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thriftedtchotchkes · 10 months

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his favorite girl, part ii

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: keeping things professional only works if both parties are in agreement. after a heated first lesson, it's clear you and joel aren't.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, guitar teacher!joel, age gap (30 years), slow-burn, smut, angst, m&f masturbation, mentions of regret and shame

word count: 3.6k

series masterlist | part i

Adrenaline hasn't stopped pumping through your veins since you left your guitar teacher's house. Joel's house.

It's hard to even think his name now that you know what it's like to moan it for him, to feel his body tense and tighten like nylon strings as you tune him to your pitch. The things that man could teach you with all of his experience and endless patience...wait, no. No.

How to play guitar—that's the only thing you need from Joel Miller. Nothing else. God, what the hell is wrong with you? That stupid daydream has been running through your head on a loop ever since you got home and it really shouldn’t be. It was a mistake, one that almost cost you your entire future, and yet you’re still so hung up on it.

On everything you learned during your short, disastrous guitar lesson, the intimate knowledge you’ll never be able to forget. Like the fingering for the chord he showed you, or that he makes the neediest sounds when his body's pressed up against yours and his fingers are so close to where you need him, inches away from—

Stop.

The freezing cold shower you just took is about to be rendered useless at the rate you're going, and tomorrow’s lesson won’t be far behind if you can’t get your shit together.

But you can’t stop yourself from wondering—how much of it was real? You toss your hair over your shoulder, ignoring the icy droplets trickling down your back, and the bruise you’d imagined he left isn’t there. Instead, the mirror taunts you, reflecting smooth, unmarred skin that only serves as a harsh reminder of your fuck-up.

You’re more disappointed than you should be. It would've been the only piece of physical evidence you had proving what happened earlier wasn't all in your head. That maybe he reciprocates even a fraction of what you feel. But it's for the best. Now you can move on and focus all of your mental energy on staying present tomorrow so he won't rescind his offer to continue your lessons.

You'll have to keep things totally professional. The diligent college student, eager to learn and dedicated to her studies—that’s you, all right. It shouldn’t be that hard to stay focused for one measly hour, not when those thick, talented fingers of his are so captivating and capable of so many useful things. Guiding you through the next few bars of that song, slipping beneath the waistband of your—

Fuck it, you're doomed.

There's no way you can handle this. He's just too distracting, and you're way too easily distracted. Judging by the way he reacted to your inappropriate behavior earlier, you're starting to wonder if he can handle it himself. He was a little too quick to touch you, to sit so close that you could feel every instruction he gave you rumbling in his chest.

That familiar heat’s starting to build in your belly, and you know it’ll boil over the second he’s within reach again. You have to get this in check before you see him tomorrow or you’ll be royally screwed, and not even remotely in the way you’d like to be.

But it’s getting harder by the minute. It’s all too fresh in your mind, and you can practically still feel the drag of calluses across your skin and the weight of his arm slung over your shoulder. His fingers twitching in your desperate grasp like he was just itching to trace a knuckle down the soaked fabric between your legs.

You don’t remember how or when you got into bed, but you suddenly find yourself lying on top of your damp, unfastened towel, your bare breasts exposed to the cool air of your bedroom, and your fingers grazing your hardening nipples as you snake them down your body.

The second your fingers slide through your embarrassingly wet folds, you're a lost cause. God, that's good. You're so wet for him, and he's not even here to see you, to feel what he does to you.

You press down on your clit and pretend it's his solid chest tucked against you instead of your shitty dorm mattress, and his rough fingertips swirling masterful circles around your slick nub before dipping achingly slowly inside you.

Shit, you're going to cum soon, so much quicker than you normally do. But maybe this is exactly what you need to get him out of your system. Maybe cumming as many times as you can to the thought of your hot, middle-aged guitar teacher is all it'll take for you to finally get over this stupid, dangerous schoolgirl crush. To get on with your life and earn your fucking college degree.

Joel Miller. You erupt around your fingers with his name hot and heavy on your lips, but it’s…not enough. It's fine, that's totally fine. You'll just go again. As many times as it takes.

But by your third orgasm in as many hours, you realize you’re only making it worse. The aching emptiness you feel every time you cum is almost unbearable. Even as you fuck yourself on three of your fingers, desperately trying to fill yourself up the way he would, it's still not enough.

It’s not him.

God, what are you supposed to do now? Can you really face him tomorrow knowing that you spent the entire night gushing around your fingers, pretending they were his?

And what if he tries to touch them again? Shit. Shit. You just keep making dumber and dumber decisions when it comes to him.

So...maybe you can forgive yourself for making one more. You know that you couldn't have imagined everything earlier. That dark, hungry look in his eyes when he told you flat out that he didn't pull away from you on purpose—he has to want you as much as you want him. Right?

He just needs a nudge in the right direction. A green light so he can push aside those polite, southern manners just long enough for you to both get what you need. Then, you can continue your lessons distraction-free.

After all, you did your finger exercises tonight just like he told you to, and teaching is always more effective with a little positive reinforcement.

Yeah, this will totally work.

Joel’s been rock hard ever since you left his house.

He’s still sitting on the couch in the same spot you occupied just a few hours earlier, his mind running a mile a minute, hands clenched painfully at his sides so he doesn't touch himself.

Christ, you're young. Much too young to be this desperate over or to consume his every thought the way you have since you shoved his hand between your thighs, moaning his name like his fingers were already buried in your tight cunt.

He can't do this. His own fantasies are starting to concern him. He's never this vulgar. Not since he was a stupid kid in high school, picking up girls and bragging about it to his buddies. But that's how you make him feel. Like a stupid, horny kid.

C'mon, dirty old man. Get your shit together.

This is why he never should've agreed to start taking on students. The second you walked through his front door, he should've known he was in for it. Those bright eyes, ever-observant and eager to learn, and delicate hands, clutching the handle of a guitar case much smaller than his own. He wanted to help you with your class, he really did.

Wants. He wants to help you, but he feels like he can't trust himself around you anymore, if he ever did in the first place. Still, he made his old bandmate—your professor, now, he guesses—a promise that he didn't intend to break. Not until he actually met the student in question and discovered, to his horror, that you were his every wet dream come to life.

When you picked up your tiny guitar, a baby version of his own Taylor six-string, and began to strum clumsily with your beginner's touch, he couldn't help himself.

All he could think about were those dainty fingers wrapped around his cock. Teaching you how to stroke him just right, his hand guiding yours up and down his length the way yours were shifting up and down the neck of your guitar as you hopped from fret to fret.

Shit, he's fucking hard.

It's not going away anytime soon, either. Maybe if he just...takes care of it. Jerks off, quick and dirty, thinking about the smooth pad of your thumb circling the head of his cock while he leaks precum onto your fingers. He'd cum so quickly imagining himself splattering his release across your plush lips, his name on the tip of your tongue.

His jeans are halfway down his thighs before he can think twice about it, and he hisses in a sharp breath when he finally begins to pump himself, tight and focused toward the tip just like he'd tell you to.

He was right. He's not going to last long. That's probably a good thing. The faster he can get you out of his system, the better, and then he can forget all of the things he did to you. He's more than ashamed at how quickly his balls start to tighten when he remembers how intimately you let him touch you. How fucking crazy you drove him.

The living room fills with the echoes of his stuttered groans and skin slapping against skin as he frantically fucks his fist, lost in the memory of his lips dragging across your bare shoulder and the heel of his hand grinding into your soaked, clothed pussy.

Then, he hears it so clearly through the haze of his pleasure—your voice whimpering his name, begging him to take care of you. He barely has enough time to tug up his shirt before he's cumming hard across his stomach and dribbling down his knuckles. Christ, you'd look so fucking good on your knees right now, sucking the release off his fingers.

Not good.

What the hell is happening to him? This desire, this need, it isn't who he is. And all of it over a beautiful girl. A very, very beautiful girl. He sighs, running his clean hand frustratedly down his face, fighting to ignore the cum drying uncomfortably on his skin.

It's not just that, and he knows it. It isn't your youth, either. It's...your passion. Your kindness and determination, even in the face of adversity.

It's you.

But he can't have you, no matter how much he aches to. You deserve better than an old, washed-up musician with bad knees and high blood pressure. You need someone who can really take care of you, and he's already decided that isn't him.

Come tomorrow, he'll keep things professional like he said he would. He'll keep his distance and teach you everything he has to offer. Be the guitar teacher he should've been from the beginning.

You're both adults, perfectly capable of controlling yourselves long enough to get through an hour-long lesson.

Yeah, this'll work.

You're late.

Not a great start to your second lesson, but then again, that seems to be your M.O. these days. Not this day, though. Today, all of that changes.

You take a deep, steadying breath before your fist connects with sun-bleached oak, and do your best to focus on the warm, mid-September breeze instead of the impatience and anticipation threatening to swallow you whole.

Now that you're back here, standing on his porch, you're beginning to realize you're actually excited to see him. The anxiety you felt last night has given way to a strange sense of relief and a fresh wave of want. It's like your body can sense him and all of the things you're about to learn and experience.

His broad figure comes into view through the foggy glass paneling of his front door, and then after a strenuous 24 hours, your guitar teacher is within reach again—Joel. His name is Joel. You’re going to have to get used to saying it without your breath catching in your throat or he’ll know. He'll see your intentions clear as day and you'll never get to moan it for him again.

“Hey, you, uh...ya made it," he says breathily, frowning down at his watch. He's panting, and there's a gentle flush spreading from his cheeks down to his neck, disappearing under the collar of his navy blue T-shirt. “I was startin' to get a little worried there."

You smile apologetically, turning to nod back at the piece of shit Chevy parked in his driveway. It's old as dirt and somehow always manages to act up when the weather gets too hot.

"I had some car trouble," you tell him sheepishly, throwing a disdainful look over your shoulder before facing him again. "I should've called. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, offering you a small, if not subtly strained, smile in return. You can tell he's relieved you didn't call, even if he's too polite to say it.

"S'alright, m'just glad you're here now," he says tightly, shifting from one foot to the other as he continues to stand awkwardly in the doorway.

Well, this isn't good. You can take a pretty decent guess as to why he's acting so strange, but you're not sure how to even begin diffusing the situation. Inviting yourself in wouldn't be a terrible first step, but he already seems nervous as hell, and you're afraid he'll spook.

He's still thinking about yesterday. It's evident in his stance and the tension visibly building in his biceps and shoulders. What you wouldn't give to relieve some of that stress—but you can't do much of anything while you're still stuck at an impasse, sizing each other up for two very conflicting reasons.

Hiking your guitar case higher up on your shoulder, you gesture as delicately as you can to the door he's still hiding behind.

"Is it okay, um—should I...come inside?" you stumble over your suggestion, your words conveying none of the confidence and allure you'd hoped for.

Come on, buck up. Be the girl who made him question his self-control; the girl who made his eyes turn so dark, you thought you'd lose yourself in them and never find your way out. You meet those same eyes again with a playful darkness of your own.

"Or did you wanna continue what we started yesterday out here on your porch?"

He does startle at that, but luckily it's the push he needs to finally let you into his home.

"Y-yeah, yes. M'sorry, 'course ya can," he mutters, shaking his head as if he'd been in a trance the entire time. "Didn't mean to keep ya standin' there. Come, uh...Christ, come on in."

Good. Entranced is good.

He holds the door open for you like a perfect gentleman, and your chest drags across his as you squeeze past his large frame and into the entryway. It’s an unsubtle and potentially cheap move, but neither of you pretends it wasn’t on purpose. He sucks in a harsh breath, seizing up until you're past him and taking in the quiet comfort of his living room.

Last time, you'd been too distracted to notice all of the little details and odds and ends that make the space so distinctly Joel, but now that you're really paying attention, it's...charming. The stacks of CDs next to his guitar stand, some in cases and some not, and the varying brown tones of his shag rug and leather couch feel warm and inviting. Just like the man who spends his days and nights here.

Being here suddenly feels intimate in a different capacity than before. Heat begins to bloom in your chest instead of between your legs at the idea of creating music together, a variation all your own, heavily influenced by the history all around you. The abrupt shift takes you by surprise, but it's not unwelcome. If anything, it increases your sense of urgency.

So you let it draw you in, back to where your next lesson and, hopefully, everything you have in store for Joel will take place. That same cushy spot you dreamt about all night while you fucked yourself with your fingers, and that he, unbeknownst to you, lingered while he fucked his fist to thoughts of you.

Looking back over your shoulder, you catch him watching you. There's a curiosity there and an undercurrent of something darker that makes your stomach swoop. He's still flushed, even more so than before, despite his AC kicking to cut the heat and oppressive humidity you brought in with you.

But then he blinks and it's gone again. Left in its place are the kind, if not extremely guarded, eyes of your patient guitar teacher. He's so good at that. Maybe a little too good.

You twist around, heaving the soft case off your shoulder so you can plop down on the couch. He winces out of the corner of your eye when you land on his spot, and his fingers twitch restlessly at his sides as you pull out your guitar and set it across your lap. Lifting an eyebrow, you wait for him to make a move, but he seems stuck in place. Conflicted, almost, like he's fighting himself.

You need him closer. You need him to loosen up. Most of all, you need those thick, insistent fingers inside you before you lose your damn mind.

"Joel? You coming?" you ask expectantly, moving your hands into place over the frets and strings.

At that, he downright grimaces but nods nonetheless. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like self-admonishment as he putters across the room to pluck his guitar from its stand.

Instead of sitting beside you, he pulls up a chair in front of you, putting enough distance between himself and the couch so you can heed his instructions, but not be tempted to touch. Whether that's for his benefit or yours, you're not entirely sure, but you shiver at the thought. He notices.

"Y'need me to turn down the AC? 'Cus I can handle that real quick before we get started," he sounds a little too eager to get away from you again, so you hurriedly reach out to grab his hand before he can make his escape.

"Woah, hold your horses. It's totally okay. I'm not cold, I promise," you try to reassure him with a chuckle, attempting to soothe the palpable tension in the air. Those rough, time-hardened fingertips brush against the delicate skin of your inner wrist, and you instinctively tug him closer.

But he resists. He carefully pulls out of your grasp and sits back down, returning to a safe distance and refusing to make eye contact.

That's not a good sign. At all. You can't help but feel a little ashamed at his reaction. It was never your intention to push him, but you also hadn't expected him to be repelled by just the sight of you.

Maybe you misunderstood your last conversation? Or maybe it really was all in your head, even after you stopped daydreaming. It's entirely possible you only saw what you wanted because you wanted him. You bite your lip anxiously, shifting away to offer him more space.

"Hey, is everything okay? You seem kind of...off today," you press him hesitantly. "Look, if this is about yesterday—"

"S'nothin' like that. We agreed it was water under the bridge, right? Two adults keepin' things professional," he cuts you off, kindly yet firmly dismissing your concerns.

He meets your eyes again, and they're clearer, now. His voice, too—unwavering and more sure than it's been since you got here.

Oh. This is a reminder. A gently worded warning for both of you.

Okay, that's totally okay. It has to be. He's right, anyway. You keep forgetting how important these lessons are, and he's just being the reasonable, responsible adult who wants to keep you on track, no matter how nervous you make him.

Shit, you wish that didn't turn you on so much. You tell yourself to ignore it. Your mission's a bust, anyway, and he's clearly not interested. You ignore how badly that hurts, too, while you're at it.

"Yeah, of course. Totally professional," you repeat back dejectedly, and you will yourself to mean it. But he never makes it easy, does he?

"That's my girl," he smiles so, so handsomely, and you're forced to bite back a frustrated groan.

How he manages to look so genuine and innocent while he says things like that, you'll never understand. What's worse, you have no doubt he actually is.

Joel Miller. 56 years old. Your generous guitar teacher whose only goal is to share his craft in that syrupy sweet twang that sounds like the sweetest music to your ears.

Just your luck.

thanks for reading & stay tuned for part iii <3

(dividers by @saradika & @inklore)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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rabbidbunwy · 7 days

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🔞 Gojo x reader| Minors DNI| NSFW WARNING 🔞

Needy little things

Sum. You can't get enough of your best friend dick Warnings. fem! reader x best friend roomate! Gojo,hookup, unprotected, riding f!,f! receiving,cussing,praise,petnames,cummin outside then inside,teasing,begging,both the parties being selfish in their own way,two rounds,filling up

i'm no english native so sorry for some mistakes

please reblog 🔁 and like❤️

@muzansslxt @candy69gurl @kiwicopia @ponderingmoonlight @satorkive

He chuckled at your words. “Break you? Don’t be dramatic” he said, his hands roaming over your body. He loved teasing you, making you squirm and whine underneath him.

“You’re taking me perfectly well” he continued, his lips finding your neck. Satoru had his fair few hookups in high school, yet he never felt this way around any of them. It felt special with you. He needed you. Only you.

"Fuck Toru, don't come inside" you phanted "fuck,if someone sees us were doomed" He was too caught up in the moment, to lost in you. Your face was flushed pink, your breathing ragged, and he thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“And who’s gonna catch us? They’re all in a mission" he said. His lips found their way to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses behind. “No one’s going to find out.”

"Outside Gojo outside" you whined at your friend as he groaned. “You’re a tease.” Satoru did as you say, though, his release ending up on your stomach. “There. Happy, princess?” He asked, his breath panting. He’ll never understand why he does all these things with you. You know he’s supposed to be the strongest and yet here he was, listening to you like a good boy.

"More" you whined as you switched position so you were riding Gojo "Need more" you cooed “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He teases, his hands moving to your hips to help steady you. “Just can’t get enough of me, hm?” Satoru had a habit of getting snappy when he was riled up. “So whiny” Satoru chuckles. “Stop being so cute or you won’t get what you want.” He leaned up, his lips right by your ear. “You know how to play the game, princess. Beg.”

"Mhn please let me come Satoru" you whined riding him harder "I will let you come inside just-mhn" you whined trying to bargain. He could feel you getting needier, and he loved it. Satoru grunted, his hands gripping your hips tighter as you rode him. “Needy little princess, that’s what you are.” He smirked, his blue eyes staring up at you. “And how badly do you want it?”

"Please please,so bad" you ride him hard gripping him "i'm close" He didn’t think you would be so demanding, not with the way you usually act. Even he was a bit surprised, seeing you like this. Though he knew, he knew that he was the one who reduced you into a whiny mess. “Yeah, you’re close, huh?” He says, his voice low. His hands squeezed at your hips, guiding you as you rode him. “You’re being so selfish.”

“Not even gonna ask if I’m close?” He teased, a smirk still on his face. “Just focused on yourself, princess?” Satoru was also close, though he loved seeing you like this. A sweaty, whiny mess with your only thought being your own climax. He was addicted to how you looked when you were like that. “So pretty when you’re desperate.”

“Yeah, you look good like this. Just so desperate for release.” He grunted, his grip on your hips growing tighter. “It’s so cute how you think only of yourself.” Satoru’s breath was growing more heavy, he could feel himself nearing his own release. “Can’t even ask about me, huh?” He teased, his smirk growing. “How selfish of you, princess.” He chuckled again before a moan escaped his lips. “I’m almost there, too, you know.”

You whined as you snuggled on his chest licking it "please come" you begged “There it is.” He said softly, almost lovingly. Satoru smiled as he looked down at you. “That’s what I wanted to hear, princess.” His hands moved up to your hair to pet it. “You sound so cute when you’re asking nicely.”

You gripped him mewling as you both camed "ah ahn T-toru"

His breath was shaky as he came. “Yeah” he whispered, his hands sliding up to hold you. “That’s it princess, that’s it.”

He knew what he was doing wasn’t right, that fucking his best friend was wrong. Yet he didn’t care. Satoru didn’t care if he was being selfish, as long as he had you in his arms.

“You did so good” he said gently as he pet your hair. “So, so good.” Satoru knew he should be gentle with you afterwards, as he usually was. You always got clingy, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it.

You felt his cum around your walls "mhn you had a lot" you whined humming Satoru huffed a laugh at your words. “Yeah” he said gently. “Yeah I guess I did.” He always cum a lot, but he felt a bit embarrassed when you pointed it out. Though that thought was quickly replaced with a smirk. “Maybe you bring that out of me.”

"i know you need more Toru,you're still so hard i can feel it" you moved your hips in a circular motion moaning softly. A gasp escaped his lips as you talked, his hands grabbing onto your hips again. “You really are a tease, huh?” He grunted. Satoru was already hard, even after just finishing. He was trying to keep up his smirk, yet his moans were a dead giveaway of just how much that turned him on. “You’re a little minx, you know that?”

“You just love getting me all worked up, don’t you?” He said, his voice a little shaky. “Playing with fire, princess…” He groaned as you moved your hips. “I’m gonna have to spank you if you don’t stop.”

“Or” he continued. “I could just make you behave right now.” His hands moved over your body, stopping to grab at your sensitive spots. “I know how to make you behave when you don’t listen, princess.”

you whined as he rubbed a certain spot "mhnn Toru,dont do this to your best friend" you teased moaning “Don’t do what?” He asked, knowing exactly what he was doing. “Teasing you?” He smirked before rolling the two of you over, so Satoru was on top of you now. “Or are you hinting that we shouldn’t be doing this?”

He placed a hand on your stomach, his blue eyes looking right at you. “You love doing this with me, princess, I’m just giving you what you want…”

“Just like that” he whispered, his breath warm on your neck. “It’s a good thing we don’t have a meeting tomorrow, huh?” He teased as he started to move his hips with more force. They were going to be at this for a while, though he didn’t mind. Satoru rarely had any self control, and he definitely didn’t when it came to you.

“You have anywhere to be in the morning?” He asked, his eyes locking with yours. “I’m gonna be keeping you up for a while, princess…” "mhn n..no..im free tomoroww morning" you moaned softly holding the sheets “Good” he said, his lips finding your neck. He started to lick and bite at it, leaving behind marks. “I can keep you all to myself then.” He was already leaving hickies on you, wanting to make sure everyone knew you were his princess.

You whined as you felt closer again "Toru.." “Yeah, I know” he whispered back, his mouth up by your ear so you could hear him clearly. “I know you’re getting close again, princess.” Satoru’s hands moved back to your hips as he started moving his hips a bit faster.

“I can tell by how you’re holding the sheets.” He teased gently, his smirk still on his face. “You really are so needy, princess. So, so needy.”

“But you’re cute like that” he continued between his own moans. “I love how you need me, so I don’t mind spoiling you a bit.” Satoru knew he shouldn’t be treating you that way, but his selfishness was so strong. He’d do anything to get a whine out of you, anything at all.

“Come on, princess” he said, his voice a bit softer. “You’re close, I know it.” Satoru began to move a bit faster, feeling himself getting closer as well. “I know you’re getting there, princess.”

“Come on, let go” he whispered, his breaths getting a bit ragged. “Let go for me, princess. I know you can do it.” Satoru’s mouth moved to your neck, biting down a bit harder than before. He was starting to get less gentle with you, but he knew that’s how you liked it.

“There it is” he teased gently, noticing the way you were whining more. “So close, huh?” Satoru’s mouth continued to work on your neck, leaving behind more hickies in their wake. “I love it when you’re so desperate, princess.”

“Can’t even talk” he teased, “just a whiny mess, just like I like you.” Satoru was getting a bit rougher with his hands now, his grip on your hips getting tighter. “You just love being helpless for me, don’t you? Yeah, thought so.”

He started moving a bit harder and faster now, his own groans getting a bit louder. “I’m close too” he mumbled into your ear. “Can’t hold back for much longer, being like this with you.”

“Princess, I’m gonna….” He warned, his mouth still on your neck. “Gonna come….” Satoru’s hands squeezed at your hips a bit harder, as if he was trying to hold back the feeling.

“Do you want it inside?” He asked, his voice quieter now. “Or out?” Satoru honestly would have let you choose either way. He didn’t have a preference, he just wanted you to keep making those whiny little sounds.

“Gotta tell me princess” he added with a smirk. “I need to know where I’m putting this.” His hand moved up to your hair, his fingers tangling with it again. “Can’t decide by myself, can I?”

"Mhn inside" you phanted mewling gripping his back “Inside.” He repeated, his voice even quieter than before. A small shiver went through his body as you told him that, his hands squeezing at your waist a bit more. He didn’t move for a moment, just trying to regain his breath before nodding. “Yeah, okay princess.”

“Gonna fill you up, okay?” He said, his lips moving up to your ear. Satoru was already close, so he didn’t move for a moment until he was ready. “Can’t keep anything from you anymore, princess… You have me wrapped around your little finger.”

“You own me, princess” he whispered, his tone a bit shaky. “All for you, all mine, just like you’re all mine…” He started moving again, his mouth moving to your neck. He was starting to get a bit rougher, almost a bit more possessive of you.

Satoru groaned as he released inside you, his body shaking slightly. “Yeah….” He muttered, his mouth still near your neck. “There it is… good princess.” He leaned back, looking down at you with his blue eyes

“Look at you” he said, his own breath still shaky. “All whiny and messy…” Satoru looked down at your body, noticing how much of a wreck he’d made you. “I wonder if it’ll ever be enough for you… you’re always so unsatisfied.”

“You just want more and more…” he teased gently, his hand moving up to your hair. “My greedy princess…” Satoru let out a light chuckle as he continued to pet your hair.

A small smile spread across his face when you snuggled into his chest, an arm wrapping around you to pull you in closer. Satoru let out a small sigh, the hand in your hair still playing with it. “You’re so adorable, princess…” He whispered as he watched you fall asleep.

“You’re always so cute like this…” he muttered, mostly talking to himself at this point. His other hand moved down to your hip, where all the marks he’d left were. He felt the desire to leave more markings there tomorrow, claiming you all over again.

“You’re all mine” he whispered as he looked down at the marks all over your neck, as well as the hickies on your hip. There wasn’t a single part of your body that Satoru hadn’t marked up, claiming you as his every single time.

He sighed again and relaxed, his arms pulling you even closer to him. He loved falling asleep with you in his arms, knowing you were all his. He let his own eyes close, holding you tight as he fell asleep as well.

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threepandas · 2 months

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Bad End: Chosen

I used to love Otome games.

Used to love the genre, predictable as it could sometimes be. It was bright. Fun. A colorful bit of escapism built on love and power fantasies. I read the books. Watched the animes. Engaged with the fandoms freely and with an enthusiasm I can barely remember now.

It was a lifetime ago.

Before I... before, like a monkey's paw wish, I got granted every OI fan's DREAM. I somehow, someway, died and was reborn. A genuine isekai all of my own. I laugh now... I really do... I was so fucking EXCITED.

I was a FOOL.

The world is not a story. PEOPLE are not characters. You can not push the "right" social imput buttons and have a happy ending pop out. Time moves as it always has and always will. Day by day. And? Just because you are HERE? Does not mean you are SPECIAL.

I was old enough to know that, thank the Gods. Or I would have made a likely terrible mistake. Probably a fatal one, by now.

How, you may ask? Surely if you are reborn, you are special! Important to the "plot"! HA. Ah yes, the all forsaken PLOT. That damnable thing, chaining out fates and making us dance, like toys, for the Gods amusement. No, I was merely a replacement part for one worn out and broken down. A soul that gave up.

This dance repeats, you know.

They aren't done with us yet. Not bored of us, all the twists and turns we might take. She could not keep fighting. Keep raging. And so she was replaced. Now I live... a changeling in her place. Knowing my role yet careful to defy it. But... oh...

Oh, how almost IMPOSSIBLE it is to defy it.

I am supposed to HATE her. The Protagonist. The Chosen One. Saintess and beloved. The God's special little thing. Showered in adoration and silks, pampering and protection. While we all DIE. In this, their STUPID fucking Holy War, that we CAN NOT WIN, against "The Dark".

How HELPFUL, my liege. How incredibly SPECIFIC. Is "The Dark" the demons that tore apart my squadron a fortnight ago or the undead that rose and devored an entire village of terrified innocents? How do we STOP them? END this infinite string of atrocities?

Oh? "Only the SAINTESS can push back The Dark"? Well then! It's a good thing she safely tucked away in the CAPITAL THEN, isn't it!? Far from the front lines where we NEED her! Thank the GODS she's getting her chance to play "fuck, fuck, marry!" with the nation's finest while we all DIE!

I remind myself again, desperately, I am not allowed to hate her.

If I hate her, I become an antagonist in this little play. Doomed to die a gruesome and needless death. My men need me. The people need me. The live and breathe and fear for their lives. At the mercy of cruel God's who do not care.

I almost... It is enough that I almost wish my Master was here. But no, HE stayed back at the Magic Tower. Lost interest in me the second the merest HINT that his beloved pet prophecy might be about to be fulfilled. I was his student for most of my life. Chased up and down that mind-bending hellhole for years, giving my everything to meet his every standard.

Does he even remember my name?

Ha ha... gods, as I stare down at the battle map, one of so SO many... I feel brittle. How long will we fight? How many of my men must DIE, before that God coddled BITCH gets off her ass and comes to do her JOB?! We've lost Redwell. Lakehill is covered in ghouls. And no one we sent near the forests of Mirth ever reports back.

But at least the crown prince is getting his fucking birthday party while his people starve. While they run for their lives. Cower from demons and the damned. Because his Twue Woooove~ can't be allowed to put her dainty little self in DANGER now CAN she?!

I'm seething. Furious. Nails digging into the wood on the table before me. I know I should be planning... but I just... gods, I just so ANGRY. So tired. How long can this continue? Am I going to die here, just so those fuckers can DRAMATICALLY "save the day" at the last second? As though they had not let thousands die? Only for it all to begin again? What am I supposed to d-?

Like a roll of thunder and an earthquake combined, the non-physical world SHAKES.

Weight. POWER. Like a mountain appearing from no where, to drop down upon us all. It is CRUSHING. And every bit as dark as being buried beneath tons on soil and stone. My legs nearly give out. My grip on the table before me the only thing keeping me up and alarm bells start clanging outside my tent.

This is it.

I don't know what's about to happen, but I can FEEL it. I... I can not possibly hope to win. It's over. I know, in my heart, I will go out there and fight. Die. Because I refuse to die cowering. Because maybe it'll make a difference for my friends, for the others, for those that yet live. Every monster I slay is one less they fight.

But... this is it.

It's over.

I wish I felt braver. Glorious and filled with light. A beacon of hope, perhaps. But all I can offer is fear and anger and SPITE. Locking my knees so I can stand. Blinking away the tears so I can grit my teeth and bare them. Grabbing my staff so can go a die with the others. Today I shall burn the world. I promised myself.

Take them with you.

Take every last one of those fuckers WITH YOU.

The battle is ugly. It always is and always will be. I heal where I can but kill faster the most can blink. Waves of fire. Blood turned to ice turn to shrapnel bombs turned to flying storms of blood ice shards. Wind attacks and void pockets. Puppets made of mud and rock and bits of armor. The blood of the fallen only making it all that much stronger, that much more terrible.

Magic in war hold no beauty.

I wish I never had to see it again.

"Grandlearner, you've been practicing." A rich voice observed from behind me, sounding pleased. "Good~"

Between one instance and the next, the crushing ocean of power moves between the far side of the battle field to right behind me. I move, spin. Fire my strongest short-range piercing in the desperate hope to gut the man now far too close. I... am effortlessly countered.

He didn't even have to move his hands.

There, standing in the heart of an open battle field, is a man in impeccable fomal clothes. Spotless, dispite the ash and dust, the blood and gore. Almost inhuman in his otherness, compared to the death and suffering surrounding him. He looks like a proper well-to-do gentleman ready for a stroll. The sort of ambiguously ageless bachelor that had haunted the royal university's halls every time I was sent there, to collect something for the Tower.

Too old to be some boyish flirt, too young to be a rougish mistake. It feels false. Mocking. Like a mask held up by some grinning beast. Something older then it seems, effortlessly blending in with the Power of the current age, all the better to play them like fools.

Then the words register and my blood runs cold.

"Learner". It's what a Master calls their personal magical students at the Tower. There are lineage, of a sort. Like bloodlines, almost. Since most never leave. A way to pass on your teachings. Your name and traditions. It's not like we often have the chance to have biological kids. Too busy with our studies. So it's considered effectively the same.

My Master's Master. Who was said to be one of, if not THE, greatest Mages of the last thousand years, possibly longer. Said to have simply vanished one day. Rumored to have "lost his mind" and left the Tower for places unknown after some great argument. Foremost expert on The Dark.

Now standing h...here. Right... Right here. With the enemy army. Of dark and terrible things. The very abominations he once studied "academically". Oh gods. It doesn't take much to put two and two together.

"I've come to collect you, my dear." He says, the very picture of charm as my men scream and suffer around him. As they fight for their lives against his monstrosities. As... as they LOSE. "It has come to my attention, that my unfortunate disappointment of a student has been neglecting his duties to you."

He sweeps his hat gallantly from his head, holding it against his heart at just the right angle, as though offering to merely take me for a stroll. Picture perfect etiquette. As though this were high society and not a warzone. The disconnect stuns me for long moments. "Collect" me?

He strolls forward. Expensive shoe leather somehow unstained by the terrible muck of the battlefield. The blood and mud, the spell water and ash. Amusement rolling off every line of his form, as I try to keep the distance between us. As I struggle against the sucking filth to keep my feet under me.

"I would like to say I am surprised... but honestly? I am not. He always WAS easily distracted by shiny trinkets of little worth. The shinier the better. Like an empty headed little magpie. Disgusting really, how little he values loyalty. I DID try to instill some values. Hard work. Good, honest, study. Some modicum of rationality..."

"It did not work." He sighs, stepping over the fallen body of my Cordelia, my reserve healer. Gods, please no, I told her to RUN... "Unlike myself of course. I, my dear, know EXACTLY what your worth. How you have been WASTED on that little ingrate. It truely has been a theme with him, hasn't it?"

"Tossing aside anything who doesn't fit his perfect little vision. His Master, his Learner, nothing is sacred to him. All he shall ever care for is his little divine tart, won't he?"

The grin that spills across his mouth is like poison through veins, it terrifies me. His face is arranged in a mask of pleasantry. But the look in his eye... that look was coldly covetous. The sort of hunger that would sooner kill than release its hold. It wasn't lustful, I was a child too him. An infant. But I was, perhaps, all that remained. The last piece of his lineage he could possibly still steal away. Corrupt.

I refused.

It... it did not matter much, in the end.

Every spell, he counters. Every attack, he matchs with effortless neutralization. The well of his magic is like the sea. Deep, dark, and crushing. I rage against it, even knowing I stand no chance. I... I have to TRY. I can do no less. Even as I slowly collapse.

Water and ice, electricity and transformation, wind and fire. I try to EXPLODE HIS ORGANS for the Gods sake. In the end, with nothing left, the well of my magic nearly bone dry... I swing at him. Put my back in to it. A staff is a staff after all. It even has a pretty hefty rock in it. It'd probably take out a few teeth.

He, of course, catches it.

Bastard.

He looks CHARMED. Utterly delighted. As though my defiance and struggle are some cute little game. The tantrum of an adorable child that does not wish to submit to their nap. The world swayed as my body begs me to just pass out. To escape within myself. Recover. My legs can no longer hold me. I glare. At last, long last, I let myself HATE.

If that BITCH had just DONE HER JOB. I would not be here, at the mercy of a mad man. While she frolics about, in her happy little tale of love and misunderstandings? I have suffered. People have died! The world has fallen to slow and crumbling RUIN.

Gloved hands cupped my cheeks.

"That's it, little one~ My precious child. Get angry. RAGE for me. Let Master see your fire~" thumbs stroked my cheeks. Looming and entirely too close. There is a glee in that eye, a madness. "We are going to set this world FREE. You? Oh dearest you are utterly PERFECT. Master will take care of everything, understand? All you have to do?"

"Is give in."

Next -->

#threepandas #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere otome #yandere mentor #yandere OI #yandere otome isekai #bad end yandere #bad end chosen #bad end chosen au #yanblr #yancore #reader insert #mage reader #platonic yandere

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baylz · 2 months

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ROAD TRIP WITH THE SAIKI'S .ᐟ

IN WHICH : Saiki's mom invites you along to spend the spring break with them! the cost? meeting his grandparents.

masterlist

request by : @ladyswankydank

song to play : Dreams by The Cranberries

warnings : not proofread and everyon's thoughts are italic and bold

a/n: apologies for the delay i was in a major slump :<

Saiki wasn’t planning for this to happen. His mother had been pestering him for days, weeks, and even MONTHS before spring break because she wanted you to meet his grandparents. Even the thought of it gives him a headache.

In his mind, his parents were the only family members you needed to meet, so was it really necessary? It all started when you came over after school, and he left to help his dad with something. Big mistake.

Leaving you alone in the kitchen was a huge mistake. Within the minutes that he was gone, his mother somehow managed to come home from running errands at that exact moment. He heard her thoughts right when she entered the front door.

Oh, Y/n’s here!

The two greeted each other and began talk about anything and everything. Nothing was out of ordinary as he overheard their conversation. Until.. “Any plans for the spring break?”

“No, I’ll pretty much just be home.” You sulked. Saiki could practically see the pout playing on your lips and the slump of your shoulders. His mother made a thoughtful sound and said, “Oh, well, we’re all going to visit my parents.”

Oh.

No.

NO!

“Why don’t come with us—”

There was a crackle in the air and sudden gust of wind. Your boyfriend appeared in the kitchen, looking rather distressed. You and his mother exchanged looks, "Um, anyways..." you cautiously continued, completely ignoring the third party in the room. "What were you saying, Mrs. Saiki?"

Saiki quickly moved to touch your hand that was resting on the table. One touch and he could teleport you with him to Texas to prevent whatever chaos his mother was trying to rope you in. Unforunately, god was not on his side today, because his mother was much quicker.

“Would you like to spend the break with us? I know it isn’t ideal but I’m sure his grandparents would love to meet you!” He saw the smile that crept on your face and knew he was doomed. You excitedly accepted the offer, so giggly and happy that you were going to spend this short vacation with him.

You were oblivious to the mayhem that was currently your boyfriend’s mind. You thanked his mother for inviting and promised that you would be packed and ready in the morning. You collected your things, muttering about how you had to go home to pick some outfits for tomorrow.

You kissed your motionless boyfriend goodbye and out the door you went.

Good grief.

Saiki glanced over at you in the passanger seat of the car as you cruised down the road of the countryside. You had a small book in your lap, tapping the pen against your chin as you studied the partially filled-in word puzzle.

“Okay, so…” you said, pulling the book closer to your face so there no room for peeking. Not that Saiki planned on doing that anyway. “Five letter word for ‘a place of refuge’. Starts with H.”

“Haven.”

“Ku, that’s the last word and the last puzzle page. Honestly, I think you were cheating this entire ride.” You eyed him skeptically and he couldn’t help the small smile that played at his lips.

The two of you attempted to play cards next but there was no winning when Saiki was your opponent. You couldn’t tell if he was doing this on purpose or if he was genuinely just good at everything. So, you opted for just listening to music together for the rest of the way.

It wasn’t long before Saiki had fallen asleep on your shoulder, leaving you to stare at the scenery outside the window. You haven’t been to the countryside since you were a kid, so being here again with your boyfriend and his family to meet his grandparents made it all the more exciting for you.

The car had pulled onto a dirt road before stopping infront of a small house. You shook Saiki awake and he stirred slightly before slowly lifting his weight off of you.

Everyone exited and collected their belongings in the trunk. “Don’t take anything my grandpa says to heart.” Were the last Saiki’s last words to you before his grandma opened the door to greet you guys.

“Oh, hello!” She greeted them all with a hug and her wrinkled eyes landed on you. She offered a sweet smile and cupped your face between her hands.

“Kurumi, she’s just as beautiful as you told me over the phone! Come in, come in!” The space was small, but cozy. There was a spread of food already on the table and you didn’t realize how hungry you were from the long journey until that moment.

“Kumagoro, come out they’re here!”

“I’m coming!” A gruff voice said from another room. Loud footsteps were heard down the hall as they grew closer to the living room and there he was. Kumagoro Saiki in all his glory, a scowl stitched onto his face as he scanned everyone in the room.

“Who’s that girl?” He nodded towards you, and you suddenly felt nervous. You mentally prepped yourself as you took a step forward, and bowed to properly greet him. “My name is L/n Y/n, I’m very pleased to meet you. You have a lovely home!”

He made a hmph! sound and demanded everyone to put their stuff away before eating. You straightened your posture, mentally cursing yourself as you awkwardly following behind your boyfriend to your shared room. He could practically hear the chaos that was going on in your mind.

Don’t take it to heart. Don’t take it to heart. Don’t take it to heart. Don’t take it to heart. Don’t take it to heart. Don’t take it to heart. Don’t take it to heart. Don’t take it to heart. Don’t take it to heart. Don't take it to hear—

“Y/n.”

His low voice snapped you out of your spiral. The hand soothing your back was enough for you to know that Saiki was trying his best to make you feel comforted and supported. You calmed your nerves before joining the others in the dining room.

No progress was made during dinner either. You chatted with his grandma and mother for most of meal but you made sure to keep a discreet eye on the grump at the end of the table. Though Kusuo didn’t think you were being discreet with the way your eyes would immedately dart to the old man whenever there was a sign of movement.

Good grief. He thought. He was stuck between being concerned for you and admiring you.

Despite that, you were determined to win his grandpa over by doing everything you could with every chance you got. And I mean EVERY chance. He wanted meat? you passed the plate. He wanted more rice? you offered some of yours. He finished his drink? you poured him some more. Dishes needed to be washed? “I can help!”

By the end, your face was stuffed into your pillow as your mourned the lack of acknowledgement you got from grandpa Saiki. No matter what you did, there was no cracking a smile or thank you out of him. You buried yourself further into your futon, defeated.

A presence settled into the futon next to yours. You didn’t have to peak over to know who it was nor did you have the strength to, anyway. It was official, you were going to sleep away your sorrows and try again tomorrow.

TOMORROW WILL BE MY DA—

“He thinks you're pretty.” Kusuo abruptly said.

You scrambled to sit up and face the male beside you. “Huh?”

“And nice.” He added.

Your face lit up in that moment, crawling closer to the big lump under the blankets. “Seriously? What else did he think?”

“Not sure, goodnight.” He mumbled and clinked off the lamp on his bedside, leaving you in the darkness.

“Yes, you do! Come onn wake up and tell me more.” You shook him but there was no use in trying. “KUUUU COME ON. KUSUO? KUSUO.”

— THE END

@baylz please DO NOT copy, translate, or repost any of my works onto other platforms!!

#kusuo saiki x reader #saiki headcanons #the disastrous life of saiki k.#saiki k #kusuo saiki #x fem!reader #saiki fanart #fanfic

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ixiot-ghostrebel · 1 year

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Hello my fellow ghost, I have this idea that came to my mind while reading some crack sites, imagine a Creator! Reader irritated, did not sleep well, a lot of work any excuse and goes for a walk to clear his mind, then simply sticks on the little finger with some object.

He shouts: FOR THE NAME OF!!, I AM STAR TO SERIUSLY CONSIDERING ERASE (nation in which it is) OF THE MAP.

Along with another irrelevant insult, then how would they react if some acolyte is near or even better the archons of a certain nation. I don't know, I laughed for myself thinking about this and I do not know if you will also find it funny.

In any case if you do not feel free to ignore or if you want some idea to write the priv is available. Bird says goodbye

Hello, @pajarokujo ! Though I do not see the humor, I can get what you're going for! (Is this how Tighnari and Collei feel when Cyno cracks a joke?— /lh)

I'll just do the Archons for this since I think they'd have the best reactions LOL

Venti, Zhongli, Raiden Ei, Nahida, and Furina Reacting to Reader's Tantrum

You were a little furious. You hadn't mean what you said, but in the attempt to calm yourself down, you jabbed at one part of the map and screamed, "THIS NATION. I WANT IT DECIMATED. PERMANENTLY." forgetting completely that you were the Creator and your booming voice could be practically heard by everyone.

Yes...they're panicking.

(Warning: Might Be OOC & Written Before 4.1 Special Program!)

Venti

Wisp boy is now panicked wisp boy. He ain't gonna stop trying to find a solution to save Mondstadt from your wrath until he drops dead. Quite literally.

Man, this bard is going crazy—all of his ballads have a slight air of panic to it, since everyone practically heard your threat from beyond the heavens.

So when you practically run into Mondstadt to personally reassure everyone that you aren't going to decimate the nation, Venti immediately sees your presence as his doom. He tries to keep it cool, and it sort of works? (It doesn't)

"AHAHA, YOUR GRACE!~ COME JOIN THIS HUMBLE BARD TO SEE THE GREAT TREE OF VANESSA!" "Venti, I swear to you, I—" "YOUR GRACE, IT'S WORTH IT PLEASE—"

Yeah, he's not taking the news well. But at least he'll collapse from relief knowing Mondstadt wasn't in danger after you clear up your mistake so yeah 👍 Good job, Creator!

Zhongli

The moment he hears you say that, this man is both protective over his baby (his nation) and hella scared of what the heck you're going to do to erase the Geo Nation off of the map.

When you try to enter Liyue, you "coincidentally" bump into Zhongli who tries to distract and stall you from your "objective," while also try and figure out your motive.

"Your Grace, may you please accompany me to Jueyun Karst? I believe the view there might be well, and I am in need of finding Jueyun chilis." "Zhongli, I—" "Thank you, Your Grace. Please, accompany me."

He does his absolute best to prove to you that Liyue is not a nation worth decimating for. When he hears that it was all just a misunderstanding and that, no, you weren't planning on destroying Liyue at all, he sighs in relief and decides to treat you all to tea.

Even you know y'all need it.

Raiden Ei

Gurl's not having a good time. It's almost like pre-Inazuma Archon Quest all over again. Ei's doing her best to make sure that Inazuma is the most well-behaved nation and yeah, it's kind of a disaster

The moment you step foot into Inazuma, you immediately sent to Tenshukaku to talk to Raiden Ei. She's even got Yae Miko on board with this—they cannot afford to lose Inazuma.

"Your Grace, please listen." "Ei, please—" "Inazuma has diligently followed all your orders, and we will continue to do so if you bless our nation with the chance to continue to thrive." Ei is almost going back to a similar state of being "close to the heavenly principles," only except she's here in the present and not in her eternal meditation.

The moment you get her to hear you out and that, no, Inazuma's not going anywhere, she nearly deflates on the spot. But, as she's the Raiden Shogun, she tries her best to stay composed.

Nevertheless, she's forever relieved that Inazuma is still favored by you.

Nahida

Like the others, she panics. While she is heavily worried about her subjects, and how they're faring, she has to leave that to the Akademiya's Grand Sage while she tries her best to find the reason as to why you want to decimate Sumeru.

She's heavily in thought and the moment you barge into the Sanctuary of Surasthana, Nahida immediately panics, thinking this is the end—the time you tell her to step down and watch Sumeru fall. Nevertheless, she wants Sumeru to live, and she tries to put up a fight.

"Your Grace, please tell me—what is it that made you hate Sumeru?" "Nahida, please...." "We've done nothing wrong, as far as I am aware of. Is there something that was done that makes you think Sumeru betrayed you?" She's determined to not only stall, but get you to tell your (non-existent) reasoning as to why you want Sumeru destroyed.

She's probably the easiest archon that you will be able to tell them that it was not true, and when Nahida hears this, she is both relieved, overjoyed, and making a mental note of your temperament.

Yes, she's going to five you her research about how to deal with your mood. Have fun!~

Furina

Boy oh boy...if you thought Venti was dramatic, Furina goes FULL ON dramatic. The moment she hears this, it's almost like the prophecy all over again. She panics, and she immediately demands that the charges against criminals become more brutal, and that their theatrics and soap opera are to be only top-peak level. (Neuvillette's getting a headache dealing with her, you can tell—)

When you manage to get to Fontaine, you almost don't even recognize it. The citizens are so quiet when you arrived, and moving away from you respectively as Furina immediately rushes forward and whisks you away to the Opera Epiclese to entertain you.

"Furina, please listen—" "Don't you worry about a thing, Your Grace, for I, Focalors, shall show you how Fontaine will regain your approval through their justice, and through their opera!" "Furina—" "Please, Your Grace, rejoice in our spectacles, and enjoy the feast that is brought to your majesticness!"

We know all too well that Furina is a good actor. And this situation really proves how much she's hiding her panic, despite the fact that it's killing her. She's probably the most difficult, a little above Ei, archon that will hear you out about your accidental temperament.

When you somehow manage to get Furina to listen, she immediately deflates on the spot, before immediately putting back on her elegant posture. She asks Neuvillette to go back to normal charges, and she lowers the bar for the stories, allowing her subjects the breathing room that they're used to.

She treats you to Fontaine desserts, so win-win, yeah?

And we're done! I hope you guys enjoyed it lol—See you next time! :D

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: THIS TOOK TOO LONG—MUCH LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE SJGHKJGHEUHSIE SORRY-

Please feel free to send me any of your requests for Fontaine! I'm too obsessed rn lol—especially Fremmie (Freminet)!!! Anyways, hope y'all doing well lol—see you next time :)

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

#sagau genshin #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #sagau x reader #genshin self aware #sagau #yandere sagau #genshin cult au #sagau brainrot #sagau cult au #sagau venti #sagau zhongli #sagau ei #sagau nahida #sagau furina

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cosmic-chelonian · 2 months

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Never understood people who say Five is 'too soft' because... have we been watching the same show? Were they asleep during the first season, which he spends being dismissive and cold with Adric, an issue that was never resolved when Adric was brutally killed? Do they, like many of the show's adversaries, mistake his outward appearance of 'harmless, affable English fellow' for weakness, even though he could switch from that to being your worst enemy on a dime? His continued dry humour, now bitter and sarcastic, in the face of danger or evil is one of the character's most compelling aspects. He hardly changes his outward demeanour, and his continued affected politeness makes him seem all the more dangerous as you see the fury and outrage boiling underneath, and you see a plan form behind his steely eyes.

And if he is sentimental sometimes, why do they see it as being 'too soft', instead of what it truly is: a need to atone, after the universe punished him for his harshness towards Adric in the worst possible way? Adric's death haunts Five for the rest of his life, and you can actually see it in Davison's portrayal, even if no mention of Adric occurs in the script. You can see Adric's ghost in the wild desperation in Five's eyes during his final serial, while he rushes to give his life to save his companion. Because he cannot let this happen again because of him. And the last word out of his mouth as he dies is 'Adric', as we come to the heart-wrenching realisation that his mind is not filled with his own imminent doom but with thoughts of that poor boy, of how he killed him, of how he never got to show how much he cared for him. Of how much it hurt that he could almost be forgiven by trading his life for Peri's, but still he could never go back and save Adric.

And that's why my blood boils when people say he's 'too soft'. He's one of the few classic doctors with a character arc, for god's sake, and it's all about him being too harsh.

#doctor who #classic who #classic doctor who #fifth doctor #peter davison #maybe people just haven't seen enough of Five's run to see the progression #but still the whole 'dangerous sarcasm' thing should be obvious even from a few episodes #maybe the whole 'gentleman' act isn't something that appeals to all viewers #like for me i dislike seven's clown act #but i can still see he's dangerous and clever underneath. i don't actually think he's stupid #whereas so many people seem to think that five just is 'friendly cricket guy' all the way through

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findingcrow · 7 months

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Okay, its been a couple months since my last Roomies post which means I need to ramble more (mainly because I consume the found family trope like its oxygen I need to survive), so here we go again!!!

The Roomies (Grian, Etho, and Cleo in Secret Life) are genuinely my favorite group out of all of the life series. They are the very definition of found family. They made the trope, actually. And what's worse is that they were doomed from the beginning.

Grian, known for abandoning people for the hell of it anytime it's convenient. The last time he was really loyal to someone was in Last Life with Scar, and after how that ended, I like to think that he was afraid to make any connections like that again. He messes with people for the sake of it. He is the embodiment of chaos itself.

Cleo, known for her violent and merciless nature. Throughout the series, she's constantly making a long list of people to kill when she gets the chance. It's not often she displays openness with people, especially knowing how the life series always ends. The last time she did, her family was splitting by the seams and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She refuses to not be in power again like that.

Etho, extremely serious and yet not at all. He'll lie when he needs to, he'll mess with whoever he wants, whenever he wants. He does his tasks, bumps into everyone and no one on the way. Known for being loyal, but loyal to who? All of the other seasons are done, he has no solid allies, besides BDubs.

And yet after the divorce arc, Cleo and Etho reunite, Etho allowing Cleo to stay when she was trying to escape Tango and the others. It's more for connivence at first, maybe helping out with a task here or there. They made a home and continue on.

Then Grian asks for a place to stay- just as Cleo had all those episodes ago- and they say yes. They know that there's a high likelihood of him killing them when the time comes to it. They look between each other, remembering all of their pasts and all of the blood shed, and they realize that they're just the same as the man standing at their door asking for shelter. Not a home, just a shelter. That's all this is for the three of them, it's a roommates-for-connivence situation.

But over time, they all get... closer. Maybe it's after the zombie apocalypse, where Grian's first thought after realizing is, "I need to warn Cleo and Etho" or where Etho purposefully wards the zombies away from his friends. Maybe it's after the traps set specifically to kill them. Maybe it's after Grian begs Etho and Cleo to do the "zombie dance," where Cleo tries her best despite not even knowing it existed.

There was never a specific moment where they decided they were no longer roommates and that they were family. It's rarely acknowledged until Grian is speaking with the two of them where he swears to never hurt them, even after all of them turn Red. Etho and Cleo, in return, agree.

When the end eventually comes, like they all knew it would, they stick together. They climb high up, high enough where they should be able to live in peace together for the rest of eternity. But they're found, just like the game is meant to go, and everyone knows there's going to be people who don't come down. Etho is one of the first.

There's no mistaking the cries that are shouted when Etho falls. Grian and Cleo watch intently, only wanting Etho to run faster. They don't hear his final words, they don't hear him say "I'm going home, everybody. I'm dying in my home." They don't get to be there, in his last moments, as he passes away in the home they made together. All Cleo and Grian can do is mourn for a short moment before trying to save themselves. Grian calls out, "No, Etho, my boy!!!" eyes straying to their home, staying there for a moment, not being able to know what happened there, other than his family being dead. Cleo begins to do something similar- "Etho, you're my bo..." She lets out a sob, her voice cracking, before she quickly distracts herself. She understands now what the goal of the game is, how everyone else is playing it. They're willing to do anything to avenge Etho, even if it means getting killed themselves.

Grian and Cleo- only two of their trio, a blank space left open where another should be- work together, barely leaving each others side. But eventually they're found, even with their trap doing so much damage. Cleo is the second to go, cornered and slaughtered.

Grian was the last to join The Roomies and the last to leave, and he made sure it counted. He fought not only for himself, but for his fallen family. He's only one person, but he fights with the strength of all three of them. Eventually, he's killed, just like the others, but at least he did what he could. He tried, and that was all that mattered.

I'd like to think that Etho and Cleo were waiting for him, then. Etho had waited for Cleo, both of them tearing up at the fact that they got to see each other again. They cheered from above, watching Grian fight off so many more than himself. And when Grian joined them, they opened their arms, the same that had held on so tight throughout the series. The three of them, The Roomies, they had named themselves, were only thankful that their last memories of each other's faces weren't the bloody versions from their deaths.

The three of them were so different. They had different personalities, different friends, different backgrounds. They knew that in the end, only one could win. And yet they were willing to die for each other, ready to murder the whole server in cold blood for even trying to hurt any of them. After trying so hard to not be attached, they couldn't help it.

Family isn't always the blood in your veins; sometimes its the blood on your hands. Sometimes it's the hand that holds yours, despite it being red-stained and calloused. Sometimes it's the ones that would be willing to spill more blood with you, for you, even if it was illogical. Sometimes it's the stupid animals that you named together, sometimes its the adventures that ended up causing pain but you can laugh through because you're not alone.

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daechwitatamic · 4 months

Text

Vice;Grip || chapter 2 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose. A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: depiction of a depressive episode, recreational drinking and bar scenes, allusion to oral (f. receiving), kissing, rough sex/man-handling, explicit penetrative sex, dirty talk, aftercare, didn't venture fully into writing dom!vernon but i have been informed i wrote something that might be in the realm of a dom drop, language obviously, reader is called a gendered slur by a stranger, law-breaking :), actual fluff for a second, allusions to drug use, car sex

wc: 6900

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1 yr, 5 months ago

The onset of spring brought a lack of color. Grey clouds hung full and heavy, low over the city skyline. Grey crept into the corners of your apartment, darkening rooms during daytime so that you needed to keep lamps on even in midafternoon. Grey crept over your body, into your limbs. Days stretched and nights inched; you only got out of bed because you had to feed the damn cat.

That's part of why you'd gotten the cat in the first place, after a particularly long episode a few years ago, when Chan had presented you with a list of things he thought you should do to combat the blues, as he'd put it.

He meant well. But he always came at your depression like a problem solver, like just doing the right things could make it go away.

And sure, his suggestions were things that would help - get outside, call someone, don't isolate, shower even if you aren't leaving the house, drink some damn water - they weren't a cure. They were better reminders for when you were okay - good at keeping you okay for longer stretches. But when it was already too late, when the grey came, they all sounded fucking pointless.

Anyway. The cat had been a good idea.

is it bad??

Chan did his best. He was a good best friend. He just didn't understand it.

The answer to his question, you thought, as you flipped your phone over so you wouldn't see the notification if he followed up, was yes. Yes, this time was particularly bad. But you didn't have the energy to type those three words.

Terrible friend, your brain accused, and it was right.

You managed to drag yourself to work, to at least show up so you could continue to pay for your apartment and your damn cat, but not much else. You existed on cans of diet coke and microwave meals. You doom-scrolled until sunrise, then slept an hour or two at most before getting dressed for work. You left texts unanswered, the mail piled up. So did the dishes.

Chan came by, once, did your dishes for you. It made you feel worse - useless and pitiable. You'd rather he just go away, but you held it in; you knew that would only hurt his feelings.

You learned from your mistakes, one thing that could be said in your favor.

“Have you called your doctor?” he wanted to know.

What was the point? There wasn't a stop hating your life pill.

“What if you tried painting?” he asked.

“What if you just let me be?” you countered, finally tripping over the line from embarrassed apathy to defensiveness.

That pout again. “It might help,” he said. “Don't most famous artists do their best shit when they're down?”

“Get out,” you deadpanned. He dropped it, knowing this was a bigger issue, a bigger argument, than this current episode, a complex situation that went beyond the boundaries of your brain chemistry.

He put the last of your now-clean plates away. “Let's go somewhere,” he suggested.

“Chan,” you groaned. “I’m tired. I can't go gallivanting -”

“You're not tired, you're depressed,” he argued. “And going outside will help you.”

“I might have to kill you,” you said seriously, and he rolled his eyes.

In the end, he let you win. He'd been around long enough to know that eventually you'd venture outside again, hit the bars with him again, text first again, laugh at his stupid memes again. It was just a waiting game.

Still, when he left, you sat on the edge of your couch with your chin in your hands. On the living room rug, the cat rolled and showed you its belly.

“Not you, too,” you groused.

The cat did a few alligator rolls and then scampered into your bedroom and under the bed, as if chased.

You sighed. You made your way to the spare room, which had been shut - to keep the cat out. To keep your ghosts in.

Your easel was still set up in the corner. You were kind of surprised it wasn't covered in cobwebs. You'd been sketching just on paper last time you'd worked, trying to make decisions that way so you wouldn't waste a canvas, and it still sat there.

You inched closer, ran your hands over your brushes. Took a step back, eyed the paper and your sketches.

It was bad. Thank god you hadn't put it to canvas.

You pulled the paper down, crumpled it in your hands. You chased the cat out with a gentle nudge of your foot, and closed the door again, keeping both cats and ghosts on their respective sides of the door.

There was no rhyme or reason to your brain, no map or calendar to follow for the starts or stops. But eventually, the clouds broke. The grey gave way to baby buds of green, yellows pushed through soil, determined to meet the sun.

You texted Chan - drinks??

He responded - about time!!!

You texted Vernon - hello, its me

When he didn't answer, you tried again - sorry for the radio silence.

Still nothing.

You checked his socials, saw that he'd been doing his thing - a smattering of selfies, some group shots with the guys he played music with sometimes, a few nature shots: the moon, once, and what looked like the river at night.

The silence stretched. You gave up, considered it over. Grieved a little, because it had been good.

You went out on a night that teased summer even though it was months away, sank into the familiar blur of too many shots - not enough to be a problem, but maybe enough to make problems.

Under the club's ever-moving lights, you took a selfie, your drink and cleavage both showcased in the shot.

Send it to Vernon, the urge to make trouble suggested, and you listened without hesitation.

And - finally - an answer.

come here after??

You smiled a tiny, victorious smile and knocked back the rest of your drink.

omw.

Later, he gave you a rare and devastating pout as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothed fingers down the still-shaking inside of your thigh.

“What'd you make me wait so long for?” he complained, those sharp eyes sparkling with mirth. When you shrugged, still a little mindless from your high, he gave the same spot on your thigh a playful slap. “Don't do it again.”

1 yr, 4 months ago

busy tonight?

not busy but.

???

not in the best mood.

bet i could fix that.

yeah. idk.

why don't you let me try?

“What's wrong?” you cooed, teasing, when Vernon let you into the apartment.

He didn't smile, didn't play along, and it sobered you quickly.

“Don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, crowding into your space. “Wasn't that big of a deal anyway.”

Just want the fix you promised, he thought.

You moaned like liquid gold when his first kiss was a bite. Encouraged, Vernon gripped you by the shoulders, pushing you back against the wall hard enough that he heard your breath escape in a single huff. He hesitated, eyes searching your face; a question.

You lifted your chin, eyes shining with something hard. When he kissed you again, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, hard enough to make him hiss; an answer.

His pace was frenzied from the start, your legs around his waist and the wall holding you up. His hand curled around your throat, not squeezing, but sliding up to grip at your jaw instead, keeping you from tilting your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself in how he felt slamming his hips flush against yours with dizzying smacks.

When you whined that you were close, he pulled you away from the wall and lowered you both to the ground, the wooden floor of his entryway cold and hard beneath your spine. It didn’t matter, didn’t do anything to stop the vortex tightening below your stomach. You slapped a hand over your face as it distorted in pleasure, Vernon kneeling between the legs you still had gripping his waist, one of his hands braced on the floor next to your head, holding his body over you.

“That’s right,” he breathed, gritted teeth flashing over you, forehead wrinkling as his own release closed in on the chase. “Just fucking take it when I fuck you into the floor.”

Then he was pulling out, breaths hissing through his teeth as he straightened up, one hand pumping himself furiously until strings of white decorated your stomach, cooling immediately in the apartment’s chilly air.

His breathing was ragged as he sagged back onto his heels, and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him warily.

Then he stood and slipped into the hallway bathroom, the light clicking on and illuminating the unlit entryway where you’d just fucked. You heard the sink run, then shut back off, and Vernon returned. He knelt gingerly - you could see his knees were red from kneeling on the wooden floor - and cleaned your stomach first, then gently between your legs.

You sat the rest of the way up then, watching him carefully as he sat back on his heels again, avoiding your gaze. Something about the moment felt like a thing alive, unfurling between you like a casablanca lily under the refracted light of the moon.

You spoke at the same time.

“Vernon?”

��You okay?”

You swallowed, rubbed absently at your elbow where you’d smacked it on the floor during the position change.

“I’m fine,” you said tentatively. “Are you?”

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and then peering through his fingers at you for a second before dropping them again. “Thought I hurt you.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I would have said something.”

He nodded, relief starting to bring feeling back to his hands again. He stood and reached a hand down for you. When you took it, he closed his fingers around yours and pulled you to your feet.

“I know we don’t usually do this,” you said, rubbing at the parts of you that had been on the floor - the backs of your legs, your ass, “but could I take a super fast shower before I go?”

“Yeah,” he said, so quickly that the word almost trips on itself. “Of course.”

He led you into the bathroom, rummaged in the disorganized linen closet for a clean towel, pressed it into your hands.

“If you need one, too,” you said easily, as he reached around you to turn the water on so it could heat up, “I don’t mind if you join me.”

He paused. “You sure?”

You shrugged, then leaned over to put your hand under the spray, testing to see if it was still cold. “It’s your shower.”

Under the stream of warm water, you turned to face him, front to front, looking up at him with clear eyes. Something in your expression was so open, Vernon couldn’t help but feel both the desire to step into the space you seemed to be offering him as well as the desire to get far, far away from it.

He’d been so angry before you’d texted, furious enough that he’d bruised his knuckles punching the doorframe; now, as the chemicals in his body settled down, he felt those knuckles throbbing. He was disgusted that he’d lost his temper, guilty that he’d taken any of that anger out on you, who had nothing to do with it.

He was scared of the desire he felt to be closer to you, just for tonight. Scared that fucking you hadn’t been enough to soothe whatever it was that roiled inside him, like it usually was. Scared that he felt like he needed more than sex to heal this particular burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and part of him thought he was apologizing in advance, like he knew already he’d run scared at some point. “For being so...”

He didn’t know what word fit best.

“I told you,” you said, pressing a little closer, “I would have said if I had a problem.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning a little. “If you’re sure.”

Then he reached over and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone, chasing away a rivulet of shower-water. You closed your eyes for a second, and he swore he could feel you lean into the touch, just slightly.

He didn’t know how to explain how he felt. Kind of like he’d done a hot-coal-walk; the exhaustion that came with an adrenaline crash, the vulnerability that came after facing down something big, that need - the burn inside him needing cool water before it could quiet down.

With the shower off, the silence in the bathroom was loud.

“Do you…” Vernon started, then stopped. His heart hammered, the adrenaline returning. He covered the moment by toweling his hair roughly and pulling his hands through the strands so they’d lay right. “Do you want to stay for a little bit? I was gonna order delivery, maybe watch something before I finish my assignment.”

He’d expected you to think about it, to turn it over in your mind the way you turn his things over in your careful hands, the way you turn him ass over head with just a smirk. Instead, you nodded right away.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was no big deal. Like you did this all the time. Maybe you did, just not with him. “I was starving, actually. I could stay for an hour or two.”

On his couch, the leftovers of the food scattered on his coffee table, you reached for his hand, ran a thumb imperceptibly along his purpled knuckles. You didn’t ask what happened, just brought them to your lips and pressed the lightest kiss before putting them down again and reaching for your noodles, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

That was when Vernon saw the potential of it, an entire picture, framed and labeled: you could hurt him so badly if he let you, if he let it get that far. For whatever it was that burned inside him, you were the cool water… but you could absolutely be gasoline, instead.

1 yr, 3 months ago

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the light that passed over your closed lids in a repetitive pattern was the sweep of a lighthouse beam. You could pretend that the rumbling bass of the music was the roar of the ocean. You could pretend that you weren’t here, in a shitty bar, but at the seaside. You could pretend that you weren’t alone. You could pretend that you weren’t you.

You drained your drink and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another, sliding the sweating glass away from you once you knew a new one was coming.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice came from your right, and you lifted tired, disinterested eyes to find the source of it.

“G and T,” you answered, because it was one fewer syllable than saying gin and tonic and maybe that one syllable would do the dirty work for you and tell this guy that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Nice,” he said, like you’d said something interesting, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You didn’t return the question, just slid your phone screen on and opened your messages.

wyd

drinks at my hyungs place. wbu

damn. guess i have to settle for one of these very mid prospects at the willow

damn thats a sad story. if only you had a better option

if only my better option werent busy at his hyung’s

no one said i had to stay here. ur at the willow?

yep

The guy to your right tried again. “The DJ tonight kind of sucks, huh?”

You looked back at your phone.

don’t leave

You smiled into your drink, a thrill dancing through your bloodstream. The lights and music didn’t seem as garish as they had ten minutes ago.

“My boyfriend’s on his way to pick me up,” you said flatly to the guy who kept trying to talk to you, “so you might want to find someone else to complain about the DJ to.”

The word tasted like lemonade on your tongue - acidic and sour, sweet and refreshing, taste buds blooming and shriveling in tandem. Even the knowledge that it was a flat-out lie didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.

You expected the guy to get up and leave, maybe throw you a dirty look on his way. Instead, he seemed to call your bluff, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read you.

“I don’t think I’d let my girlfriend go out alone looking like this,” he said evenly, and you let out a derisive laugh.

“The fact that you just said the words let my girlfriend probably has a lot to do with why you’re here alone,” you countered, a flash of victory slicing up your spine when you saw his face flush.

Before he could retort, you hopped down from your barstool, pushing your way into the crowded dance floor. You didn’t even want to dance, you just wanted to get away. If Vernon wanted to find you, he could come find you. He’d told you not to leave, he hadn’t said make it easy for me.

He found you anyway; he made it look easy. He stepped around a group of guys talking in a circle and into your space, like he was following a path, like he knew there’d be room for him.

You were happy to see him. You were happy he came. You were happy to breathe him in, to feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne and hear your name tumble from his mouth like a statement. You were too drunk to tuck these truths away into pockets and folds where they would be harder to find.

You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. If he was surprised, his body hid it well. His hands came to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to him as you leaned up to find his mouth.

You kissed him slowly, at odds with the frantic bassline vibrating under your feet. You let him tip your head back, changing the angle, sweeping your mouth with his tongue until you both tasted lemonade.

“Happy to see me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face, one eyebrow arched in question and one half of his mouth twitching into a smile.

You didn’t have it in you to lie, so instead you said, “Your place?”

He led you outside.

As luck would have it, the idiot from the bar stood beside the front door, a cigarette between two fingers. His expression darkened when he recognized you, then further when he saw your fingers linked with Vernon’s as you stepped into the quiet night.

“Your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch,” the guy bit out, dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up.

Evenly, he said, “She’s not -”

She’s not my girlfriend. You felt your stomach swoop, and you felt yourself flinch.

“- a bitch. She’s just smarter than you.”

Vernon tugged on your hand, leading you across the street to his parked, waiting car.

You tried to bite back a smile, and he looked sideways at you, his own lips twitching.

“What?” he demanded.

“What?” you parroted.

He scowled at you, but his lips were just smiling. “What?” he asked again.

You laughed. “Let’s go,” you said. “The bitch wants to kiss you more.”

You expected his smile to sharpen. Instead, something in it seems to soften, changing from teasing to actual affection.

“Alright,” he said, turning to start the engine. “Can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“You could,” you mused, as he pulled away from the curb and the bar slid into nothingness behind you, “but I just don’t think you should.”

1 yr, 2 months ago

wyd

melting

srsly

no, seriously. i am laying on my living room floor like a starfish trying not to turn into liquid

come to hyungs

its too hot to move

i have an idea, come meet me at hyungs

You frowned at your phone. Of course your aircon died during the only heatwave you could remember in your entire adult life. Your whole body felt sticky; you were pretty sure you were stuck to your floor.

It was too hot to move.

what’s the idea??

you’ll see. i’ll order u a car. can you bring a couple towels?

“Vernon, no,” you laughed, your voice echoing.

He shushed you through laughter, both of you leaning on each other as you stood at the edge of the yard, the grass tickling the bottoms of your bare feet. Upstairs, at his friend’s place, you’d thrown back a few shots for courage before following Vernon out here, and you were feeling them, your head swimming like your body might soon be.

“It’s a circuit, see?” he tried to explain, pointing through the night, as if you could see through all the fences and over all the hedges. “Five yards, five pools, and then we end up right back here and we get in the car and go. Just follow me, don’t stop for anything.”

“Someone’s gonna call the cops,” you complained. “And these neighborhoods all have cameras.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” he said, his grin so excited and so un-Vernon that you almost couldn’t bear to say no to him. “No one’s gonna call the cops if we’re already gone - it’s not worth it. You ready?”

You hesitated. “You’re good to drive us out of here?” you checked.

He held up his hands as if to show innocence. “Only had a beer,” he promised. “But I’ve got something fun in the car for after, if you want.”

You felt your grin turn wolfish. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

“Try and be quiet,” he warned, then took off running across the yard, cannonballing into the pool with a splash.

You tore off after him, leaping into the water and suppressing a shriek when the cold water hit you. You felt instantly sober, jittery with adrenaline, alive with laughter. You spluttered your way to the surface and pushed water away from your eyes, trying to find him through the shadows.

He was already climbing out the other side, water running down his back, the muscle shifting in the half-light as he hoisted himself back onto the pool’s deck. You hurried across the pool, climbing up beside him, giggling wildly.

“Shhh,” he warned, but he was giggling too as he led you carefully over the fence to the next yard.

As soon as you crept close enough to the pool to jump, a motion-activated light came on, flooding the yard white and causing you to cover your eyes.

“Quick!” Vernon told you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in with him as he jumped.

You let out a stream of bubbles and water rushed into your mouth. You felt your feet hit the bottom and you pushed off hard, surfacing quickly.

Again, you followed him across the pool, both of you laughing and whispering, “Hurry! Quick!” as you climbed out and headed around the house to the front yard.

“Okay, this is the hard part,” he told you, both of you shivering as the night air caught up to you. “We have to cross the street, hop the fence, and then the pool is around back.”

“I’m ready,” you promised, with a particularly hard shiver.

You sprinted across the street, both leaving wet footprints on the pavement. His hand felt warm in yours when he helped you over the fence, warm on your body when he held your waist as you climbed down.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, but giggles still spilled out of you.

“More fun than melting, right?” he asked, and you thought that you’d seen him smile more tonight than in whole months of coming together at night.

You thought you might move mountains to see him smile like this again, gums showing, open and honest, happy.

Then you were underwater again, swimming hard to keep up, following Vernon through the night as he pushed his way through some hedges and held them apart for you.

You made it to the last house before someone caught you, slamming the back door open and shouting, “Hey!”

“Go, go, go!” Vernon cried, laughing with such abandon that it sounded like goose honks, pulling on your hand as you both stumbled, dripping, towards the car.

You’d set towels on the seats before starting, so you tumbled into the car and he peeled away, both of you laughing wildly as you left the neighborhood behind.

It was miles before you calmed down, gasping in breaths and trying to hold them before exploding into laughter again.

“I’d better not end up on the news,” you scolded. “I’m in my underwear.

He gave you a searing sideways look. “I noticed.”

You felt yourself warm again, despite being in soaking wet clothes.

“Where next?” you asked. “Home?”

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “I don’t really want to go home,” he admitted. Then, “I was having fun with you.”

You considered this. “Not to be a cliche, but… I know a place.”

The quarry was quiet, surrounded by only trees; without posted lights, everything seemed to be just varying shades of black - the black of the water just darker than the black of the stone ledges just darker than the walls of trees just darker than the sky sprinkled with stars above you.

“We have to be careful,” you warned him seriously. “If you slip and get hurt, it could be bad.”

He turned the flashlight on his phone on and set it next to the metal rungs that jutted out of the stone, a makeshift ladder for the swimmers who came here during the day, when swimming was allowed.

“It’s going to be way colder than the pools,” you added.

“You’re not selling this very well,” he pointed out.

“Don’t be a chicken,” you teased.

He eyed the water. “I’m having second thoughts.”

You nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to squirm away, hands batting at yours, a noise emitting from him that made you laugh out loud.

“Are you ticklish?” you demanded. “How did I not know?”

“Come on, are we jumping or what?” he asked, laughing, still trying to keep your sneaky hands away from his ribs.

“Yeah, that’s probably the only way to actually get in,” you admitted, still laughing a little. Your abs felt a little sore from how much you’d laughed tonight.

You stood on the edge of the stone, toes curling over the ledge, Vernon’s hand tight in yours. You stood on the edge, the ink-like water beneath you rippling slightly, marring the reflection of the constellations high above you. You stood on the edge of something, knowing full well you were afraid to swim.

He counted you down, and together, you jumped.

The water was freezing - it hurt, it stung, and you shrieked and laughed as you surfaced. A foot from you, Vernon was shouting.

“The towels!” you told him, already swimming towards the little dot of light that marked the ladder.

Shaking and shivering, you reached your towel, wrapping it around yourself. Behind you, Vernon jogged up, making noises like a disgruntled horse as he found his own towel.

“Oh my god,” he groused, grabbing for you. “I’m freezing, come here.”

He opened his arms, the towel behind him like a wingspan, and you stepped into the space, letting him wrap his arms and his towel around you. You stood shivering together, trying to let your body heat chase the cold away.

You wrapped your own arms around his middle, pressing yourself closer as your legs shook, shivers rolling up your spine in waves as your body fought the chill.

“C’mere,” he murmured above you, holding you a little more tightly, his own teeth chattering.

It was the first time, you realized as you turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest, that you’d held each other. It was the first time you’d been between his arms when you weren’t fucking, the first time he’d tightened his grip around you for a reason other than gratification.

You didn’t want it - didn’t want to know that it felt nice in his embrace, didn’t want to know that it fit right and felt safe. You didn’t want to know that you liked it, didn’t want to have to fight against the humiliation of wanting more.

As soon as the full-body tremors died away in the warm, sticky night, you stepped away, eager to put distance between you again.

Later, he looked over at you from the driver’s seat of the car, red-eyed, his smile stretching slow and thick like putty. When you straddled his lap, his hands searching out the bare skin of your back, you rocked against him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his pretty throat until you were pulling groans from him with each pass of your hips.

Forget, you thought, as you pulled your underwear to the side for him. Forget every single thing but this.

When you slipped an arm behind his neck and pressed your foreheads together as you lifted and dropped, you weren’t sure whose memory you were hoping to erase with this most recent pleasure-chase: yours, or his.

1 yr, 1 month ago

There was no map or calendar to this thing your brain did. It was summer, the sun shone, and yet the days bled together again, sunsets swirling down the shower drain.

The last time you’d gone radio silent, the last time your world had gone grey without warning, Vernon had answered in kind. His own silence had shouted for him until you’d tempted him back.

This time, he didn’t resort to silence in retaliation to yours. Instead, he kept trying, relentless. If you’d had more presence of mind, you might have wondered why.

wyd

[ ]

yo. whats the deal

[ ]

i will have you know that this is very insulting

[ ]

don’t get mad but im coming over

“What the fuck, Vernon.”

“I said don’t get mad.”

“It doesn’t work like that. What are you doing here?”

He leveled you with a look. “You gonna let me in?”

“Literally, no.”

You hadn’t showered in days; your apartment was probably grosser than you were. The cat milled around your ankles, trying to weasel its way outside, and you hopped from foot to foot trying to nudge it back inside.

“Why not?” he asked.

You huffed, annoyed. But the annoyance was the first thing you’d felt all day, and something inside you clung to it, desperate for more of anything but the crawling nothing that’s kept you company for days.

“Because,” you grumbled. Because there’s nothing for you here. Because I have nothing I can give you. “I’m… just not in the mood.”

He stepped back from the door so you could see more of him. “I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then why are you here?” The words fell between you, heavy. If you hadn’t been so low, if you hadn’t gone all day without eating, if you hadn’t been on your thirtieth hour without sleeping, you would have known better. You would have realized that you were asking, if you aren’t here for sex, then what are you here for?

You wouldn’t have asked a question that you didn’t want the answer to.

He met your eyes. He seemed to teeter on the edge of telling you the truth, giving you the real answer. Then, he muttered, “Got bored.”

You knew it wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew you knew it, and yet neither of you were willing to look at it directly.

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He watched you for what felt like a long time, face serious, eyes glittering and attentive. Then, instead of answering, he repeated, “Are you gonna let me in?”

You frowned at him, but there was a little more pout to it than anger. “I’m all gross,” you said, instead of answering.

Something in him softened - it was visible on his face, in his shoulders, like he knew this was your way of saying yes. “So let’s shower,” he suggested quietly.

You felt trepidation, like part of you expected him to stay soft, to try to take care of you. To your relief, Vernon acted like everything was normal, scrunching his face at you when the water was too cold as he stepped in, washing his own body in silence and letting you do your thing.

He didn’t try to hold you, didn’t ask you when you’d eaten last, didn’t try to talk about it - didn’t try to fix it. He was just… there, and this - along with your first shower in days - was somehow revitalizing in itself.

You pulled on clean sweats, which was better than the day-four sweats he’d found you in. “The apartment’s kind of… sorry,” you mumbled, looking around the living room, feeling a bit of that familiar shame crawl up your neck as you noticed the evidence that you hadn’t been picking up, or running a vacuum.

Vernon flopped backwards on your sofa, unphased, one arm bent behind his head. “We’ve been doing this for almost a year,” he pointed out. “I know how it usually is.”

It isn’t usually like this. And neither are you.

You wondered when it happened - your ability to finish his half-thoughts, your ability to know what he meant when he only said a fraction of it.

You stood awkwardly beside the couch where he was lounging, and he looked up at you with a tiny, amused smile.

“What do you wanna do?”

What you really wanted to do was cocoon yourself in blankets again and put on repeats of a show you’d already seen. But now you had to look functional. You might be mad at him for showing up like this, now that you thought about it.

“I dunno,” you said, which was close to the truth.

“You wanna eat?”

“Honestly?” you asked, pursing your lips a little. “No.”

“Okay,” he said easily, and it struck you again how different this was than how Chan treated you when you were low. Chan would have already had the food delivered, and would be chasing you around the table with loaded chopsticks, demanding you take a bite.

“Can we just… watch something?” you asked, unsure.

Vernon wordlessly reached for your remote and held it up to you, nonplussed.

You wondered if it was an act, how easy this was, how unbothered he was, how he seemed to just understand what wouldn’t help.

You knew it wasn’t; you’d been around long enough to know that Vernon’s demons weren’t all that different from yours.

You settled somewhere between his body and the back of the couch, one leg bent over his legs, one of your arms over his stomach and his arm curled around your shoulders.

“This is weird,” you muttered into his chest, and his laugh rumbled under you.

“Why?” he asked, his smile big, like he thought you were particularly funny. “Not used to being big spoon?”

Not used to cuddling - with you.

“Yeah,” you said, because that was easier.

On your TV, a show ran through several episodes, the changing scenes splashing you and Vernon with changing colors, casting his face blue and then white and then black and then red and then blue again. Sometimes he’d watch, sometimes he’d scroll on his phone. You mostly felt his heart beating under your hand and let your mind whir.

At some point he started mindlessly (or not mindlessly, who could know) stroking your back, gentle touches brushing up and down, slow, slow, the way he always was. At some point you shivered, goosebumps rising along your arms, and snuggled closer to him. At some point he shifted you from slightly beside him to on top of him, a second hand slipping under your loose tshirt and joining the first in tracing stripes up and down your upper back.

You shifted against him, something coming to life with a shudder like the furnace in your parent’s basement on cold autumn nights. Heat worked its way slowly from your core to your stomach, down your legs.

He kept his eyes on the tv, innocent, but you could hear his heartbeat. It couldn’t lie and pretend.

You shifted again, squirming until you’d worked his t-shirt up just enough that you could touch skin, too. You trailed your own fingers over the inch of exposed stomach you’d found, and delighted in the way you could feel him start to harden beneath you.

Then, you delighted in your delight. It was the first good thing you’d been able to feel in almost a week.

You said his name, and he finally looked down at you, eyes nearly black in the unlit room.

“What is it?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly so low it sent shivers tumbling down each vertebrae and tripping over to your limbs. “Want me to make you feel good?”

No, you wanted to say as you answered his question by pulling the hem of his t-shirt higher, encouraging him to lift up so you could pull it off. No, just want you to make me feel.

1 year ago

Everywhere Vernon looked, all he saw was circles. Circle of red in his bowl when he inhaled. Circle of condensation on the table when he lifted his beer. Circle of light reflecting from his phone case, laying in the setting sunlight, to the ceiling. Above him, the ceiling fan circled lazily, nowhere to be.

And you - you and him. That was a circle, too. A cycle, at least, which was close enough in his opinion. Text, hook up, skitter back to your respective places, wait out the next weekend. It was as rhythmic and routine as waves breaking and then getting pulled back out only to come shatter on sand again. It was out of his control, up to forces far greater than he was.

Vernon’s friends had texted to hang out and he’d declined. He told them he was seeing his parents, but really, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to watch the ceiling fan circle, he wanted to let his brain go staticky quiet, he wanted to burrow deep into things that made him feel less.

But he still, somehow, wanted to see you. He wanted to be alone, and being with you didn’t feel like not getting that.

It was a little scary, he thought, that you were the exception. That he could be with you without feeling the uncomfortable pressure of being with others, of having to be on, of having to fake cheerfulness and keep up with chatter that only exhausted him.

Vernon wasn’t a kid. He knew what it meant.

whats up

honestly not a lot. want me to come over?

Yeah, he did. He did, even if you weren’t going to hook up. He did, even if you were just going to lay on opposite sides of the couch and scroll on your phones. He did, and he hoped he’d end up with his arms around you, and he hoped he’d make you laugh at least once, and he hoped you’d stay and just be there with him after.

When you came over, he asked you how you felt about it - about him, about you and him. He asked by laying you on your back in his bed, by brushing fingertips along your face. He asked you by sliding your leggings away gently, pressing his mouth to each inch of your inseam as it became exposed to his dimly lit room. He asked you by kissing you through the lace you wore for him, then kissing the same spot once that lace was on his floor.

He asked you when he crawled up your body until his tip teased at your entrance and you whined, shifting to try to take him. And - when he took it slow this time, teeth scraping at your neck and then tongue hurrying to soothe the sting, his arms bracketing your body like he was sheltering you from an incoming storm.

(Maybe, he considered, he was.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was worthless in the face of this storm’s wrath.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was the fucking storm in the first place.)

And you heard his question loud and clear. You pulled on your leggings as soon as you were cleaned up, popping your hood up over your head as you searched for your phone. You kept your eyes on your screen as you waited for a car to come, murmured, “Later,” on your way out the door.

Vernon’s apartment rang with quiet. He was alone, he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

He’d also, it seemed, gotten his answer.

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thank you so much for reading!!! i'm always happy to hear what you think!

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theyapper0 · 2 months

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PART FOUR OF "FINALE"

In another second, Charlie turned back into her normal form and, with the same amount of agility as before, climbed Adam and bounced around his body with so much speed that he couldn’t keep track of her.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” She grabbed a hold of his collar with one fist, wrapping her legs around his shoulders and with her other hand, lifted it up Heavencast and-!

FWOOSSHH!!!

Waves upon waves of fire thrusted out from her palm, PROPELLING them downwards at speeds even faster than to which they came UP!

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”

There was no time! He couldn’t stop it-! He couldn’t react-! He couldn’t think-!

All Adam could process was the manic laughter that filled his ears!

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”

CRASH!!!!!

Adam crashed into what he could only imagine were the remains of the Hazbin Hotel. Not that he was thinking about that. In fact, he must have blacked out for a while, he didn’t know how long.

But when he finally came to, amongst the rumble and remnants of this land, his ears were ringing, his vision was blurry, all he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat thumping in his throat.

And he was filled with an unimaginable sense of dread.

He couldn’t move. Too many broken bones, a fractured skull, internal bleeding. He tasted blood.

The dust didn’t clear yet, it was so hard to see.

A figure, too tall and hunched with two horns sprouting up from its cursed head, one straight, the other crooked.

It was approaching.

Adam could hardly breathe. Sulfur and ash filled his lungs and he felt like he was choking again. He needed to get away! He needed to leave NOW! THEY ALL NEEDED TO! THEY MUST RETREAT!

The little air that he struggled to hold onto left his body when the hellspawn dropped onto his chest.

Charlie sat on Adam, hunching to keep their faces inches apart.

She stared at him, and despite the war still raging on around them, her own ragged breathing was the only thing he was able to hear.

Adam could do nothing but stare back, fear clasped onto his spine and wouldn't let go, not permitting him to move.

All he could do was stare at the product of the worst event of his life.

“I-.....” He croaked out through shattered ribs, he wasn’t coming back from this one, “I… should have stopped her”

He squeezed his eyes shut, “It’s all my fault”

It was his mistake. Humanity was damned because of his sin. All of humanity is doomed to sin forever and always for all eternity, human souls will continue becoming Sinners because of HIM.

The overpopulation was HIS fault, the Exterminations as a result were HIS fault. THIS BATTLE was his fault.

Charlotte sat up, her body cracking and creaking as she did. Adam winced at the weight shifting on his broken body.

She looked down at him, her face read no emotion. She just stared.

It was savage in a way. There was fire just behind those corneas, he could see it rage on when he looked at her. She was a wild animal. A beast.

Beasts were not capable of feeling, not in the ways that Sinners or Winners could, not in the way MORTAL SOULS could.

The spawn of Hell would always be just that, an unfeeling, unchanging, horrifying beast.

Charlotte Morningstar slashed at Adam’s throat.

And then she did it again.

And again.

AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND-!

Charlie SLAMMED her claws into Adam and kept clawing and maiming his LIFELESS BODY. GOLD SPLATTERED ONTO HER FACE, GOT UNDERNEATH HER TALONS AND INTO HER MOUTH. BUT SHOULD SHE CARE? NO! SHE SHOULDN’T AND SHE DOESN’T!

ALL CHARLIE COULD DO WAS CONTINUE SLASHING CONTINUE KILLING! HE WAS ALREADY DEAD, BUT SHE NEEDED TO KEEP GOING! KEEP GOING, KEEP CLAWING, KEEP SLAMMING HER FISTS INTO HIM UNTIL HE WAS UNIDENTIFIABLE FROM THE FIRST MAN!!

Charlie cranked her head down to the ground, near what used to be Adam’s head.

Her tongue slithered out from between the razors in her maw and lapped around his halo, still shining as brightly as it had when she first saw him.

She took the halo between her teeth.

And bit it into two halves.

Vaggie is still staring down at Lute.

Lute is still staring up at Vaggie.

Lute: WELL GO ON! DO IT! KILL ME! LORD KNOWS YOU HAVE YOUR CHANCE NOW!

Vaggie is crying just as much as Lute.

Vaggie:I-...

Before they could continue, there’s screaming, more screaming than earlier. It wasn't the kind of battle cries or of rage and revenge.

It was of franticness, anxiety and FEAR.

“ADAM HAS DIED!

“THE MORNINGSTAR HAS KILLED HIM!”

“WHAT DO WE DO!?”

“WHERE’S LUTE?!”

Angel, Husk and Niffty all stayed together for the rest of the battle after what happened with Alastor, they were able to stick to each other, TRUST that they had each others’ backs.

They were in the middle of fending off a crowd of Exorcists when they all suddenly became erratic once the news of Adam’s death began spreading across the battlefield

Niffty: He’s dead?!

Husk: Charlie actually killed him?

Angel: Oh shit- WE GOTTA FIND CHARLIE!

Vaggie’s head darted back and forth, looking erratically in all directions and trying to process all the new-found chaos.

Charlie killed Adam. He’s dead.

Vaggie looked back down at Lute, who made no move to get up. She just kept staring at Vaggie, her grip on her arm so tight it looked like her fingers might just break.

Vaggie: Adam’s dead. I-

Vaggie stopped, the lump in her throat not allowing her to continue. She gripped her face, covering her eye as ugly sobs escaped from her clenched teeth.

“I can’t kill you” Vaggie finally admitted

Vaggie couldn’t kill Lute. And Lute couldn’t kill Vaggie.

What were they to do?

Vaggie: I want to. I WANT TO! But-... But I can’t. I CAN’T DO IT!

She couldn’t kill Lute for the same reasons Lute couldn’t kill her. Lute was her mentor. She was her confidant. Her teacher. Her EVERYTHING.

They loved each other.

Vaggie threw her spear to the floor, stood her ground, tall and strong, and jerked her hand up behind her, pointing, “GO!”

Lute didn’t move, she couldn’t move. She couldn’t even speak.

Vaggie: I SAID GO! NOW!

Wordlessly, Lute got to her feet and spread her wings.

“FALL BACK!” Lute barked at the top of her lungs, her booming voice echoed through the battlefield

Charlie was still slashing at Adam’s butchered corpse when Lute’s “FALL BACK” rang through her ears.

In an instant she jolted up to standing. NO! THEY WEREN’T GETTING AWAY, NO ONE WAS! CHARLIE WANTED EVERYBODY DEAD!!!

SHE WASN'T GOING TO STOP UNTIL EVERYBODY WAS DEAD!

All Charlie could see was Hellfire and all she could hear were the screams of the damned and she needed MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE!!!

Angels flew by overhead and she chased them- no, HUNTED THEM! THEY WERE HER’S TO HUNT! THEY WERE IN HER DOMAIN SO THEY WERE HEE'S TO PLAY WITH, TO HUNT, TO EAT, TO KILL!

The enormous portal to Heaven opened back up at the edge of the cliff.

Charlie chased and killed as many Exorcists as she could reach, catapulting herself off debris, stomping over the corpses of those Sinners fallen, NO ONE WAS GOING TO GET IN THE WAY OF WHAT SHE WANTED!

Lute soared close to the ground, flying past Adam’s lifeless form, swiping up one half of his broken halo.

She had flown past a rabid and HUNGRY CHARLIE!! WHO CHASED AFTER HER! Lute was fast and despite Charlie being naturally faster, she didn’t catch her. Lute knew in the back of her mind, past all the fear and her survival instincts that Charlie just wanted to play with her food. BUT LUTE WASN’T GOING TO DIE! NOT HERE! NOT IN HELL! NOT AFTER VAGGIE JUST SPARED HER-!

Charlie chased the Angels to the portal to Heaven, her long tongue sticking out from her drooling maw and her eyes blown wide, wider than any Heavenly being had ever witnessed before. It made them fly faster.

In swarms, the Exorcist fled into the portal, Charlie not too far behind, cutting and slicing whatever poor angel that was unlucky enough for her to reach, slicing them clean in half.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Lute watched from directly in front of the portal, silently doing a headcount as her Exorcist Angels escaped Hell as fast as they could.

She watched as the Morningstar spawn wasn’t too far behind, painted in golden blood. She was fast approaching and Lute barked out a couple more commands to hurry it up!

The portal was off the cliff, a few hundred feet away from it, below was a sea of dark blood, crashing waves and rocks of spikes. But despite this, the demon didn’t make any efforts to slow down or stop as she was fast approaching the end of the rock face.

Then, Lute’s breath got stuck in her throat.

Charlotte pounced off the edge of the cliff. She couldn’t be serious! There was no way she could make this jump! Even for all her strength, it was too far! She’s gone mad!

And Lute was right. The demon couldn’t make the jump.

She managed to get a good birth from the cliff but it proved not enough, as soon as Charlie neared the middle distance between he cliff and the portal, her leap began dropping downwards and-

“CHARLIE!”

Lute’s head darted away from the descending demon and her eyes widened as she spotted Vaggie barreling off the edge of the cliff as well. THAT IDIOT! DID SHE WANT TO GET HERSELF KILLED ALONG WITH THAT HELLSPAWN!?

Lute felt her body jerk forward in its spot flying in the sky before she froze again-

FWOOSH!

Vaggie caught Charlotte.

Vaggie was-

“She’s flying…” Lute mumbled to herself

Vaggie was flying. Her wings. Wings that she REMEMBERED slicing clean off 3 years ago had sprouted from her back just as any other angel could. FLYING just like any other angel.

And she had caught the demon.

All of a sudden, Lute couldn’t breathe again.

Vaggie’s wings had grown back? How? Was it instinct? Was it pure luck? She had saved Charlotte. Lute didn’t even know it was possible for the wings of an angel to grow back after being sliced off by an angelic blade…

Vaggie had caught Charlie by under her arms and was currently flying them away from the portal and back to the ground. Lute stared at Vaggie.

How did she do that? How could her wings just… grow back like that?

Her wings grew back to save the Heir.

Even after all this time, even after everything that’s happened, Vaggie still found ways to surprise Lute.

Vaggie glanced back at her one last time.

Lute continued to stare from the other side of the portal, even after it closed.

(This is when Vaggie's wings grow back, the FIRST TIME she has them since they were cut off, she does NOT get them in “Hello Rosie”)

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel redesigns #charlie morningstar #vaggie hazbin hotel #adam hazbin hotel #lute hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel finale #my art #hazbin motel

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l0uterstella · 10 months

Text

EVER RED: THE THEORY (MASTERPOST)

This is a post compiling all the theories surrounding Ever Red from the Fragaria discord server

Last updated: Dec 2 2023

AMNESIA THEORY, THE TIMELINES

Fragaria's story is confirmed to be separated into two: The MVs and the voice dramas. This could imply two separate timelines. The 1st timeline is “ruined”, and the 2nd timeline (possibly the one for the MVs) acts as the present. In the Ever Red MV, there are lyrics highlighted in red, most of them pointing to them forgetting something.

This theory is unrelated from Ever Red, but the main point of the amnesia theory is that the knights don't remember their "original" selves, their current names and forms being a show of their connections to their lords (hence why Hangyon's name is only 2 letters off from Hangyodon for example).

These lyrics also point to something being forgotten (strawberry/fruit representing memories. Sweet and sour memories, a memory that ripens/develos as it is repressed)

But forgetting their old identities also means forgetting past events.

RIBBONS

The ribbons represent the pains of the past. In this part, Hallritt sings "Once the ribbon is tied, the knot marks are still there." Once pain is inflicted, the wounds and memories are still there.

The ribbon now ties everyone close to each other. The Red Bouquet will be there for Hallritt to help process his past, and make things right again (see next header).

I just want you to laugh, that's all I wish for Even if our memories are mismatched

Hallritt is now being covered by the ribbon, except for his eyes. He must face the truth of what he did.

HIDDEN AUDIO, "ELDRITCH HALLRITT"

Refer to this post to listen to the hidden audio. "Move. That dream… It was my fault." It was Hallritt's fault for the destruction of the 1st timeline. Around 3 minutes into the MV, there is a quick frame of this shadow version of Hallritt which me and the discord have named Eldritch Hallritt/Eldritt.

(isn't he so silly <3)

He was the "original" Hallritt from the 1st timeline, and a manifestation of the current Hallritt’s true feelings and repressed memories. He knows everything. He was the one who destroyed the 1st timeline, and is here to make sure the Hallritt of the current timeline doesn’t mess up.

But what was Hallritt's mistake in the first place?

SEEDS

SEEDS are the antagonists of Fragaria's story. They could be the original knights, as seeds come first before flowers/bouquets. One day, they took things too far, leading them to be banished and replaced by the Fragarians.

They might have once tricked Eldritt/The "original Hallritt" into joining them, which led to him ruining his contract with Hello Kitty, destroying the 1st timeline. Eldritt then reset the timeline into the current one, and is watching over the current Hallritt to not make the same mistake he did.

BONUS/MINI THEORIES

My friend Angel pointed out that "Fragaria Memories" sounds similar to "Fragmented Memories"

System Hallritt - Eldritt is an alter for Hallritt (+ is a protector or a gatekeeper) who wanted to prevent him from finding out the truth, but they can't run from it forever.

Bouquet leader doomed yaoi (I don't have a better name for this) - If Cielomort and Badobarm find out about Hallritt's secret, they could get angry and not trust him anymore. If this happens, the conflict could grow, repeating what happened in the 1st timeline that led to its destruction.

Hangyon and Chaco know - These two are suspicious. For Chaco, his title is "The detour dog with a hidden motive." The hidden motive could maybe have something to do with SEEDs. For Hangyon, if he knows what happened in the 1st timeline, that could be why he's close with Badobarm specifically. He watches him for any signs of the past repeating itself.

In a world that continues to change Only time will never come back Yet no one can take away our memories (EVER RED) I'll never forget them for eternity Living in memory No one can see it, but it'll never disappear Ever certain, ever red

#but thats just a theory. A FRAGRIA THEORY #this took so many of my braincells i swear if blue's song doesn't follow the amnesia pattern #fragaria memories #fragmem #red bouquet #ever red mv #fragaria memories theory #hallritt #merold #puruth #romarriche #rimicha #sanah

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1-800-cr33py · 1 year

Text

STILL GREEN

RZ! Michael Myers, AFAB Reader, Feminine Terminology Used, reader is lowkey highkey delusional

Green.

Green like freshness.

Green like new.

Green like envy.

Green like the jealous pit that lingered within his stomach every time he saw you talking to the neighbors. The same pit that ever only grew in size when it concerned you. You, his darling little mouse, so friendly, so kind. It’s what drew him to you, you know. Kindness wasn’t something that stayed within Smith’s Grove, nor was it catered to. Kindness was snuffed out, diminished at the first sign, but not you. Never you. It was an honest mistake really, you being there. Taking the fall for something someone else did, so valiant weren’t you? Oh, and then you met Michael. Just a boy he was, barely breaching 5’8 at the time, and then you came in, practically skipping. You were a mere year younger than him at the most. The nurses, god fucking damn those nurses, were rough with you, he was and would never be rough with you. Michael watched, a lot. He likes to watch you. You’re quite pleasing to look at in his eyes. You were kind to everyone despite everything the staff and patients did to you. You, his own personal sun, his warmth in this filth-ridden world.

You were his.

And he was your’s.

After your departure from Smith’s Grove, a sad day indeed. You didn’t leave Haddenfield. In fact, you moved back into your old house, fell back into a steady routine. It stayed like that for a good few years, you shedded that girlish immaturity of your’s. But you remained kind, warm. Your days at Smith’s Grove weren’t forgotten, your mind lingered on the boy you’d tried to befriend those handful of years ago sometimes you’d try and visit, though once again in vain. Soon, you moved on, or tried to. You lead a simple life, one that suited you. Work and home. That’s mostly what your days consisted of. Though the news blaring of a highly dangerous patient’s escape from the Sanatarium. Though the name was what made you drop the glass you’d been washing.

Michael fucking Myers.

Any normal person would be scared, terrified even. But you? Not a thing, well not a thing any one word could describe. He was alive after all of this? Something, a small string in your heart pulled for him. You knew how the staff treated the patients within those walls, how they treated Michael. It made you sick, and the memory of Dr.Loomis’s ‘interviews’ left you scarred. Michael was young then, still a boy.

The days were long, dull. Blending together with one another. People’s fear left them paranoid, and paranoia leads to other erratic behavior. Just the other hour an older couple practically had a melt down when they say some kid’s preparing for Halloween. It was sad, but not any of your business. Still, you continued your routine. Though your garden needed tending to. It was something you’d picked up from a grandparent, now it was just something to keep you busy, something to care for. The crisp October air was a pleasantry you’d taken comfort in, letting you wear your comfort jumpers to your hearts content. You knelt, the cold dirt hardened as you plucked at the weeds, tugging a few carrots, and clipping sweet peppers for dinner, though a chill ran down your spine. Not of fear, no, but of a feeling of being stalked. Like prey sensing their impending doom at the awaiting jaws of a predator. You straightened your back, head turning to study the surrounding neighbor’s yards and short stretch of wood.

The hair on the back of your neck bristled.

Him.

Michael was big, bigger than you thought a man could get. An orange mask covered his features, but even then you remembered those eyes. Oh his eyes.. Dr.Loomis was wrong, at least to you. Because Michael looked at you you’d hung the stars and moon themselves, like you were the holy being prophesied to save him. But in a blink, he was gone. You’d think yourself crazy had it not been for his eyes. The same eyes you’d felt drawn to in your youth.

That night you found little sleep. Creaking of your house made his presence know. He wanted you to know. Michael knew how to be quiet, how to make himself invisible, but he wanted you to know he was looming just a few feet away.

“ Michael. “ you announced, voice hoarse. The creaking stopped.

~Time Skip~

You’d gotten used to Michael’s presence, sure, the fact he’d eat any and everything sweet within your house and the neighbor’s was a bit..odd, but everyone has their quirks right? Some days, he’d stand behind you whilst you cooked, almost close enough to touch you. It took a long while to build that up, you weren’t complaining. But Michael was greedy. He wanted everything from you and more, it was the least he was owed after you left Smith’s right? It was the least you could do for him after he keeps your house protected! He encroached slowly, it started off with simple touches on your ankle, then you’d awake with his hand on the inside of your knee and so forth. And here you were now, underneath the mountain you called your house husband.

Michael’s cock throbbed in your heat, this was what? Your fifth orgasm? Sixth? Neither one of you cared enough to keep count. You were so faced out, crossed eyed and drooling at this point, and Michael was panting, guttural moans bordering whine erupting from his throat. He’d mumble what sounded like broken sounds of your name and ‘mine’, you couldn’t quite make it out even if you weren’t so cock-drunk. Michael’s hand crept from beside your head and made its way to your throat, he didn’t choke you, simply felt how small you were compared to him. How delicate you were beneath him. All his. The mere thought has his cock aching, and the look you gave him was delectable. Your perfect lips parted, he stilled. Awaiting your words with a bated breath. “ Please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-“ you begged. The sweet whines you gave Michael were his salvation. You were his heaven begging him for entry. You were his God. His Heaven, his Hell. All gift wrapped into one, perfectly flawed being and all his for the taking. Michael groaned, a guttural sound, his head falling beside your’s, his dark blond locks falling over his face. The night was still young, and your pleas only egged him on further.

Michael’s thrusts quickened, his tip kissing your womb. He could feel you getting close, after all your were practically milking his cock as it was, but now? Your weeping cunt was like a vice. You wrapped you legs around his broad waist, whining and keening for him to bring you past the edge again, despite being so sensitive already. Needy baby, weren’t you? Michael smiled, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as you came. Your vision turned white as you tightened your legs around Michael, spent body trembling as you began to go limp. Michael’s head rose from your shoulder, blood staining his teeth as he stared you down, his eyes blown with lust. His kiss swollen lips quivering lips muttering silent words before uttering a statement that had your core aching once more.

“ Not done. “

Author’s Comments: OKAY SOOOO I’m a day behind and it’ll most likely stay that way because my schedule this month is packed as hell already. Mod 800 is currently on break for reasons I will not disclose nor discuss and I will most likely be handling the rest of KinkTober. This is kinda rushed and once again English is neither Mods first languages so please be considerate. Thank you ghoulies!

Signing off,

Mod 888

#1800cr33py #slasher smut #slasher fucker #rz!michael myers #rz myers x reader #michael myers smut #the boogeyman smut #the shape smut #slashers smut #mod888 #x reader smut #fem reader #afab reader #1800cr33py’s kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #masked men do it better dont @ me #requests are open

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arcadianmoonshadowjedi · 1 month

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Callum & Viren: Are they similar? Is Callum on the same path as Viren? - Star Wars Analogies

I know there have been posts made before in the Dragon Prince fandom comparing characters from tdp to Star Wars characters, esp Callum to Anakin/Vader as someone who will eventually get corrupted/turn to the dark side and become a potential apprentice to Aaravos, as well as Rayllum to Anidala in terms of Callum being seen as being bound to doom the world for Rayla.

I wanted to share a different perspective of mine as to which characters/relationship dynamics (outside of romantic ones included) from tdp I believe compare the most to which Star Wars characters as a massive fan of both sagas myself.

The number one character from Star Wars that I see Callum being most similar to is Luke Skywalker, whereas a character I think is the best comparison to Anakin/Vader, especially after watching Season 6 of the Dragon Prince, would be none other than Viren himself. While I do know for a fact that the tdp characters aren’t carbon copies of the SW characters I’m comparing them to, I still think that their overall arcs are quite matching.

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Starting with Callum and Luke, on the surface, both are the hero who prevails and saves everyone & the whole world/galaxy from doom, but on a deeper level, they both struggle with a dark side inside of them & temptations to give in to it. And before I continue, I wanted to emphasize that I DO NOT see Callum as someone who’s morally dubious, as there are several instances in canon which prove otherwise, specifically his immense guilt over using dark magic and his fear of becoming corrupted and consumed by darkness in S6 (his nightmare at the beginning of episode 3 perfectly illustrates this), the latter of which is a challenge we also see Luke dealing with in The Empire Strikes Back.

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Throughout the Original trilogy, mainly in ESB & Return of the Jedi, we see so many “hints” and “indicators” that Luke might turn to the dark side, who unlike Callum, actually shares many personality traits with his father such as his impatience and recklessness. We see Yoda fear that he might follow in his father’s footsteps before reluctantly training him, we see Vader and eventually Palpatine try to lure Luke to the dark side, even pointing out that they could sense his anger which is a major precursor for that. But in the end, despite all of those temptations, despite all of his anger and eventual fear & rage for his sister’s safety, he ultimately resisted and refused to join the sith.

Along with seeing many protagonists who may be put in similar situations or even in some cases share some similarities with the main/major antagonist, such as Harry and Voldemort being another example of this, this is why I am a firm believer that Callum will be tested in Season 7, he may be faced with temptations to use dark magic again perhaps as a quick means to defeat Aaravos or potentially save Rayla if it gets to that, or even Aaravos trying to bribe him to join him, but in the end he will ultimately resist, since dark magic, as stated several times before, is merely a shortcut that leads to much bigger long term harm (which I don’t think there would be enough time to even flesh this out in the final season of the Mystery of Aaravos arc). As we’ve seen Callum reject succumbing to his dark side after he used dark magic for the first time, and seeing him willingly do the purification ritual to rid himself of his darkness/corruption in his soul, I do believe that Callum has the power to reject dark magic once and for all and do the right thing (this does not necessarily mean he would sacrifice Rayla if the plot does get to that, but I do think he would find a third option aside from dark magic to save her, like he did back in S3 when he cast the mage wing spell to save her). After all, a major theme in the Dragon Prince is breaking cycles and not repeating previous mistakes, so what would be the point in having those themes or specifically Harrow’s letter in the first place, or better yet have the whole “destiny’s a book you write yourself” line be brought up multiple times if Callum’s just fated keep repeating past mistakes over and over again?

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Now onto my next analogy: Viren & Anakin/Vader, the characters who I genuinely saw as those whose corruption & downfalls may have started out of desperation to save a loved one from dying, but ultimately grew into greed and hunger for power.

I could go on about the complexities of Anakin’s character, specifically the ones that got fleshed out even more in the Clone Wars and how there are multiple factors that led to his turn to the dark side, but that’s not the whole point of this post. I know that there are some differing factors between both Viren and Anakin in terms of their dark sides/stories, but ultimately the last straw that led to their corruption was the fact that they were both terrified of losing an important loved one and both were completely unwilling to let that happen, whatever the price they had to pay. We also see them seek some sort of counsel/beg for help, like when Anakin vaguely told Yoda about his visions and fears, and Viren telling Kpp’Ar about Soren’s condition and needing the staff, ultimately both Anakin and Viren were told that there wasn’t really anything that could be done and they both needed to learn to let go. However neither of them were having that, so we somewhat see them both resort to another counsel, both very different but leading to same outcome. Anakin starts to open up more to Palpatine, who in turn manipulates him and convinces him that he has his “solution.” While Viren on the other hand, may have offered advice to Harrow to “do what he must” over his own dilemma, he in turn used that same advice but in a more twisted, corrupted manner. So then, both Anakin and Viren resort to darker approaches to solve their own problems and completely give in to their own darknesses.

I won’t go into deep detail about what they each did, since you can just rewatch these scenes in Revenge of the Sith and Episode 6 of TDP for that, but now I wanted to talk about how despite having the desire to save their loved ones, they ultimately caused massive harm to them. Anakin desperately did whatever he could to save Padme, but in the end, when he thought she betrayed him, he force-choked her then afterwards, she was shattered and heartbroken over his downfall that it led to her death, the very thing that Anakin tried so hard to prevent. While Viren on the other hand may have succeeded in healing and saving Soren, he grew to treat him coldly and abusively to the point where he completely damaged & even destroyed his relationship with his very son that he corrupted himself completely to save in the first place.

Even though I primarily focused on the similarities between Viren saving Soren & Anakin trying to save Padme, I also wanted to point out how similar the impacts were on Lissa and Padme as well, namely how they were both horrified when they saw what became of their husbands.

Sadly both of them ended up getting assaulted by their corrupted husbands, which then led up to the destruction of their families. And ultimately both Viren and Anakin continued on their dark paths and grew more ruthless, evil, and corrupted until they finally reached their eventual redemptions (I know not everyone thinks that Viren got redeemed but I do believe that his redemption arc was him accepting that he’s done far too much and accepting the consequences for his actions).

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So far these are the thoughts that I have on which Dragon Prince characters/relationships I think compare best to which Star Wars ones. And I know that Claudia would also be a good comparison to Anakin since she too struggles a lot with loss and refuses to let go, but at the same time, I see her still being in Anakin’s early villain phase during Revenge of the Sith, not yet having reached the Vader levels that we see during the Original Trilogy era. The way I see Vader & Viren relationships with Luke and Callum’s characters, it’s that the former two represent what the latter two fear of becoming if they do not overcome their dark sides.

But to answer my questions in the header, I do not think that Callum is bound to be on the same path as Viren or that he will let himself be consumed by darkness. Season 6 dealt with his overall guilt over using dark magic, his fear of being consumed by it/being used as by Aaravos, and ultimately his choice to purify himself of his darkness and understanding the consequences of doing dark magic again beforehand. Just as many protagonists get put through the wringer in their final battles, but ultimately persevere and do the right thing, I do believe that Callum will win and not fall victim to his temptations once again.

That’s all I have folks! Thanks for reading this far if you have! And an important friendly reminder (as mentioned already in my bio) if you have differing opinions and would like to disagree and discuss, please be sure to do so respectfully. Otherwise scroll by or I’ll be more than glad to press that block button! 😊🙌🏽

(Screenshot+caption of Lissa scene by @stuck-in-jelly)

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