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in-class-daydreams · 2 days

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Note: Gojo & the reader are ~40 in this, Sen is 18, and the guy you're seeing (if you don't already know who it is) is aged up accordingly (~30)

Imagine your and ex-husband Gojo's son Sen finding out you're seeing someone.

"You're going on a date?!" Sen asks in disbelief. "With who?"

You smooth out your outfit and check yourself out in the mirror. This look is one of your best, if you do say so yourself.

"Does it matter?" you ask neutrally. Sen is just mature enough to not blatantly freak out at this revelation, but only just. The less he knows, the better.

"Of course, it matters! I need to know who to hunt down if you disappear!" he replies, hands flying up to fist in his hair. "I need to vet this guy!"

Your ex-husband appears in your bedroom doorway. "Who are we vetting?"

Clenching your prospective clothing in your hands, you grumble, "Doesn't anyone knock any more?"

Satoru leans against the door frame like he's someone's booktok boyfriend (he used to be your booktok husband but that's beside the point). He takes in how you've cleaned up and instantly recognizes your date look. Of course, he's only seen it a million times.

"Oh, the kid didn't know you had boyfriend?" he asks.

"Boyfriend?!" Sen cries. Your temple throbs. "Who is he?"

Satoru shrugs. "I dunno, I just know he exists and his one move is sending flowers because he's basic."

"He's not basic and he is not my boyfriend!" you shout, throwing your hands in the air. "We go on dates, yes. We're seeing each other. 'Boyfriend' implies exclusivity, and none of the people I'm seeing are my boyfriend."

Your son and ex-husband stare at you wide-eyed. As Sen gets older, the black roots of his hair have become his last line of defense against looking like a carbon copy of his dad, and having both a young and old(er) Satoru look at you with their stupid big blue eyes is unsettling. Someone hurry up and blink.

"What?" you ask tiredly.

This time it's Satoru that has something irritating to say. "'People?' As in plural?"

"Satoru, don't start."

Sen raises his hand. "I'm with dad on this one. I don't trust anyone with you, not even dad--"

"Thanks, kid."

"--much less strangers."

Part of you understands that your son and ex-husband are the two people in the world that love you the most. Growing up as isolated as you did, your younger self would never have imagined having the both of them in your life. They're just trying to protect you.

The other part of you is on the verge of telling them both to step the fuck off.

You're all saved by the doorbell ringing and before you can even react, both of them are at the door interrogating whoever's on your porch. But you always met up with your dates instead of them picking you up in case of this exact scenario. There was no way he came to the door without your permission.

Sprinting to the door, you find your son, your ex, and a terrified-looking deliveryman holding a bouquet of flowers. You shoo the boys away from him and accept the flowers with thanks and a generous tip for dealing with them.

There's a handwritten note attached. It reads:

You didn't think I'd let you walk out the house without a present, right? Pretty girls need pretty flowers.

You can't hold in a grin. He always found ways to go above and beyond even without an official label.

"Well, at least he's a sorcerer," Sen says. He gestures to the note, "There's a teeny bit of residual CE on there. Not enough for me to recognize, though."

You try not to make your sigh of relief obvious. Sen was still in training and Sukuna said his ability to recognize specific cursed energy needed some work. Getting advice from his dad would help, but your son got his stubborn streak from you.

"Well, good. I don't need you tracking him down." Handing the flowers to Sen, you ask, "Put these in a vase for mama, please?"

Sen, ever the obedient son, runs off to do so immediately. You fondly watch him round the corner into the kitchen, then double back to grab you and place a kiss on your cheek.

"I don't like this, but please be safe, mama! Call me any time, I'll be there," he says, then returns to his task.

Once he's out of sight, you slip your shoes on, holding Satoru by the shoulder to stabilize yourself.

"I'll be back before 11. There's pasta in the fridge and I just washed the sheets in the guest room if you want to stay over," you tell him. Pulling up the back of your shoe, you look up at Satoru to find him stock still looking past you. You can't see his eyes, but you can tell they're fixed on the card you received.

That's when you remember that while your son may not yet be at full potential, veteran sorcerer, strongest in history Gojo Satoru knows damn well who sent you those flowers.

Shit.

Click [here] for more of Sen being mean to his dad | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

#gojo sentaro #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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challenger-fan-club · 2 days

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fwb Art who's absolutely in love with you and obsessed with you and who asked to be your boyfriend many times and taking you on many dates but you kept rejecting until one day he gets to know that you're going on a date with someone else so he tries to stop thay date from happening and showing you who you belong to by having the most passionate sex and finally convincing you to accept you as your boyfriend

you can say you don't want this to be Stanford Art but it is.

You've turned him down so many times. But you can't stay away from him. The way he kisses you, the way he touches you. You're needy for him but you know that you can't be in a relationship with him. He's not good for you, not good for you to be distracted. You're not exactly the dating type and Art is almost ready to be a husband. All your friends think you're insane, you know that they're ready to settle down but we're too young and you want to be carefree for just a while. Art is also so very nice, and sweet and kind and you don't want to hurt him when you inevitable self destruct. You rationalise it to protect yourself, it would be like torturing a puppy. You don't want to waste his time and effort. You're doing this for him.

But you can't keep yourself away from Art. You always end up at his door at the end of the night, and he's so obsessed with you, he'll never tell you no. He just makes you cups of tea and cuddles you and keeps you warm. Giving you everything that you want, whenever you want it. "We're just friends with benefits." You tell him and repeat to yourself and Art nods his head as if to say "i know." He invites you to the bar with him, says Patrick and his new girlfriend will be there but they always seem to mysteriously cancel. Patrick was either the worst friend or just didn't exist. "This is not a date Art." He gets you both drinks. He gives you the "i know" nod, slightly hurt, given you a face, slightly like you've stood on a puppys paw. Art asks to be your boyfriend a lot. And you know that you should cut him off and let him go but you can't help yourself. It's like you and Art are magnets or somehow cosmetically intertwined.

Art walks up to you and your friends standing talking. It kills him because he wants to wrap his hands around you like he did in his bed last night. But because you're just fuck buddies, he can't kiss you. He's not even sure if your friends know that you've been seeing each other for the last while. You try to ignore him as you're continuing the conversation as one of your friends starts speaking to him. "Do you know where youre going? and more importantly, what are you wearing?"

Art's ears perk up at the conversation and you try and ignore him again. "I think we're just going for drinks, nothing special." You say softly. "and then back to his? I'm so jealous, he's so fucking hot. I can't believe he just asked you out." You tried to hold back a wince when she said it. You didn't mean for Art to find out about it, at all. Definitely didn't want him to find out like this. He didn't say anything. You didn't want to look at him and you didn't know when he was looking at you. "You should wear that black dress you wore a few weeks ago... and those boots, you'd look so hot!" Your friend continued but you had already withdrawn from the conversation. You knew that outfit worked because Art wanted to take you to the nearest empty room when he saw you wearing it. "I'll text you later, let you know how it goes." You left the conversation. Art stood, making small talk with your friends.

It was around half past 8 when you were getting ready. You were stupidly nervous. You didn't really go on dates, especially with people you didn't know. And you hadn't heard from Art all day long which made you nervous. You didn't want to hurt Art, you didn't know if Art was hurt. He was sensitive so you could only assume that he was sulking in his room. There was a knock at your door as finished fixing your make up. You looked at yourself in the mirror before answering the door. "Hi Art, what are you doing here?" He looked at your face for a moment before letting your eyes gaze over your body. Your curvy hips and cleavage was on show, dress hitting just above your thighs. Art thought you looked perfect. "Are you not going to invite me in?" Art smiled at you. "uhh... actually I'm just getting ready to go out." You were confused. Had he not heard the conversation earlier? You watched him as he followed you into your room. "Yeah, I know... I just thought I could convince you to stay here." He was being very confident, somewhat dominant which he normally isn't it. "Art, cmon." He sat on the bed as he watched you putting your earring in. "Cmon what?" You stood in front of him as he ran his hands on the outside of your thigh. "tell me, you don't want to cancel on him and stay here with me." You were biting your lip as he touched your thighs. "Art..." His hands rubbed up your body to your hips as he pulled you closer, separating his legs, allowing you to stand in between them.

He starts by kissing your stomach. He looks up at you as he pulls your dress up your thighs slowly, his kiss moving slowly down your body. "You know he can't make you feel as good as I can..." he continued to kiss down your body before placing his kiss on your underwear. Your hands were in his hair, rubbing his head, encouragingly. He started to pull you down your underwear as he guided you to the bed. "Art, he's going to be here soon." He just smiled as he started kissing your neck and his hands started rubbing your clit, dipping his fingers into you as you moan against him. "Good, he can hear how good I make you feel." He started to bite at your collar bone, trying to leave a mark. "Artttt..." you almost moaned. "Thats it, say my name, say who you belong to." He moved his fingers faster until you were begging for him to fuck you. Art was really playing a very good game, making you moan, making you a mess underneath him. "You're so good." He swiftly moved his boxers down and allowed his cock to bounce free as he rubbed it against your wetness. He started to push himself inside of you, inch by inch as you moaned. He kissed your mouth, passionately before moving his kiss back to your neck, down to your chest where he pulled your dress down so your breasts were exposed. He started sucking, licking and biting on your nipples as he slammed into you. "Art, fuck I'm gonna cum." You moaned as he quickened his pace. "That's it, good girl, cum on my cock, cum for me, you're all mines." He moaned as he switched between kissing you and playing with your nipples. "you're so good, fuck, you feel so good." He couldn't stop as he started to fill you the second you let your orgasm go. He continued to kiss you and move the hair out of your face. "You're literally so gorgeous." He whispered in your ear as he held his cock inside of you. "when are you finally going to admit that you were made for me?" he kissed your neck. You sighed. "Art, you know..." Art kissed you again. "Don't do this, whatever your worries are about me, we can do it, together. I want you. All of you and you want me, very clearly." He kept your gaze as he held you. "It's all of me or none of me, I'm not playing seconds." The words hurt you and you got a brief moment to think about this being the last time, that the other option was no Art in your life. "I'm happy to wait." He pulled himself away and walked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

You were alone for just a moment. You didn't want you and Art to be over. But you thought you knew how you felt, what you wanted but everything Art said and did, just made your heart hurt. You wanted him. You needed him. When you thought he was mad at you, you felt weak and now he's here. Saying it's him or nothing. You thought you had the power, always telling him no to a relationship but being faced without Art, you didn't want to do it. The thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Shit. Your date. This was your sink of swim moment.

Art popped his head out of the bathroom. "should i hide in the bathroom or tell him to go away?" Art was topless looking down at you with just his boxer shorts on. "Tell him to go away, then take your shorts back off?" His face almost lit up. "So you're finally gonna be my girl?" You smirked at him and rolled your eyes. "I'm all yours Donaldson."

#challengers movie #challengers 2024 #art donaldson #challengers #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader

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pretzel-box · 2 days

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STREAMER AU MASTERLIST HERE

CHAPTER 6: I AM RIGHT AND I HAVE WON

tags: I don't know how to tag this? Painter exposes Allison?

words: 4k

authors note: I am not happy with how I wrote it, I blame the lack of a laptop.

In the span of three weeks, moved five individual people in five individual places.

Sebastian was the first,

After Allison had exposed his roommate a week ago, he was confused, angry and somewhat surprised. The man found himself glancing at everything that was connected to you, the bedroom door, the empty work desk, the chinese takeout shop and most importantly the second helmet for his bike.

This particular helmet wasn't really yours but you wore it so much in the past that it was basically owned by you.

Those little things conflicted him dearly, since he was sure, even with your weird love-hate friendship, did you both co-existed pretty well.

Yet, even as those small reminders tugged at him, Allison's words kept looping in his mind.

They set you up, you know that, right? she had said, her voice laced with feigned concern. All this time, they’ve been playing you—just so they could stay close to Solace. You're just a pawn.

Sebastian couldn't shake it off. The idea that you, the person who had shared his space and a fragile, weird friendship with him, might have been using him gnawed at him. He hated how much it made sense. Allison had laid it out perfectly—too perfectly, in hindsight—but in the chaos of everything, it sounded believable.

The constant replay of that accusation left him uneasy, and now every memory was tainted with doubt. The late-night laughs, the casual banter, even the tension that always bubbled beneath the surface. Was all of that staged? Was your connection to him just a ploy? He didn’t want to believe it, but Allison’s words had already planted the seed.

And then there was the part that unsettled him the most.

According to Allison, you loved him, in a way that bordered on obsession. She had claimed that every time you looked at him, it was with a deeper attachment than he’d realized—something beyond friendship, beyond even the regular crush. It was an unhealthy fixation. He was the center of your world, and it had all been hidden behind the mask of your chaotic yet comfortable interactions.

Sebastian felt conflicted. He hadn't noticed anything like that before. Sure, you had your quirks, but it never crossed his mind that it went that deep. Maybe he missed it because he'd never seen you in that light.

But that’s where the real problem lay—what he didn’t know was that Allison’s words were a lie, carefully crafted to make him doubt everything. You didn’t love him in that unhealthy way, and you’d never set him up. But the damage was done. The seed of doubt had been planted, and Sebastian was starting to wonder if everything between you had been a game all along.

Sebastian only found comfort in a single person right now, his best friend.

He swung his leg over his bike, secured his helmet, and drove off to visit his friend once more.

The second was Mama Solace.

Sebastian’s mother had finally found the time and money for a much-needed vacation, and it just so happened to be close to her son. A coincidence? Perhaps not. She loved Sebastian fiercely, more than life itself, and it was time once again to remind him of that with one of her unexpected, affectionate visits.

The last time she had dropped by was when you first moved in, becoming Sebastian’s roommate.

Oh, how she adored you from the moment she laid eyes on you. You had all the qualities she dreamed of in a partner for her son—sweet, caring, and just the right amount of fierce. She saw the connection between you two right away, even if Sebastian refused to acknowledge it. In her mind, you were already the perfect match for her precious boy. You had no idea just how often she'd drop hints, trying to nudge Sebastian toward you, much to his exasperation.

But that was Mama Solace—she loved to meddle in the most loving way possible. This visit would be no different.

She sat in the comfort of the plane, ready to depart from her home country to meet you two again.

The third person was Allison.

She darted around a local clothing store, her father’s credit card clutched in her manicured fingers like it was a divine gift. Her gel nails clicked against the plastic as she browsed the racks, the shopping spree a temporary balm for the simmering rage she felt toward you. Her irritation with you had long passed the point of tolerable, and only the thrill of buying something new could calm her nerves.

How dare you disrupt her carefully laid plans? All you had to do was stay in your lane, accept your role, and everything would have gone smoothly. But no—you had to get in the way, threatening the perfect web of control she thought she had spun. The plan had been flawless, but now, with every step you took, you were messing it all up.

Sebastian, thankfully, was still in the dark about everything. He was too distracted, too wrapped up in his own confusion to see the truth right in front of him. But that was fine with her. Allison believed she held all the cards. She had you, Sebastian, and the whole situation under her control—or so she thought.

She smiled to herself, picking up a striking red dress—perfect for her next date with Sebastian. The fabric would hug her in all the right places, showing off her figure. In her mind, it was only a matter of time before he saw her the way she pretended to see him, and this dress would be another step toward that.

As she stepped up to the cash register, her confidence faltered when the cashier swiped her card and it declined. Her father was still furious with her, apparently. She gritted her teeth in frustration, but quickly smoothed over her expression. She wasn't about to let this minor inconvenience ruin her day.

Without missing a beat, Allison pulled out her phone, her fingers dancing across the screen like it was second nature. She knew exactly how to handle this.

"Hey, handsome," she texted, her words dripping with flirtation. "Mind helping your favorite girl out?~"

It was easy—too easy, in fact. She had gotten used to manipulating situations to her advantage, and she was confident Sebastian would give her money. He always did.

Then there was Painter.

While Allison paid with Sebastian’s help and strolled out of the shop, Painter quietly entered his own—at the other end of the city center. Today, the usual sleek black suit made from expensive cotton was left in the closet. Instead, he wore a casual outfit: thrifted brown pants, a simple white shirt, and a green checkered vest that his mother had picked out for him years ago. He never liked it at first, but eventually, he came to admit—green was definitely his color.

Dressed like this, Painter looked like any other trendy, laid-back guy. You'd never guess he was the heir to Urbanshade, one of the most powerful companies around. His father had been grooming him for years to take over, especially after Painter managed to graduate from Yale with top honors. He was the pride of the family—a model Ivy League student, exactly as his parents had always hoped for.

But unlike his friend Sebastian, who lived by his own chaotic set of rules, Painter was always one of those people who excelled in everything, effortlessly. To the outside world, he was the golden child, the genius destined for greatness.

Yet for Painter, it was all a curse. His intelligence, his success—it only weighed him down, shackling him to a future he didn’t want. His heart was never in the world of business, but his family couldn't see that. To them, he was the prodigy who would continue the legacy. To him, it was a prison. The more success he achieved, the more trapped he felt.

It was why he enjoyed days like this—disappearing into the city, blending into the crowd where nobody knew or expected anything from him. Just for a little while, he could pretend to be someone else, a simple tech shop owner that tries to raise his own money to open up a small art studio instead.

While he worked, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the keys of his laptop, his thoughts inevitably drifted to you. He had seen you a few times with Sebastian in the city, always from a distance. Yet, despite never formally meeting you, he knew more about you than you could have imagined. Sebastian had talked about you often, and though Painter stayed in the shadows of your life, observing from afar, something stirred in his chest whenever he thought of you.

It was ironic, really. He was so familiar with the details of your existence, while you didn’t even know he existed. You were unaware of the person quietly watching your story unfold, aching from the sidelines. There was something about you that captivated him—perhaps it was the way you seemed to bring a kind of life to those around you, or maybe it was simply how you existed in Sebastian’s orbit.

But there was one thing that bothered him more than anything: Allison.

It pained him to know how she had manipulated your life, how she had sunk her claws into Sebastian’s world and, by extension, yours. Painter had known for some time what Allison was up to, and unlike Sebastian, he could see right through her facade.

Just like Allison, Painter had developed his own plan.

But his wasn't born out of selfishness or jealousy. It was something else—something more complex. While he hated to admit it, he wanted to find a way to cross paths with you, to help you in a way that would loosen the hold Allison had over you. And maybe, just maybe, he'd get closer to you in the process.

Though Painter’s mind was sharp, his heart was tangled in emotions he didn’t yet fully understand.

The last person who could understand Painter’s feelings was you.

You were navigating the city streets, your hands busily typing on your phone, trying to figure out where exactly you needed to go. With your streaming account temporarily banned, you had decided to get your laptop fixed—the keys were loose, and the screen was slightly cracked. The device had been with you for years, but it was clearly on its last legs. Maybe it was time for a new one, but for now, fixing it seemed like the easier option.

Eventually, you spotted it: a neat little shop with good reviews online. It seemed like the right place, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.

Immediately, the smell of coffee greeted you. The shop had a warm, comfortable atmosphere, far cozier than you’d expected for a tech repair spot. There were shelves lined with new devices, a small selection of popular games, and a table for waiting customers. Despite the welcoming vibe, the place seemed empty—except for a young man at the counter.

He caught your eye right away, dressed in a casual yet stylish outfit that seemed effortless. His name tag drew your attention next, and you noticed something curious: an elegant name had been crossed out with a dry black marker, replaced with a word scribbled hastily over it—"Painter."

You weren’t sure what to make of him, but something about him seemed different. And without knowing it, the moment you stepped into the shop, you had walked into his world.

"Uhm, hi?" you greeted, your voice breaking the silence.

The young man behind the counter stared at you, caught off guard as if you had walked in at the worst possible moment. His eyes lingered on you for just a second too long, making the situation feel a bit awkward. There was something about the way he looked at you—almost like you had thrown him off balance. The way his gaze fixed on you, wide and a little too intense, made you wonder if you’d interrupted something.

"Oh, h-hello! Welcome, greetings. How can I help you today?" he stammered, clearly flustered. His response was a mix of polite and awkward, as though he hadn’t expected anyone to walk in. Maybe he wasn’t used to customers, or perhaps he was just an intern still getting the hang of things. Either way, he seemed utterly unprepared.

You smiled politely, deciding not to dwell on his awkwardness. "I’m here to get my laptop fixed," you explained, pulling the device from your bag and setting it on the counter. "It's been acting up—some of the keys are loose, and the screen's a bit cracked."

He nodded, though you noticed his hands were a bit shaky as he reached for the laptop. "Right, of course. I’ll take a look."

As he started inspecting the device, you took a moment to glance around the shop again, feeling oddly comfortable despite the rocky start to the conversation. There was something about him, though—his nervous energy, the way he seemed to be trying so hard to maintain a professional front. It was endearing in its own way.

What you didn’t know was that Painter wasn’t usually like this. Normally, he was calm and collected, able to handle even the most difficult situations. But the moment you walked in, something shifted. He had seen you before, from a distance, but never this close, and he wasn’t prepared for the rush of feelings he hadn’t even realized were there.

A small, unspoken crush had quietly crept up on him. He didn’t know why, but there was something about you that drew him in. And now, standing there with your laptop in his hands, he was doing his best to keep it together.

"I can take a look at it later. I’d say you can pick it back up… in like a week?" Painter offered, casting a polite smile your way. His expression was calm and professional, but beneath that exterior, his heart was racing.

You nodded, accepting his answer. After settling some details, you left your beloved laptop in his care, trusting him with the task. It felt strange to part with it, but the shop seemed reliable enough, and Painter—despite his awkwardness—seemed competent.

As you exited the store, you had no idea what you’d just set in motion.

For Painter, this wasn’t just a simple repair job. When you left your laptop with him, you unknowingly handed him exactly what he needed—the tools to execute the plan he’d been carefully crafting. Allison had been manipulating both you and Sebastian for far too long, and now Painter had the opportunity to expose her for what she truly was.

Your laptop would be the key to unraveling her schemes, and he was determined to set everything right, even if it meant crossing a few lines along the way.

Five people had already been moved. Now, it was Painter's turn to move them again, or at least some of them.

He had you exactly where he wanted. You left the shop, your laptop in his possession. That was step one. Now, he had to breach your digital privacy. He’d never done anything like this before, and the thought of doing what Allison had once done left a heavy weight in his gut. Yet, as soon as you left, he got to work. The laptop was old, practically ancient, but logging into your profile was easy—there wasn’t even a password. Your naivety was almost charming.

Everything was there—passwords, emails, data, and every digital memory. It was essentially Jelly’s—no, your—entire identity, captured in one place. He could call Sebastian, expose the laptop, and reveal his nasty girlfriend’s secrets. But no, Painter was above that. He preferred to play god.

His personality was usually against it but he will gladly bend the rules for his best friend…and his own potential crush.

Step two was breaching the streaming website to reclaim your account. A task simple enough for a Yale student with the right tools. Allison thought she'd been 'Jellycatfished,' but now it was Painter in control.

The account was exactly as you and Allison had left it. He couldn’t resist clicking on one of the stream recaps, your voice filling the room through the laptop speakers. There it was—undeniably yours.

He snatched his phone off the counter and dialed a number.

“‘Delia, bring the camera and the good microphone. We’re shooting something at the shop.” Cordelia, another worker in the store and a small-time content streamer, was known for her quirky charm. He knew she was the perfect partner for what he had in mind.

“Painter? For what?” she asked.

“We’re about to make someone a star.”

Cordelia didn’t hesitate. She was on her way, gathering the equipment for a hidden camera setup along with a quality microphone."

Next, it was Painter's turn to text Allison. He still remembered her number from when he’d seen it on Sebastian’s phone. A plan began to form in his mind, one that required precision and just the right touch of manipulation.

'Hey, Allison, right? Sebastian left a gift for you here. Here’s the address.'

He included the shop’s address, carefully typing it out before hitting send. He imagined the moment her phone would buzz, her eyes narrowing at the unexpected message. Would she hesitate, wondering if it was real? Or would her curiosity get the best of her?

Painter smiled to himself. Everything was falling into place. He wasn’t just setting a trap—he was weaving a performance, a story in which Allison would play a crucial role. Now, all he had to do was wait for the show to begin.

It was evening, and the store had long since closed, lights were out, though Painter had left the door unlocked. Everything was meticulously arranged—candles flickered softly, casting a warm glow around the room; a bouquet of red roses sat elegantly on the counter. But the centerpiece was Painter himself, dressed in an expensive, perfectly tailored cotton suit. He had spent hours preparing, adjusting his tie, combing his hair, making sure every detail was flawless. As he caught his reflection in the window, he almost didn’t recognize himself. He had never looked better.

Then, the door creaked open, and Allison stepped in. She wore a tight red dress that clung to her in all the right places, her hair perfectly styled. She carried herself with an air of confidence, as if she expected something grand—but her eyes betrayed her surprise as they scanned the room. The soft candlelight, the roses, and finally, they settled on Painter.

For a moment, there was silence as their gazes met.

"Let me introduce myself," Painter began, his voice calm and formal, though inside, the sweetness of his own tone made him sick. He forced a charming smile, the kind that was too perfect, too practiced. "I’m Painter—it’s a nickname," he added with a soft chuckle, as if trying to break the ice. "And I’m the heir to Urbanshade Corp."

He let the weight of his words linger, watching her reaction. He could see the curiosity in her eyes, the slight confusion.

"You’re probably wondering why you’re here," he continued, his voice smooth and rehearsed, like this was a well-orchestrated play.

This wasn’t just a conversation—it was a performance, and she had walked right into his scene.

"Painter? What’s going on? Where’s Sebastian?" Allison asked, her voice laced with surprise, though Painter could see she was already caught in his web.

"He’s not here. Sorry, I lied," Painter admitted, his tone smooth, but with a playful hint. He took a slow step toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. "Can you really blame me for wanting to be alone with someone so beautiful?"

He took another step, closing the distance between them.

"So... funny."

He was closer now, almost brushing against her.

"And intelligent?" His voice dropped to a whisper as he stood chest to chest with her, his breath warm against her ear.

Allison's eyes flickered with realization. The heir to Urbanshade Corp, standing so close, so eager—was he asking her out? Maybe it wasn’t so crazy to consider. A man of his status, his wealth... she could have a little fun on the side. A side fling wouldn’t hurt, right?

She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the crisp fabric of his suit under her fingers, catching the scent of his expensive aftershave. "You’re quite charming yourself," she said, her voice laced with a fake giggle designed to make men fall at her feet. But Painter played along, his smile widening.

"Oh?" he murmured, his voice dripping with charm. "Maybe you’d like to show me just how much?"

Allison leaned in, rising onto her toes to meet his height, her lips brushing close to his own, not touching yet. The tension between them was thick, charged with unspoken possibilities. For a brief moment, Painter thought he had her, that she was playing into his hands.

But then she stopped.

His lips hovered just shy of her skin as he whispered, "How much... you’re lying."

The playful edge in his tone had vanished, replaced by cold calculation. He would love to slap her, simply for cheating on his best friend. But now was hardly the time, not like this.

“You are not supposed to be his girlfriend. You are not Jelly and you don't deserve him.” His words caught her in surprise before she seemed to laugh.

“What do you know? They stole my identity! Ask Sebastian! I am the victim!” It was a poor try to defend herself.

“A victim? Another brilliant lie, congratulations. You officially make me sick.” The words were enough to set off her rage and she raised a hand to hit him, a hand that he caught in the middle of the action. “Don't you dare.”

“You know what? Fine, to hell with you. I am NOT them but it doesn't matter because everyone believes me anyways. I HAVE PLAYED YOU ALL. I GOT THE ACCOUNT BANNED. FUCK YOU, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU STUPID IDIOTS. SEBASTIAN IS MINE AND I WON. I AM RIGHT AND I HAVE WON. I STOLE THEIR IDENTITY AND BECAME JELLYCATFISHED.”

Suddenly, the ceiling lights blazed to life, flooding the store in harsh white light. Allison blinked, momentarily blinded, as Cordelia stepped out from behind the shadows, a sly grin on her face.

"And that’s a wrap!" Cordelia announced, her voice dripping with amusement. "Great work, everyone. So authentic, Painter." She shot her boss a playful wink.

Allison’s eyes darted from Cordelia to Painter, confusion overtaking her. A second ago, she had been in control—or so she thought. But now, the anger and seduction drained from her face, replaced by a wide-eyed, flabbergasted look. She felt like a deer caught in headlights, utterly lost.

"You see," Painter began, his voice smooth but laced with triumph, "43 thousand people just witnessed your grand confession. Live and in full HD." He let the weight of his words sink in, a twisted smile forming as he saw the realization dawn in her eyes. "You’re a star now, Allison. Just like you always wanted to be."

Cordelia had filmed it all—the near-cheating, the manipulation, the confession—and streamed it live on Jellycatfished, the very platform that had become Allison’s downfall.

Painter took a step back, admiring his work. His plan had come together beautifully, every detail falling into place like a carefully painted masterpiece. He couldn’t help but applaud himself mentally for the sheer brilliance of it all. Soon enough, the lawsuit would hit Allison—public shame was only the beginning.

Outside the store, Sebastian stood frozen, just out of sight but close enough to hear everything. His phone was clenched tightly in his hand, his knuckles white with the pressure. He had seen the signs but ignored them, convinced he knew the truth. But now, as the reality of what had unfolded hit him, it was clear.

He had been wrong. And he had lost.

#sebastian solace #roblox pressure #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #pressure #sebastian solace fanfic #pressure x reader #streamer au

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wheelie-sick · 23 hours

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going to just... dissect the whole "glasses make me disabled" thing as someone who is moderately disabled and mildly visually impaired because it annoys me to death. I know this is going to be controversial but if you have vision that is fully corrected by glasses then you are not disabled by your vision nor are you visually impaired.

Visual impairment

let's begin with the definition of visual impairment according to several universities

"Vision impairment means that a person’s eyesight cannot be corrected to a “normal” level." - University of Pittsburgh Department of Opthamology

"‘Visual impairment’ (VI) is a term used to describe a loss of sight that cannot be corrected using lenses." - University of Oxford

the US EEOC also answers the question of whether all people who wear glasses are disabled:

"No, not everyone who wears glasses is an individual with a disability under the ADA. When deciding if an individual with a vision impairment who uses (or used, in the case of a past impairment) “ordinary eyeglasses or contact lenses” is an individual with an “actual” or “record of” a disability, the ADA directs that their impairment should be assessed as it is corrected by the lenses." - US Equal Employment Opportunity Commission

visual impairment exists as a category for people with uncorrectable vision loss or other vision related conditions. most definitions of visual impairment also include eye movement disorders (e.g nystagmus) and other eye conditions that are not correctable but do not necessarily cause traditional vision loss. these are exceptions, but again, are not correctable with glasses.

if your vision is correctable with glasses it is not visual impairment. period. full stop.

Disability

there are two different ways you can look at disability and fully corrected vision fits neither:

the social model

the social model of disability looks at disability as it is caused by society's lack of access. let's start with a fact: 81% of adults wear some sort of corrective eyewear! that is the vast majority of people. people who wear glasses are just simply not facing structural barriers in the world because the world is built for people who wear glasses by people who wear glasses.

and, no, being bullied in the playground is not a form of structural disadvantage. children bully each other for any and every reason.

"but I can't drive without my glasses!"

I can't walk in hot concrete without shoes. that doesn't make shoes a disability aid nor does it make needing shoes a disability. plenty of things require something else to allow you to do something, that doesn't make needing those things a disability. not all forms of support for an action are disability aids.

the medical model

the medical model looks at disability through the lens of impairment. wearing glasses with fully corrected vision is not an impairment.

people often point to hearing aids and say "well deaf/hard of hearing people are disabled despite hearing aids!" and it makes it clear you have never worn hearing aids. disability aids do not correct they accommodate. glasses mean you get to see at 20/20 vision. hearing aids are imperfect accommodations. wheelchairs are imperfect accommodations. feeding tubes are imperfect accommodations. the list goes on.

glasses mean you get to live your life exactly how someone who doesn't wear glasses would. someone wearing hearing aids does not get that. a wheelchair user does not get that. etc. because those disability aids are something you have to live your life around. they define your day to day routine. the day to day routine with glasses is 1. wake up in the morning 2. put them on 3. take them off at night 4. possibly clean them somewhere in there. you get to forget about glasses. I do not get to forget about my hearing aids or FM system or crutches or wheelchair because they are ever present in my life.

* just a note: this post is not referring to people who wear glasses and don't have fully correctable vision

** OP wears glasses with a high prescription, his vision is just not fully correctable

#physical disability #physically disabled #sensory disability #visual impairment #visually impaired #cripple punk #cripplepunk

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uriekukistan · 1 day

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thoughts on jjk 270, unfiltered for your reading pleasure

honestly the whole chapter feels like a disservice to megumi. i know i say that all the time, and maybe i'm just too jaded, maybe i'm wearing favorite character goggles idk, but as a whole i think this chapter was just. not good so if i wanna talk about it with regards to the Favorite Character, i will

my first thought seeing megumi at tsumiki's grave was that gege was gonna finally give a proper moment where he could grieve and reach some kind of closure, maybe get some of the overdue development he's earned. like to me there's nothing better than when the emotionally reserved character breaks down, and this would have been the perfect moment. i feel like so much of megumi's character has been built around his relationship to tsumiki, and the past 60 chapters-ish have been building up to this moment where megumi can properly grieve and maybe express some kind of remorse to tsumiki for being a bit of a brat when he was younger, but he never gets that. instead, we get this really stale and emotionless ending for their relationship, and for megumi's character as a whole. like idk, this whole time he's wanted to be able to apologize to tsumiki and make it up to her after everything she did for him, and he never even gets a moment to mourn. i hate that for him.

next. why am i getting more emotionally satisfying endings for side characters that i literally dgaf abt than for main characters like megumi, yuuta, gojo (i'll stand by the fact that i think he should have died, but like show people mourning him damn), nobara, YUUJI?????? idk like wtf is going on here. to me there is no reason to get a more satisfying ending for that middle school friend of yuuji's who was relevant for like two pages before i get a satisfying end for the literal deuteragonist of the story

then there's the whole thing w hana. i'm not even saything this from a shipping standpoint, but it's frustrating to me that megumi gets to reach some kind of peace w hana and have a good conversation with her before he talks to itadori, the person who's been by his side this whole time, the person who appreciates him for who he is and not their idealized version of him, the person who he decided to live for, the person who arguably means the most in his life right now. he doesn't get to exchange a serious heart to heart with him, but he gets to have a shallow surface level interaction with hana? idk i just feel like it reduces his character to something very superficial and i hate to see it.

and maybe i'm just dumb but i don't get like. any of these new plot points that have been introduced, but honestly, i don't care to understand. it seems like gege is in fact trying to set up a second part to jjk and im just so annoyed by that, because we get this rushed ending where nothing reaches proper fruition so he can introduce these new plots? like idk, somehow that pisses me off more than if he just fumbled the ending, but i hold that thought until we know for sure that he's making a second part.

this was supposed to be more general, but i got carried away w my thoughts abt how bad megumi's ending was fumbled. anyway. yeah canon doesn't exist to me past 268 :D

#jjk 270 #jjk leaks #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi

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ghouldtime · 3 days

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Ghost'ed

Been thinking about literal Ghost! Ghost. Maybe it's playing too many ghost hunting games or watching too many shows but I cannot stop thinking about it. You also cannot convince me this man wouldn't be a restless spirit. His entire life is troubled and I don't see him going down in a peaceful way or leaving until he feels the job is done - and likely ending up trapped as a result

I wrote this at work so sorry in advance for any typos or slip ups!

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Ghost hunting wasn’t exactly what most people would list in "Top ten relaxing hobbies" - but it's not like you were most people. You were simply you. The same you who thought spending your time speculating about spooky specters was one of the best ways to pass by those few stretches of free time that could be all too fleeting in the hellscape known as adulthood.

The stares that followed you when you announced paranormal investigation as a hobby was something you knew all too well. After all, telling someone you’re a ghost hunter only stood as a slightly more socially acceptable version of telling them you believed in bigfoot (you did, but that’s beside the point). The dozens of cheesy TV shows certainly popularized it but they did little to help with the perception of it.

When the face of popular ghost hunting media was full of grown men who screamed like a squirrel high on helium at every little thump of a house settling, it did little to help what people automatically thought of when they heard of your unique hobby. Plenty still turned their noses up, scoffed slightly as they rolled their eyes and sneered, “Aren’t you too old to be doing that?”

Or worse. They gave a tight-lipped smile, nodded, and crinkled their eyes as they said, "Oh, interesting." While the tension in their body told of holding back laughter or wanting to bolt right on out of there, far far away from you.

Quite frankly, you didn't care what they said anymore as it was your life to live, not theirs. You’d seen enough to know without a fraction of a doubt that there was more beyond the veil of life itself, hiding just out of sight. The hundreds of hours you spent wandering dark hallways and dilapidated ruins with nothing but your flashlight and ghost box proved otherwise. At least it proved it to you.

Proving it to others was a horse of another color. Skeptics who spit their criticism loud enough to deafen even the most positive prevalent of voices in the community were a dime a dozen. Unfortunately, their existence was as certain as the sky is blue. Skepticism was apart of human nature, after all. They would always exist as long as the day and night kept up their eternal dance.

Convincing them was a fruitless effort. You'd sooner be able to convince hippos to fly than you'd convince them of the truth you knew. Trying to get everyone to agree, to acknowledge the paranormal, was hopeless and something you certainly weren't going to waste your life on no matter what they called your or what they said.

As far as you were concerned, being paid to sit in the dark alone and find evidence of life beyond the grimy waters of death itself was a pretty sweet gig. The naysayers could seethe in their own jealousy all they wanted because at the end of the day, you’re getting paid to do what you love. That they never could take away from you.

They'd never be able to have the same thrill that you did as you took on another case, ready to see even more of what the phantasmal realm had to offer.

Anticipation, nervousness, and excitement rolled together in a palpable energy you hid beneath a calmer exterior every time you took a job. There always would be that wonder there, the question of what exactly you might find dangling just out of reach, the hope that maybe, just maybe you might see even more than you already have. Another chance to investigate meant yet another night spent lurking in the shadows, tirelessly trying to find more evidence of the great world beyond the grave and its inhabitants. Tonight certainly would be no different.

An older couple quite reluctantly booked an appointment for a standard investigation after mysterious things that they really could not explain, no matter how they went about it, happened time and time again. They'd tried to ignore it, they said, but it only got worse.

Footsteps that echoed through the house at first in a gentle patter had become confident strides. When they went to look, no one was there. Doors that used to slowly creak open, as if blown by the wind, instead started to rattle the frame with force as they opened or slammed in the middle of the night. The husband looked particularly miffed when he groused about the TV going on at odd hours of the night, while his wife seemed more concerned about the possibility of someone having broken in and the fact that it kept doubling in intensity as time went on. The list went on and on about their complaints ranging from things being moved around to always finding a light turned on in a room in the middle of the night. There most certainly was something going on if all of what they were saying was true.

The glaring parade of red flags that easily would send others running for the hills lured you in. Like a dog with a scent, you weren't going to drop the trail, oh no. You were there to sink your teeth and claws in and not let go. Come hell, heaven, or high water - nothing would stopping you.

True to your title, you were a paranormal investigator which warranted a lot more work and professionalism than the standard ghost hunters you saw on TV who couldn't tell the difference between a gust of wind and a ghost. Your job was to research, conduct a proper paranormal investigation, and provide your evidence - or lack of, if it was truly devoid of haunting. But here hardly sounded like it.

Taking your time and reassuring them that you were, indeed, a professional, you went over all the usual questions with them: when did this start, how old is your house, any history of deaths in it, have you acquired any new items recently, do you have any items that were second hand or antique, any family heirlooms in the house, was it in any particular location, etc etc.

Every angle had to be considered, especially the mundane. Plenty of times, people just had a poorly constructed house, deeply held superstitions, and a touch of paranoia to make for a perfect combination of nothing happening at all. That didn’t seem to be the case here, however. While none of their answers pointed in a clear direction of what it might be, it still all pointed to signs of something unworldly happening. But that's what you were there for. To determine if there actually was a ghost, why it was there, and maybe who it was (if things went well and it felt like cooperating).

You bid them a good night as they headed off with family friends in a beat up convertible, chattering away without a care in the world as if they didn’t have a paranormal parasite problem. At least they were going to go enjoy their night by having an evening out instead of breathing down your neck like some of those who hired you. Locking the door, you trudged in with your gear and began the initial inspection with practiced ease.

A haunting in a house as young and modern as theirs was quite unusual. Open, airy rooms completed with white, sleek, almost eye-hurtingly clean interiors made up the entirety of the house. Even as night crawled higher and higher into the sky, pulling its dark cloak over the land, the house stayed bright. Nothing about it said haunted or caught your eye. The scariest thing there was likely the heating bill.

As far as your research showed, there hadn't been a death in it or on the land. The owners also seemed quite appalled at the idea of antiques (go figure) so that went right out the window, too. Normally there might be some stashed somewhere that they weren't thinking about, like the attic, but this house didn’t even have that. No basement, no attic, no creepy graveyard in the back; it was a normal, suburban house that shouldn’t have anything going on.

Perusing the house at a leisurely pace, you browsed each and every room with a thorough consciousness of finding something, anything, that could possibly have started it. Yet you turned up empty handed. Everything was as pure and alabaster as the marble countertops and the expensive sleek metal furniture.

Oh well, not every job would be easy. And not every haunted house was obligated to look run-down and rustic. Some ghosts just had more upper class tastes - or were unfortunate enough to be stuck in an eyesore like this. Maybe a ghost would add some actual personality to their home...

Seeing as they'd said there wasn't exactly a rhyme or reason as to where things would happen, you decided a central room was your best bet. The living room was open enough for everything and an easy place any spirits could find. It had plenty of room for your equipment and the open layout meant you had a great vantage point for the whole house.

Preparing your gear came as naturally as breathing to you, the tasks you've done dozens of times over were a matter of habit. Moving through the motions was your second nature as you worked, not batting an eye as you checked batteries and strategically stationed your gear. It only took a matter of minutes to have your cameras, light system, motion activated interactable objects, ghost box, and the rest of your fancy gadgets set up all around the room.

Placed on the coffee table was your heaviest piece of equipment - your modified spirit box that you had made some special adjustments to just to make sure your results were as accurate as possible. The broken antenna and attached amp weren't standard, nor were the noise reducers, but they stood as a testament to why you were a professional and why you kept getting called out to different places. You knew how to get results and tuned every tiny thing to your needs. There was no room for error or doubt alike in an already uncertain field.

Double checking everything was ready to go once more once more, you plunged the room into somewhat true darkness as you drew the curtains shut and pressed the button on the spirit box, causing it to crackle to life. Speeding through the static of radio stations, it scanned the many frequencies in a blur, far too fast for any natural noise to come through. The whirring of it evened out into a constant, muffled background noise that you’d spent countless hours listening to. Its familiar hum lulled you into a relaxed state, your heart as steady as your calm breaths despite the slight buzz of familiar adrenaline you always felt when you first started. A small beep signaled the successful activation of the digital thermometer as you walked around in a slow, even pace, checking all around.

Taking a deep breath, you began as you always had. In a confident, but even tone you called out, “Is there anyone with me right now?”

....

........

Silence.

The static of the spirit box continued to filter through in its usual constant churning hum of white noise. Typical. Many supernatural beings wouldn't want to interact, especially not at first. You don't blame them. If a stranger barged into your house and demanded if you were there, pestering you with questions as threw their belongings around, you'd not want to answer them either. That wasn’t even considering that many were so unused to people hearing them or trying to talk to them, not at them. They didn't exactly register on the same frequency that humans did most of the time.

Walking around the room, your boots echoed on the tile flooring. Your footsteps ricocheted off of the high ceilings, amplified by the lofty ceiling and wonderful acoustics this house apparently had. Keeping your attention ever shifting, you kept alert for signs of anything happening. Looking too long in the dark and expecting things to happen would only yield false results and cause paranoia. You knew far better than to do that.

Nothing lit up, nothing beeped, nothing changed. There was conclusively nothing happening for the first few, long minutes as everything kept at an unwavering constant. Visiting each room, you rechecked their temperatures and tried to find anything amiss or out of place. Yet all seemed well, still, and normal.

Only when you crossed the hallway back into the living room after a quick visit to the bedrooms did your hair stand on end. A chill ran down your spine, the once warm air now holding the barest bite of cold on the edge. Holding up the thermometer, you narrowed your eyes at the steady decrease. While it wasn't quite freezing, it kept dropping and dropping. Numbers ticked lower and lower, your hair stood further on end as a small shiver ran through you as the chill dipped lower and lower. Bingo. First sign of activity of the night. It wasn’t much but it was plenty to know that something was happening here.

Despite the crisp chill, nothing else shifted in the room. Silence prevailed behind the distant drone of your equipment; mainly the comforting, steady typical static of the spirit box. Even the appliances seemed to have gone quiet, exchanging their usual low thrumming rhythm for a break that suspended them in a noiseless limbo.

Your shifting movements echoed far louder than you would have liked as you paced around the room, looking for something new, anything. An actual tangible reaction you could record would be just what you needed but so far, the haunt was holding out. “What is your name?” You asked, keeping your voice as steady as you can as you tried to switch it up.

Continual feedback from the spirit box sounded as steady as can be. Still, there was no voice trying to get through it. The fabricated noise reigned supreme as it did its job, whirring away. Pressing your lips into a thin line, the smallest hint of a frown tugged at your lips as disappointment flickered through you. Okay, that's fine. It usually took a few tries anyways.

A faint, sparkling crackle escaped from it as you heard one, tiny word in a rumbling timbre. One, single word that halted you mid step, your head snapping towards the machine.

“Ghost.”

Doing a double take, a grin split across your face as your heart jumped with joy. A response! A true, actual response. Not that it exactly answered your question but it meant something was listening.

There was something here!

Nearly tripping over your own feet, you scampered over to your beloved machine. Your eyes fixated on the glowing orange screen, gleaming with glee.

“W-what’s your name?” You repeat a bit louder unable to hide the excited tremble in your voice or hands, figuring the ghost likely didn't hear you right.

Static white noise continued for a few seconds, the little x in the corner flashed once, twice, before it lit up solidly.

“Ghost.”

The smile you held dropped only for a fraction of a second before you cleared your throat. Well, maybe your slight stutter and excitement got in the way. You did talk fast when excited, after all. Taking a deep breath, undeterred as can be, you repeated in a far steadier voice, “What is your name?”

This time you made sure to enunciate every single syllable, speaking clear and confidently into the air.

One flashing X glowed in the corner of the screen. Another flash. A third. Fourth. Fifth.

Yet again, the deep voice came a bit louder and rougher this time. A thick Mancunian accent that barely picked up through the filter didn't dull the single word you were trying to avoid, “Ghost.”

Okay. Your brows furrowed deeper, your nose wrinkling slightly as your heart sank. The minor disappointment couldn't be kept off of your face as you really had hoped to hear something else. Approach one clearly isn't working.

Maybe he didn't speak English. Or maybe he wasn't sure that he was dead. Whatever. There was a ghost and he was answering, that's what mattered, you reminded yourself forcefully until the smile came back to your face and the smallest bit of a headache dissipated. Focus on that. Not on the slight annoyance you felt and the agitated twitch of your fingers.

Exhaling, you pursed your lips. Your grip retightened on your flashlight as you racked through questions in your mind, trying to find something that it would have to answer differently too.

“Can you do something?”

Hopeful, your eyes trailed around the room, praying that maybe the ghost would do something like interact with the many objects scattered about, or even the motion sensors.

Nothing happened for a few long moments, silence once again prevailing in the otherwise empty house.

Orange light flashed from the spirit box as the X lit up again, only for a second before the dreaded word repeated itself.

“Ghost.”

Before you could ask what that even meant, or curse it out for that matter, the spirit box and your flashlight shut off, plunging you into true darkness. The flashlight nearly flew from your hands in surprise as you flinched instinctually, your heart leaping into your throat. Frantically flickering the button of your trusty tool did nothing as you desperately tried to turn on your one source of light with the only way you knew how - only to be met with the continual sight of empty, non-shining bulbs.

Curses spilled from your lips in all the languages you knew as you fumbled for a battery pack, only to find them missing. What? But you swore that they were right there -- ugh, nevermind. This just wasn't going to be your night.

The initial panic subsided as the chill left the air, the residual regular warmth of the house sinking into the room as if blown in by a lazy breeze. Your hair still stood on end as you walked around with cautious, hesitant steps, having given up on the flashlight. There wasn't coming back from that.

It's only when you approached the spirit box, trying to turn it on to no avail, that you realized what he meant. You asked him to do something and he obliged.

He ghosted you.

God fucking damn it.

As you glared at the air in frustration, threw your hands up and personally cursed the fiend, you could've sworn you heard a resonating chuckle behind you as breath brushed against the nape of your neck in a way that sent shivers down your spine for a whole new reason.

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paraphwrites · 1 day

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so obviously the time period a character comes from impacts them. but i adore the analysis of dbda and loneliness so now i want to analyze the characters + their time period + loneliness

edwin. so, edwin is from the 1900s. he was raised with the knowledge that he would join the military, that he would get married. this was an accepted part of life. now, i do not wish to analyze the full scale of edwin's relationship with violence (at least, not here), but i do think it's interesting that edwin goes out of his way not to inflict harm on others. this is potentially because he was raised in such a way where that was the norm, and he always knew he did not fit traditional male standards. he has always preferred knowledge and books to fighting and sport. this would have been incredibly isolating, especially as a young boy in a school for children of military members. additionally, as a queer person, edwin would have been entirely socially isolated from his peers. whether they picked up on it like simon or just thought he was un-manly, the point stands: edwin would not have fit in with his peers and seemingly had no friends when he died. which is very sad. and very lonely.

crystal. crystal's parents neglected her for their work. she lashes out. she lashes out and pushes people away (or in front of traffic). she is volatile and destructive and she is like this because she lives in an age when parents are expected to care for their children, and her parents still actively chose not to. crystal is especially traumatized because even tho she is in upper class which may have a higher rate of willful parental neglect, the expectation is still that parents love their children. moreover crystal is psychic, and that's never really been fun. she'll be completely different from all her peers in a fundamental way which she probably never talks about with any of them! so, like, of course when david, a demon, comes along, she lets him in - she's finally with someone who understands and makes her feel less lonely. someone else who's weird and angry and pretty and supernatural. and then he, too, betrays her. there is also almost certainly a race element, which may further disassociate her from her peers, seeing as the upper class is usually very white.

jenny. so jenny grew up as a lesbian in the 90s. now, i don't know much about washington state, but i do know that they legalized gay marriage in 2012. which means for over half of jenny's life, she was living with the knowledge that she would never get to live the same type of life as her peers; though the white picket fence americana dream may have been less prevalent by the 90s, it still was very ingrained in american society - especially small town society. i wonder if part of jenny's gothic fashion is to distinguish herself from other people - if she cannot have the same lives as them, then no one will make the mistake of assuming she will.

so the night nurse is lonely in a very unique way. she is lonely because she does not have a proper conception of an actual human life. she has no friends or relationships - nor does she want to; she does not know what they are like. and, i think, because she exists so outside of time and removed from society, that it makes her inherently lonely. she is lonely because somehow she was created and somehow someone convinced her that her only purpose in life is to collect lost children and she is satisfied with this but she is also alone. she has no time period to be contextualized in, and that in itself is the context.

niko is lonely because her dad is dead and her mom lives in a different continent. and i think that because she is able to utilize manga and cartoons as a form of escapism, it allows her to fill that void of devastating loneliness a bit more. she lives in a world where if she doesn't want to think she does not have to. she is not obligated to be courageous. however, she also lives in a world where she is able to choose to self-isolate, even if that isn't good for her. so when she is sad she hides away because she can and it's scary and she doesn't want to do it alone but she doesn't want to do it with her mom. i've seen people saying crystal is such a teenage girl but niko? niko wants her mom to comfort her but doesn't want to talk to her mom. niko is horribly lonely and it's only a gay victorian twink who can get her to smile again. niko is lonely because she exists in a world which allows her to be and it takes someone who is not from this time to help her move past this

charles. god, we all know how lonely charles is. biracial, abused by his father, probably bisexual, good with people yet killed via hate crime, morally upstanding. charles is the epitome of loneliness because he grows up in such a particular moment of time. he lives in the 80s. feminism and queer rights have been radically shifting in the past two decades. the 80s have huge amounts conservative pushback from these movements. so, yeah, being gay isn't a crime anymore, but gendered expectations are being reestablished in a new harmful way. so, yeah, charles is growing up in a time of progress, but he's also growing up in a household which will absolutely be anti-progress, and ergo charles is stuck in this dichotomy of he could hypothetically have everything but that would mean losing everything, too. he's lonely because his dad beats him. he's lonely because his mom doesn't say anything. he's lonely because he has a piercing but his dad locked him in his room for three days after it. he's lonely because he attends a boarding school which rich racist pricks. he's lonely because never once in his life has he admitted how the intersection of all his identities puts him in a situation where he is completely alone. and he isn't alone -he's got edwin- but their experiences with loneliness are vastly different.

as i have said a stupid number of times, dead boy detectives is a story about loneliness. and the writers made these characters so damn brilliantly because they all make so much sense in the context they were raised in.

we are all shaped by the context's we're raised in. everyone is raised at a different moment in history in different environments with different families. human experiences are so unique that everyone is inherently lonely. but lonely does not mean alone and lonely does not mean forever. it means when you were fourteen you cried yourself to sleep but now you're twenty and know how to play cricket and your friends come to all of your matches. it means you were raised in a world that was cruel and unforgiving, AND it means that because of that you don't have to be. dead boy detectives teaches us that we're all horribly lonely, and maybe that makes each other a little less lonely

i'll take some of your burden if you'll take some of mine, and whatnot

#the conclusion was a bit bumpy #but you know what i'm saying #dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #save dead boy detectives #crystal palace #analysis #renew dead boy detectives #niko sasaki #jenny the butcher #character analysis

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dragon-kazansky · 2 days

Text

The song in our hearts

Lestat De Lioncourt x Female Reader

A musician with a heart that sings and an admirer who wishes to see his songbird thrive. Two beings in different worlds get caught up in each other when someone threatens to steal his songbird's spotlight. Loving Lestat isn't simple, and your life will never be the same again. What is eternity without chaos?

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Seven - Eleanor

You aren't seen by Amelie all week. The first glimpse she gets of you is at the theater that following Friday. You hadn't told her you had spent almost every night in Lestat's home. That would definitely give her ideas, and you didn't need that right now.

She follows you into your dressing room. You take a seat at your table and look at your reflection. You're looking a little paler than before.

“Are you alright?” Amelie asks softly. She could tell she was worried about you. “I went to your house a couple times, you weren't there.”

You turn and look at her. “I've been… busy.”

Amelie comes closer and takes your hand in hers. “Busy?”

“I've just got a lot going on.”

She presses her hand to your forehead. “You look a little off, but you don't seem to have a temperature. Do you need anything? Water? Food? To rest a little?”

You shake your head. “No. I'm okay.”

“If you're sure…” Amelie doesn't look convinced. She steps away and takes her leave.

You slump agaiant your dressing table and sigh, fingers digging into your hair. All week you have been sneaking off to Lestat's to simply be with him. To let him taste you. To let him hold you.

God, the way his arms felt around you was a dream. You wanted nothing more than that in life. Well, there was perhaps more you could want to do with him. He certainly knew as much.

‘Are you alright, Chéri?’

His voice is in your head. He seems to know every thought and feeling you have. You find you don't mind quite as much.

‘You're thinking a lot. Don't worry, mon amour.’

My love. That was the first time he had called you that.

A knock at your door makes you jump and turn around to see who it was. “Come in.”

The door opens and Jack enters. You offer him a smile and he smiles in return. “Amelie looked worried. Are you okay?” He asks.

“I assure you, I am well.”

‘More than well.’

You ignore Lestat in your mind.

“No one has seen or heard anything from you all week.”

‘I have certainly heard you.’

“No. I'm sorry. I've been busy. I'm still here though.” You smile again.

“Good. You're my best performer. You and that piano are my stars.”

‘The brightest star I have ever seen.’

You smile, but who you're smiling from is the question. You know who.

“I'll let you get ready.” Jack leaves you alone to prepare.

You look at yourself in the mirror and stare hard at your reflection. You smile at yourself.

The magician on stage takes a bow, and people applaud. Lestat watches with disinterest. He doesn't care for anyone else in this show. He wants to see his shining star. His darling. His music maker.

The stage clears and the lights turn to the manager, Jack. He babbles for a little while and then addresses the crowd with open arms. Lestat leans forward in his seat, a proud grin on his lips.

Your name is announced.

The curtain open to reveal your piano in place and as Jack exists the stage, you come on. Lestat can't teat his eyes away from you. You're wearing a gorgeous gown and around your neck is that ruby red necklace he gave you months ago.

Your eyes find his own and he winks at you from his box. You're gorgeous.

You take a bow and sit down at your piano. A few moments of silence fill the room before you fill the air with your beautiful music. You're playing his song again. Lestat smiles. If this was a declaration, he was listening.

Everyone in the room was hanging on to every note. You had them completely wrapped up in your magic. You were the siren and they were the sailors.

You played for the next half hour. You enchanted every soul in the room.

Lestat had fallen even more for you.

When your time was done you took a bow and left the stage. Lestat, as usual, leaves his box. He's waiting for you at your dressing room before anyone else. You smile as he reaches out and caresses your cheek gently with his fingers. His touch is ghostly, so light you could barely feel it.

As Lestat leans in, almost as if to kiss you, you're both interrupted by a voice. You both turn to see a young woman, mid twenties at least, looking at you.

“Excuse me, I don't suppose you know where Noah is? I didn't see him in the show tonight and I wanted to speak to him.”

You feel yourself go stiff. Lestat grabs your arm gently and smiles at the woman. “Who is asking?”

“My name is Eleanor. I'm Noah's sister. I wrote to him to tell him I was coming to see him perform, but I didn't get a response, at least not one that arrived in time.” She shuffles on the spot slightly. “I was disappointed to see he was not on stage tonight. Don't suppose you know where he's staying?”

You turn your eyes to Lestat for help. What were you supposed to say? ‘Oh gosh, we're so sorry, you see, your brother was being an ass and Lestat decided to feed on him until he was dead.’

Yeah, that would go down well.

“Did you not hear? He left,” Lestat tells her.

The woman visibly deflates. “He did? No, I hadn't heard.”

Lestat keeps his hand on your arm to keep you calm. “Perhaps his letter had yet to reach you.”

“Possibly,” she sighs.

Lestat feels you grabbing at the sleeve and puts on a polite expression for Eleanor. “If you don't mind, we are just leaving.”

She looks between you both and steps back, getting the message. “Of course. Forgive me. I better contact home and see if Noah got through. Thank you kindly, both of you.”

Lestat takes your hand and guides you past the young woman. You're holding onto him tight. He can feel your panic just from the touch of your hand.

Once you're out of the theater you drag him into the alley nearby.

“Shit, Shit, Shit!” You hiss out. “What are we gonna do?”

“Nothing,” he replies nonchalantly.

“Nothing?” You stare at him in disbelief. “You killed her brother and she's looking for him!”

Lestat shrugs. “So? She'll never find him. I disposed of the body.”

“Oh my God!”

“He can't help you.”

You glare at the vampire. “This isn't funny! I'm the last person Noah went to see. No one knows you were involved!”

“Calm, Chéri. All will be well. No harm shall come to you.” He holds your face in his cold hands.

“Lestat…”

“Shh. If you keep on worrying you'll get wrinkles.” He taps your nose with his finger. “Do you want that?”

“Stop messing around.” You wave his hands away from your face. “Someone has to take things seriously around here.”

“Why? Nothing to worry about. You'll see.”

You almost hate how unbuttered he is by this, but at the same time, how many times has he done this before? Lestat was a clever man. He surely chose his victims carefully. If people kept on disappearing from the same place, flags would be raised.

“I trust you,” you say softly.

Lestat grins. “That's what I like to hear. Now, back to mine for a nightcap?”

You roll your eyes and go with him.

When you get back to his house, Lestat can tell you're still freaking out over Eleanor's presence in town. You're all figgity in your seat. Lestat sighs and holds out the glass of wine in front of your face. When you don't take it from him he places it on the table beside you.

“I can make you forget,” he offers.

“Forget?”

“About Eleanor and her questions.”

“That might make things worse,” you sigh. You didn't want to forget that the family of a dead man was out there searching for him.

“Just for tonight.” Lestat leans over, his lips brushing along your ear. You feel a shiver run down your spine.

He closes the distance between you both and wraps his arms around you so smoothly. You fall into his embrace with ease. Whatever line there was between you before had been crossed, and you knew there was no going back. Lestat kisses along your jaw, your breathing came out in small little pants. He had you right where he wanted you.

“Lestat,” he name falls from your lips with ease.

“Shh.” He whispers in your ear. “Tonight you are mine and I am yours.”

His lips press against your own with desire. Long awaited desire. From this single kiss you knew he had been waiting a long time for this. Lestat had had his eyes on you for a while now. It was only a matter of time before he got what he wanted. Lestat could be patient when he wanted to be.

He pulls you into his lap and brings your bodies closer together. It's like a magnetic force bringing you together. You follow after his lips, your hands grab onto him wherever they can. Lestat lets you chase after every part of him that you want.

Your fingers dig into his hair as he pulls you to sit up in his lap. He lifts you up enough so he can lay you down and climb on top of you. His lips leave yours to trail back down your jaw and then your neck. Your back arches as he goes lower, down to your collarbone. His hands stay firm on your hips.

You're about to forget your own damn name, that's for sure.

His large hands go wandering under your clothes. You've never found yourself in this position before. Lestat had you feeling all kinds of ways.

You gasp as he sucks on the spot he bit you from last time you were here. The skin there was sensitive and had you shaking under him.

“Ma petite beauté.”

He speaks in a low voice. He's using every ounce of his charms to keep you with him. It's working.

His fingers pluck at your clothes. You don't even move to stop him. He smirks against your skin. He's about to undo the buttons but there's firm knocking at the door.

Lestat lifts his head. You look up at him. “Don't answer it.”

“Chéri, I do not get guests.” He looks at you.

You hear the knock again and Lestat rises from the couch. He fixes his hair and stalks slowly toward the door. You sit up and fix your clothes, missing the touch of his lips on your skin.

Lestat opens the doors. You watch from your spot on the sofa. He doesn't say anything as she steps back and lets the person inside.

Amelie.

You stand up quickly and hurry over to her. “What are you doing here?”

“I knew you would be here.” She looks you up and down. “I didn't know where else to go.”

You place your hands on her shoulders and look at her. Lestat watches from the door. He remains quiet as you talk to her.

“It's about Noah… the police came to the theater. His sister called them after finding his apartment. He's gone missing.”

You stare at her. Lestat can see the panic in your eyes. Eleanor was causing him problems. He is normally a little more clever when it comes to his victims.

“What… what's happening?” You ask.

“They're saying kidnap, but… they're also gonna look for a body… It was awful. They were all over the theater lookin’ for clues.”

You glance at Lestat who holds your gaze with a sharp look. You turn back to Amelie. “Let me walk ya home.”

Amelie nods and follows you out. Lestat doesn't even get to kiss you goodbye.

@awanderingghost @theprettiesthead @cosmixstar @theblueslytherin @katherine2098 @sawendel @floofdeloop @sitkafay @bigbaddie45 @bluscryn

@secretisme4 @darkqueen1995 @bridkesby @caribbeangal @sarcasticandfangirl @missjadesfics @kaybart19

#the song in our hearts #lestat de lioncourt #lestat de lioncourt x reader #interview with the vampire #dragon's lair

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rs-hawk · 3 days

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So just saw your post about not voting for trump. Good post. He's not a white nationalist though. Real white nationalists respect indigenous people. Place for every race and all that. He's just the run of the mill politician who says what he thinks will give him the most voters. Anyway, you'd probably be better treated by a white nationalist government lol.

This has been sitting in my ask box for like a month but just... Damn. This is wild.

You're telling me that I, a queer mixed Indigenous AFAB person who technically can be considered disabled, am respected by... White Supremacists? White Supremacists want me dead. I live in Texas. I come in contact with White Supremacists literally on a near daily basis.

They are the first ones to throw slurs at me. They are the first to say I should go back to my own country (and then say Reservation when I say that this is my country). They are the first ones to literally throw things at me at my day job. I have had people who I know for a fact are literally, LITERALLY, in the KKK, come into my job and ask why someone like me is working up front in a public establishment.

Again, I am mixed race. White Supremacists often either hate me off the bat because they know I'm mixed or see me as a minority and me simply existing in the same space as them is an affront. However, when they think I'm full White (as I am Italian and have been told I pass as Italian), and then find out I'm mixed it's so much worse. They take it as I lied to them. I had one customer at work a few years ago that we kind of flirted, and he was talking about taking me out when my job slowed down. I mentioned something off handedly about turquoise jewelry a few visits later, and he asked if I was "Indian". When I said yes, a total 180. He started accusing me of lying to him, saying I wanted to taint his blood line, blah blah blah.

Here's what you need to understand, sticking up for White Supremacists is just as fucked as being one. White Supremacists don't respect Indigenous Peoples. They want us gone. They want us somewhere they never have to see us. Reservations are not something we got out of respect. We have Reservations because we were forced to and it was all we were allowed. This is my ancestral land, and they still think I should be forced to live in another state because the government decided over a century ago (as the Nation I'm registered with was one of the last to be forced onto a Reservation) because they want to live here, in America, on traditional land, without wanting to see us.

White Supremacists don't respect us or any minorities. They want us out of their face. "A place for all races" just means out of their face or in what they consider in our place. A White Supremacist government is what created Reservations in the first place. A White Supremacist government is what forced my great grandmother's grandfather to be born on the side of the road during the march to the Reservation.

I am a firm believer that America is a Melting Pot. I am mixed race. I am proud of every aspect of who I am. I can list every ethnicity/race I am as I and my family are firm believers in knowing where you come from. As a child, my mom would quiz me on what I was and what side of my family it came from. It is important to know who and what you are. I have no issue with people being proud of who they are. There is no issue with wanting to only date/marry inside your culture imo. I don't have a problem with that. What is a problem is that White Supremacists (which is what I was calling Trump in my previous post) don't do that. They think they are better than other races. They don't want to even interact with other races. They. Are. Racist. And so is Trump. He called on the Proud Boys, a known White Supremacist group. Be serious.

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chevvy-yates · 3 days

Text

Sending out kudos to everyone who has shown their love towards Ryder for the past two years.

I love u all very much and every engagement, be it even just a like, means a lot to me.

I've intended to sorta make a cool post of some older vp of him as of today, September 17th, exactly 2 years ago I have created Ryder,— back then as a supposed supportive character for Vijay, very unsure if I would like him as Ry didn't visually turn out as I wanted him to be in the first place and he never went that way either afterwards — yet I find myself writing those lines instead.

I've accepted his look and his imperfection started to grow on me with each picture I took of him. Unlike my other ocs he went his own way leading me along to discover his personality. That's what makes him so different compared to my other blorbos and has me so attached to him.

I did not plan to make him a raver (he was supposed to become an 80s goth punk, a total different style than he's got now) neither that he would end up with a rogue AI controlling him. Only his name, basic info and the toxic family story was planned right from the beginning but that's pretty much it – Ryder showed me the rest of it.

Within the year 2023 I noticed more and more that Ryder has slowly but surly turned out to be my main character.

He turned out to be the most expressive and photogenic one of them all. I don't see him as the prettiest looking either yet he's my most precious and I love every pixel about him.

He's the one thing in my life I am actually truly 100% proud of.

Almost all my ocs exist because of him. They are his support characters. Without him half of them would not even exist. There would be no Thyjs. Even Garnet exists so Ry can live out his passion (that was not really put into the game but exists as lore: Technoise).

I am beyond happy to have created him.

He helps me in a lot of rather personal ways too I do not need to address here.

I got so much to tell about him (also about my other ocs) yet idk if I should continue or not as I find myself stuck with overthinking about it bc of lack of public response literally everywhere (this excludes private chat talks with close friends). Maybe Ryder's too intimidating (not the first time I would read that), his lore gets overlooked easily, or it's to much (confusing) text.

I cannot make anyone force-like him. Tastes are different. Minority is into others oc lore. Less time to read it all. The list is long. I'm aware of it all.

But I cannot underline it enough: do never hesitate to ask me questions about him. He's on my mind 24/7 and my biggest wish is to get this story out and done some day (whenever it will be) and receive some actual feedback on it what was liked.

Just a tiny detail is enough. <3

Another wish I have ever since I joined the CP77 fandom: that people would go back to comment each other more. We all do have little time for it, we all think "oh no so much text to read", we all are in our own bubbles rarley coming out to explore another bubble within this universe. It takes a lot of effort to do. people do seem scared on top to write anything at all for numerous reasons. I have all those problems as well. But I try to sit down and read the one or other lore chunk others wrote down and give a tiny comment as best as I can to make the creator have a smile on their lips. I truly wish we all would do this at least once a week to one person. once a month would be also fine. But if we don't this fandom will be dead soon enough and all thats left is just liking vp with characters on it we know almost nothing about. And maybe even those characters won't have lore anymore bc people stop creating it.

#about: ryder von scharfenberg #thoughts

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tennessoui · 2 days

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For the OTP questions, could I ask for 25 with the smithsonian au?? I feel like it would be funny to see what they do when they do have something in common 😭

lmao the smithsonian au !!! thank you for sending this in from this list of prompts !

25. do they have any hobbies they share?

lmao they would not be able to handle having anything in common but they probably honestly have a lot that they agree about they just....refuse to admit it.

but ok here are two things they have in common/hobbies they share: hating on the rocks (geology) team & bike riding. anakin picked up biking because he knew obi-wan liked it and he decided he was going to be Better At It than obi-wan, as if leisurely biking were a competition. but since it's not a competition they just sort of accidentally end up going on nice bike rides around the dmv area. almost like a dat---(gunshots)

and obi-wan has always hated the rock people because he's just silly and petty like that. anakin also has always hated the rock people because obviously space rocks are cooler than earth rocks. but when obi-wan finds out that anakin hates the rock people he finds a rock person to take out on a date (to their trivia team night) just because he knows anakin will hate that The Most. unfortunately, obi-wan also finds him annoying because he's a rock person. this is a new low for him:

Anakin's bouncing his leg up and down beneath the table, something he doesn't even notice until Padmé reaches out and grasps a hold of his knee.

"I'd ask if you needed a drink, but you've already had three," she mutters, squeezing once before letting go. "Come on, don't tell me you need to be drunk to spend time with Obi-Wan these days."

Anakin scowls, half at the name and half at the words. "I'm not thinking about him at all," he snaps back, which is a lie. "It's just rude to be late. Especially to trivia. Why are we even on the same team? That's not--"

"He thought it would be nice," Padmé says, taking a sip of her own cider. "He explicitly requested that we don't talk about work. Maybe he's trying to bond with you."

Anakin's scowl turns into a softer frown. Bond with him? Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn't want to bond with him. How would they even work if they weren't at each other's throats? What would they talk about? How would--

His mind flashes back to the first time they ever met, before Kenobi opened his mouth to reveal that beneath his gorgeous face, he was just a British dick.

He can feel his face heating, and he takes a sip of his beard to distract himself. Ugh. Kenobi. Kenobi.

"Apologies for the delay," Kenobi says, as if Anakin's thoughts have conjured him into existence. He drops into the chair next to Padmé and kisses her hello on the cheek.

Anakin's scowl is back. Fucking Europeans. He's not even a European. He's from an inconsequential fucking island in the middle of nowhere.

"Gregor here had to finish up a bit of work at the lab," Kenobi continues before looking across the table at Anakin. "Hello, Anakin," he says, tone noticeably cooler but there's something smug about it. About his whole face. And...everything. "Have you met Gregor? He's also a Smithsonian employee."

Anakin casts his gaze to the man still standing at the head of their table. "No," he says, then adds, lying through his teeth, "Pleasure."

"Which department?" Padmé asks sociably as Gregor sits down next to Obi-Wan, who smiles and places his hand on Gregor's arm.

"Mineral studies," Obi-Wan tells them. "I thought perhaps Gregor here would be a boon during the more technical science questions we can never get right."

"Oh, is that why you brought me along?" Gregor asks, turning to Obi-Wan with a familiar, sickening twinkle in his eyes. "And here I thought this was a date, Obi."

Obi-Wan laughs and pats his arm, but his eyes are tighter around the edges. He hates the nickname, Anakin knows. Apparently Gregor doesn't.

"Only if you win it for us, darling," he tells Gregor, and Anakin scowls.

Darling. Ugh. This is bar trivia.

"Mineral studies," he says suddenly. "What's that then?"

"Well," Gregor replies, puffing up the way anyone in DC does the moment they're given an opportunity to talk about what they do for a living. "I guess the easiest way to describe it is that I study rocks. I mean, that's really boiled down, and it's more like---"

He continues, but Anakin's stopped listening the moment Gregor said the word rocks. Rocks.

He raises his eyebrows at Obi-Wan in disbelief. He brought a rock guy to trivia. He's planning to fuck a rock guy. A rock guy. He shakes his head at the other man, who just blinks as if he doesn't understand. As if hating rock people isn't the one thing that they have in common.

This is a new low, even for Kenobi.

#asks #smithsonian au #obikin #dont ask me what obi-wan is thinking trying to make anakin jealous #he absolutely is trying to make anakin jealous #he doesn't even know why though #this is too complicated of an emotion for his lil head

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jamethinks · 1 day

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One thing I find very ironic about Spyxfamily is the way the Desmonds are portrayed. I understand that according to the narrative, they (namely Donovan) are the antagonists of the story, but I do find it quite tepid that so many character analysis is bonded by this very dichotomy style approach to understanding the characters (if that makes any sense).

I'm having a hard time approaching my point so bare with me if it starts to get confusing or disjointed.

I always see people talking about how the Forgers (aka the fake family) are able to have a happy relationship and a genuine bond while the Desmonds (aka the real family) are distant and uncaring of one another. There's a lot of emphasis on the parallels between Damian and Anya and how the presence of their fathers impact their lives. Most of the discussion is centered around shaming Donovan for not being more involved in Damian's life but not a lot of people are acknowledging why.

The whole reason for the fake family as part of Twilight's mission is because Donovan is a closed off skeptic who avoids unnecessary social interaction. This mission is supposedly the easiest way to get to him. As the story goes on, we gain a better understanding of just how shut off Donovan is and how much he actually isolated himself, even from his own family.

But the thing is, his actions are justified. The mere existence of Operation Strix validates his fears and anxieties. The fact that Twilight a spy is trying to expoilt the relationship he has with his children in order to get closer to him is the very reason he avoids them so much. It's people like Twilight that make him such a skeptical person.

Again, people praise Twilight for being a good dad, except he isn't really a good dad. It's all a facade. He's so dedicated to his goal as a spy for the West that he's willing to fake an entire family just to find out what Donovan is planning. Everything Donovan hates and resents is embodied in Twilight.

In the end, Twilight is just as harmful to Anya as Donovan is to Damian. He grabbed a random child from an orphanage and is using her for his own personal gain with limited regard for her well-being. We are not even sure what he plans on doing with her when the mission is over. Anya is obviously able to manipulate the situation to her own advantage, but that's only because she's a telepath. Any other kid would just be playing along, assume they just got themselves a new family overnight. We do see him grow and deepen his bond with Anya, in some cases threatening the mission for her benefit, but that was never a guarantee.

In a very frustrating way, Twilight is also contributing to Damian's strained relationship with his father and family. While Donovan obviously doesn't know what Twilight is doing, he's still aware that there are people out there who might. So, he continues to be guarded and make unreasonable demands of his children. He makes Damian feel he has to earn his place in his father's life because people like Twilight push Donovan to limit the number of people that are allowed in his life. I'm not saying it's Twilight specifically who's at fault, but people like him who are very much trying to force their way into his circle.

And I'm not saying of this yo defend Donovan or put down Twilight but I would like for less black and white thinking when talking about a Manga that hinges itself on nuance and the complexity of post war society. I find it a bit tired to keep categorizing characters as good or bad because it really hinders any conversation about them.

Idk I just feel there's a lot of moral ambiguity in sxf that really is intended to make us question our own moral code so it's weird seeing people ignore the actual harm Twilight and Yor cause just to reinforce their own limited moral values.

I don't think this makes much sense honestly.

#spy x family #sxf #loid forger #twilight #yor forger #anya forger #damian desmond #donovan desmond

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sillyromance · 24 hours

Text

...He picked me up.

Just a minute ago, it was a fight: loud screams, screeching of metal upon metal, dead people, scents of sweat and blood flooding the ground underneath my boots. Now, it's just me and him; he is so huge, a death battle below is nothing but an amusing bunch of shouting tiniest punching each other for no reason.

Many years ago, he left to serve a kingdom opposing mine. I knew him... Very well. But we have changed. He isn't my old friend any more as well as I'm not an immature student of Royal academy.

I don't know who ordered him to come here. I have no idea how he found me in that mess. But there is no doubt why I'm on his palm now. My fate is clear: he is a giant, and I'm a human. I'm significantly weaker; my sword is a toy which won't do him any harm. As if I intended to... Anyway, I throw the blade away - then look back in his blue eyes gazing at me softly, almost like they did before his deception.

No words are said. Feeling tears swelling at the corners of my eyes, I hold away sobs, but continue to stare right in his face, showing that I don't fear what's coming next. He moves his thumb and rubs my wet cheek as if trying to reassure me. I don't protest. It's... comforting to be remembered. To be reminded that our bond still costs something.

Afterwards, he lifts me closer to his mouth, opens it slightly - and gently puts me inside, shutting his jaws behind my feet, leaving me in compete darkness. His tongue springs beneath me, saliva pools in immediately, soaking my clothes and hair as I lie limp, allowing my devourer to do anything he pleases with me.

I cry silently. I have already accepted my end.

At my surprise, he doesn't savour me for long. He is exceptionally careful with my vulnerable body; perhaps, it's because he tastes blood running from a wound in my shoulder. Merciful, as always... I'm grateful for him taking me from hell down below; at least, there will be no nasty smells and yelling soldiers when I die.

His lips part one last time - I see a glimpse of sky and the sun flickering gloriously at my smeared face. I look at it, peace settling in my chest.

Goodbye...

I tap the muscle, announcing that I'm ready.

And he listens - I feel as gravity gradually shifts beneath me. I slide into the pharynx - he swallows loudly, forever separating me from the outside world. Just a little quivering lump travelling down his powerful throat and disappearing without a trace in his broad chest as if I have never existed.

I slowly sink further, further into dark, soothing warmth. I hear his heart beating beside me, his huge lungs filtrating air as he inhales and exhales - signs of a great life all around my minuscule frame. Something I will be a part of very soon as a ship becomes a part of the ocean which claimed it.

The esophagus contracts, squeezing a pained whimper out of me - I'm pushed in a spacious chamber which greets me with an audible growl.

I don't know if I should feel anything as I tuck myself into the velvet folds. Acids make my skin itch a little, but it doesn't take long for the sensation to turn into pleasant numbness. It's pitch black, hot, humid. And soft. My lids lower against my will; exhaustion and blood loss are determined to knock me out. I know - if I fall asleep, I won't wake up. But it's OK. I'm tired. He is with me. His belly gurgles softly, digestion process ready to rage on; his hand wonders around his abdomen - I feel it touching my back, then it presses harder at me and doesn't ever go away.

Only he will ever know what happened to me. I'm not even visible out there - and though it should be terrifying, I'm happy that no one will come to save me.

He won't leave me alone again...

I smile. Then, allow my eyes finally close and succumb at the mercy of his stomach....

........

- Hey.

I blink, lifting on my elbow. The room is enormous; every item or piece of furniture is at least fifteen times bigger than me. Meanwhile, my bed is just the right size for a tiny. In fact, it is a cute fruit basket full of cushions. I want to pull away a heavy piece of fabric given me instead of a normal blanked - but hiss and give up on this plan immediately, blind and deaf from pain: the cut on my shoulder burns, convulsing, as if it was on fire.

Only once I catch my breath and the fog covering my vision clears a little, I notice familiar forget-me-not eyes twinkling kindly from above.

- Ugh... W-what happened?

The giant smiles.

- Your injury needs good treatment. I saw you on the buttle field and decided to take care of your crazy head before someone else did. It appears I was just in time.

I huff, falling back at the pillow dramatically.

- Very funny. Actually, I thought you was about to make me your food.

He raises a brow, then frowns - it looks like I have offended him.

- One more word - and I'm eating you for real.

I giggle. Next few minutes pass in silence as I watch him preparing a tiny bondage for my wounded arm. His large fingers move so accurately - it seems impossible, considering how big he is. When he finally turns to me, I let him wrap his work around the stinging area. Healing extract bites sensitive flesh aka crocodile, but I don't pay attention to it, smirking softly at my friend's focused expression as he tends me gingerly.

- That's why I love you. - I murmur.

He says nothing. Just smirks back - and gives me a kiss in the forehead.

#soft vore #extreme cuddling #safe vore #vore angst #fairytale vore #g/t vore #swwh #swallowed whole #e a/t #vorefixation

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