic always play the offense. Defending yourself is weak af. Find a way to be on the offensive. Victims don't make it. They don't. They get the sympathy & provision & that's it. Success is a literal jungle hun especially corporate your little tearjerkers might get your bf to not leave you but in your office they'll get you abused & disrespected & shamed. Again- it is within the nature of a social species to attack its weak & at home you're safe bc your friends & family really do care about you but corporate & success is a competition. They hit low. They hit hard. It's merciless, you're competing for the same thing. Always play the offense. Always be in the offense. It's better to be the bully, if you get bullied you bully them worse &let everyone know yeah no I bullied him now what? Exactly. Be the mean girl. Be the bully. Take the offensive. Offensive is progressive. Defensive is survival.

9. Routines

Ive found that most people don't know the difference between routine & schedules. Wake up @5 to workout is a schedule. Working out before breakfast is a routine. I'll tell you this as someone with ADHD but an unbreakable routine, if you can not keep up with the time you'll mess up. You don't need to allocate time to set a routine. A routine is a sequence of events that's turned habitual. So if my routine is wake up work out drink water get my vitamins in it doesn't matter if I wake up @ 5am or 1 pm that's the sequence of activities that will take place. Routine is about muscle memory. It has to be subconscious. You have to instinctively know this is whst I should do & have it so ingrained that you don't even think about it it just happens. Training your muscle memory is a superpower. >86% of your day is governed by muscle memory. Think about that. If you just subconsciously headed to the gym and made a healthy meal & studied. Like, while spaced out. Just think about it. Like I said success happens in consistency & repetition. Quick take a guess how muscle memory is formed.

10 Reality

Success is delusion averse. Take the world for what it is and people for what they are & reality for that- reality and stop trying to substitute millions of years of evolution & adaptation with cheap politics, values and morals. Don't be dumb. See the world as is not as you wish it was. Forget all the self soothing politics you're buying into and go science. You can not undo in one century what's been in motion for eons though. Sociology & politics are just self soothing distractions. The world is what it is when you die it'll be exactly what it I'd, you're the one that'll have burned herself. Don't be stupid. Women can't be stupid.That XX is synonymous with Xtra Xmart okay? Okay.

TBY

[hxskzz]

Hi there! Can I request Adam with a female reader where the reader looks like a polite and calm person at first, but once she gets close to someone, it turns out that she's very sarcastic, sassy and swears like a sailor?

I hope this isn't too specific, but if it is, feel free to ignore this.

adam x fem!reader

# a/n ; I ACC LOVE THIS SMMM, reader is me coded fr

379 words | proofread .

# adam and you had been dating for about a few days now. your relationship was going out well so far, but adam had only seen one side of you. your quiet, nice, and polite side.

however, you had another personality. you could be COMPLETELY different once you got comfortable. when it hit about a week of you and adam dating, you noticed you could be yourself around him.

"fuuucccckkk the store is closeddd" adam whined, you and him had walked all the way to a special store just for it to be closed. "well no fucking shit babe" you hissed with a laugh. adam's head spun towards you, shock glazing his face.

he stood with his eyebrows raised for a while, you doing the same. "little sarcastic one arent you" he chuckled, taking a sip of his drink.

"i'm fucking tired as shit can we go home?? or to the other fucking store over there" you pointed down the street, a blank expression on your face. "..yea..sure.." adam was lost in his thoughts. he knew your personality could change, but not like this.. he'd never seen you act like this.

as the two of you walked down the street, he commented on your actions while his arms was around you. "what's up with you today? you fuckin pissed abt smth?" he raised an eyebrow, taking another sip.

"nah im cool wym?" you retorted, confused on why he was questioning you. "i dont know you just seem.. off..but i fucking love it its hot" he smirked, nudging you a little bit. "i still dont know what the fuck you mean but uhmm ill take it as something good" you smiled, grabbing adam's drink from his hand taking a sip.

"i put my mouth on that" adam snarled. "adam we are LITERALLY fucking dating and made out like 3 times" you laughed, handing him his drink back.

he was getting used to your new act, he liked it. he liked how sassy you were, and how you werent just soft to everything.

he laughed in defeat at the fact that his trick for his drink back didn't work on you.

"fuck, i could get used to this" he kissed you on your cheek and put his arm back around your shoulder.

©hxskzz

[myosotisa]

Take a Seat - s.h.

ǁ  summary: What exactly did you think was going to happen when you let King Steve into your bedroom?

ǁ  tags: smutty blurb, afab!reader, no y/n, nicknames are sweetheart and baby. King Steve is the King Tease.

ǁ  word count: 900

"Hey sweetheart?"

You barely look up from where you're pouring over the textbook on your desk. "Hmm?"

There's a small shuffle from your friend Steve adjusting on your bed, most likely to face you. "Can I ask you something?"

Glancing back at him with your eyebrows drawn together, you catch a glimpse of his impish smile that he's attempted to make look sweet before you return to your book. "Sure?"

"Can I fuck you into your mattress?"

The world spins from how fast you twist toward him, hand gripping the back of your chair tightly as all the blood rushes to your head. "Excuse me?!"

A lazy smile tilts his mouth, eyes shining with mischief as he repeats with slow pauses for effect, "Can I… fuck you… into your mattress?"

Your jaw drops, mouth opening and closing like a fish as you struggle to force out words. "I heard you the first time, I was just giving you a chance to say something else."

"Come on," he leans back onto his palms, thighs spreading with his socks firmly on the floor. The traitorous part of your brain he's awakened looks at the space between his thighs, at the empty seat of his denim covered lap and thinks that's a perfect spot for me. "Like you've never thought about it?"

"I…" Eyes drying from staring at him in shock, you manually force a few blinks as you swallow hard. "This feels like a trick question."

"I bet you have," he says in a sigh, adjusting on the bed with what seems like a very intentional thrust of his hips upward. He adjusts to hold most of his weight on one hand, the other making a little walk up toward where your blanket meets your pillow. "I bet you've laid right here on these sheets… Hand tucked into your pretty little panties and whimpered my name."

The visual has your gut twisting, warmth spreading from between your thighs and outwards. Your face is burning hot as your eyes flick from his hand to his face to his lap and back again. "I don't – I don't understand what's happening right now."

Steve has never, ever shown any interest in you. While you've only been friends for a little while, he was known for his conquests around school. Everyone knew how they went. When he approached you, entirely friendly, asking for a study partner, you'd known it didn't fit his pattern. This wasn't how he came onto the other girls at school.

"What's not to get?" He asks teasingly, the tips of his thick fingers hooking on the top of your blanket just to shift it down a few inches. "It'd be fun."

And while the visual part of your brain talks directly to the throb of feeling in your clit explaining just how fun it would be, your thinking brain is still fighting tooth and nail against something you hadn't considered a possibility anymore.

"Why are you doing this, Steve?" I'm not your type, your mind tacks on. This feels like some kind of cruel joke, it warns.

"Because, baby," he's shifting again, upper body pressing forward as he rests either palm on his spread knees, "I like to play with my food before I eat it."

Brain coming to a grinding halt from its anxious frenzy, all that remains is a cycling repeat of his statement and the reactionary shiver it sent down your spine. “Your… food?” 

This seems to make him huff a laugh, shaking his head. For such a smart girl, it made his dick twitch in his pants at how easy it is to throw you off balance, how quick you're going dumb for him. “Yes, sweetheart. Now are you going to let me keep playing? Or should I leave you alone with that wet spot that’s already on your panties?”

Your head ducks down in alarm, thinking you’re exposed to him in some way, only to see your pants still perfectly in place. When you look back up to retort, the cheeky grin on his face informs you that your reaction told him everything he needed to know. “You! I’m not!”

Taking a deep breath, shoulders rising and then falling lower than they were before as you try to release some of the sudden tension in your body. "How would we even...?"

The sudden shyness, your nervous hesitation, makes his cock throb again, one of his hands instinctively pressing down on the growing tent in his tight jeans. It nearly makes him groan at how heavily your eyes track the movement before quickly looking away with an almost inaudible squeak. “Don’t worry your big brain about it. Just come over here and let me show you.”

The way you stare at him for just a little too long, looking like a deer in headlights, makes him think maybe he came about this the wrong way. Maybe you’ll bolt like a scared rabbit. But then you silently push yourself to stand and take a few hesitant steps toward him, not quite entering the space between his spread thighs.

That Harrington charm comes through his encouraging smile, his voice a cooing murmur when he says, “Good girl.” Your thighs press together subconsciously and he delights in the new reaction. “Now take a seat,” he insists with a pat to the inside of one of his thighs. “I’ve got a spot right here with your name on it.”

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thanks for reading! please reblog and leave a reaction if you liked it :)

[hopelessdazai]

✿ 》 Will you talk to me again?

╰⧼ 🪻 note.. ⧽ ; I don't expect this to do well because its not smut but it'd be nice !! reblogs appreciated, support your creators :)

╰⧼ ☀️ features.. ⧽ ; @saelique angst collab!! dazai x gn!reader, WC ; 784

╰⧼ 🌙 contents.. ⧽ ; angst, reader isn't alive, letter from dazai. he's trying very hard to keep himself stable but it's not working™.

To my dearest ______ .

It's been a while, hasn't it? I hope you don't mind me writing to you like this, it's simply been too long. I'm sure you're still angry at me, so seeing you physically isn't my best interest right now! haha, I'm sorry. you know I'm just joking around, don't you? I'd love to see you in person. I'm sure you would've punched my arm if you heard me out loud right now, wouldn't you? I'm glad I'm spared of the bruises.

what does someone put in a letter? that's what I was asking myself before I even began writing. I decided that the best way to do something like this was to just write whatever I feel true as pen touches paper. I hope it makes sense to you, at the least. if I'm pouring my heart out on some paper only for it to be misunderstood, it feels like a waste, no?

though, i'd be lying if i said it wouldn't be rather cute to see you try to fathom what I mean. did you know you scrunch your nose like a bunny sometimes when you're reading? I'm sure you're doing that now too. you'll get wrinkles very at this rate ..

but anyway, I managed to prank kunikida the other day! you remember that hair dye trick I'd told you about? I managed to break into his apartment and swap out his shampoo, at last! he came into work the next day with black hair, it was hilarious, you should've been here! he was so angry with me. beat me black and blue!

oh, _____. I got a new heated blanket for our bed, you know? it took a while to save up for it, and I had to cut out some other necessities, sure. but it makes everything so much better! I hate cold beds, I'm sure you know that better then anyone. haha, back before we moved in together when I'd break into your apartment and crawl into bed with you. I'm sorry for the amount of locks I broke, but your place was so cozy!

... you know, it's been really hard without you here. I miss you so painfully, and I don't mean to call into the void without even an echo, but its killing me to pretend I'm fine about any of this. I'm not fine with this, how am I supposed to be? I wish it was just a bad dream.

I don't want to have to write letters to you anymore, ______. I don't want to have to buy heated blankets to try and stop my arms from aching for your warmth. I don't want you to be angry with me, I'm sorry I didn't apologise to you before you were gone. I shouldn't have been so stupid.

i had so many words on my mind that I was too afraid to say. maybe if I faced myself and told you 'I love you' it would've stopped you leaving.

have you met odasaku yet? has he told you any stories of his time? I wish I could hear your voice again. I wish you could answer my questions. even to hear you scoff at my stupidity again would heal me. I'm sorry I was annoying, I just wanted your attention. it stings knowing I'll never get it again.

I can't keep repeating to myself that you're not gone. I can't keep buying your perfume and pretending that you're in the next room over. your pillow doesn't smell like you anymore.

I wish I could apologise properly. I wish I could've stopped you from leaving the house that night. I wish I could kill myself to join you and yet I know we won't cross paths again in the afterlife. you were always too good for me, ______. i was nothing compared to you.

i picked up a homeless dog yesterday. you'd always wanted a puppy, I'm sorry I never let you bring one home. I named it after you. im trying to get used to them, I promise. if I couldn't save you, I'll save your name.

I'm sorry. if I continue writing, my throat will hurt more. its strange, isn't it? crying makes your throat sore. I forgot what it was like for a while, I remember laying in your arms wondering if I'd ever have a reason to cry again. now I can't seem to help myself.

keep your wings clean for me, white looks good on you. its a shame you couldn't wear the wedding attire i wished to see you in one day. you would've looked amazing.

I'll write again, missing you is the greatest honor.

sincerely, your osamu.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

the secrets that you keep | for @steddiemicrofic's April prompt: Fool AND for my submission to this month's @steddiesongfics, Talking In Your Sleep by the Romantics!

pairing: steddie (duh) | word count: 454 | rated: M | on AO3

Eddie Munson isn't an idiot.

You can't fool, trick, or cajole him into believing the impossible.

And what he and Steve are doing, have been doing, it's impossible.

Okay, not impossible, seeing as how they have been and it’s been nothing short of amazing. Steve's almost unbearably sweet, the sex is indescribable... but it can't last. No matter what Eddie's feelings are on the matter.

He's known from the beginning that he's nothing but an experiment for the younger man,

“Mhm... Eddie..”

He knows where he stands in the general hierarchy of life, and it ain't higher than his knee.

“....More... please.”

Even now, as he listens to Steve's soft moans and mumbles of some dream he’d be loathe to interrupt and it turns into his usual mumbled nonsense from beside him in bed,

“..Eds…”

Eddie knows that in the end, he'll force his way too big feelings for the pseudo Adonis next to him into the lockbox in the back of his brain,

“..I love you..”

And never think about them again after Steve gets sick of hi—

..what.

Eddie blinks down at Steve's sleeping face. “Steve?”

The golden sun come to Earth has the nerve to smile all soft and syrupy, quirk his lips up on one side, and mumble out another “I love you, Eddie.” clear as fuckin’ day.

Eddies heart is in his throat, its deep in the pit of his stomach, its impaled on the icy crags in his heels 

“Steve?” 

"...waffles.."

"Steve?!"

His last cry finally wakes the other man, the comforter whisking off Eddie's naked lower half as Steve whirls off the mattress, his bat at the ready.

Stark naked himself, standing firm between Eddie and the bedroom door with his head on a swivel, Steve slurs out a still sleepy "What happened, what'd you hear, what's wrong?” 

Eddie's traitorous heart makes it hard to say anything, but he manages to whisper, “You love me?”

It takes him a handful of seconds, but eventually Steve turns back to face the bed, much more awake than he had been.

“I do?” Eddie’s face must’ve twisted up at the questioning tone because he corrects course, “I mean, I do.. but how’d you know that? Did Robin say something?”

He starts to pace; quite the sight, him being bare as the day he was born with his bat still hanging from his fist, “I knew I shouldn’t’ve told her something that big (“Steve..”), but how could I not? I tell her everything (“Steve.”). But she promised not to say anything to you and now–

“Steve!”

Steve finally stops pacing, though he’s still avoiding Eddie’s gaze.

“Look at me.” and when he does, Eddie smiles and says, “I love you too.”