#and maybe this part isn't that overlooked

[palant1r]

something i think that gets missed in discussion about male privilege and who benefits from it is that male privilege is modular with a lot of moving parts. there isn't some massive Male Privilege Monolith of benefits that gets conferred upon you the minute you pass as a man to broader society. it's a bunch of tiny things that all add up, and i'd wager theres no singular person in the world that benefits from male privilege in its theoretical entirety. and even those privileges individually have very conditional access. like

-a woman with a masculine name may experience the male privilege of being taken seriously by default when communicating over email — but that privilege will likely be lessened if that name is obviously nonwhite

-it is male privilege that has caused safety gear and infrastructure over the centuries to privilege the typical male body type, but men falling outside that body type norm will not fully benefit from these designs

-the most passingest trans man who's had every surgery and passes perfectly and uses his masculinity to be a dick to all the women in his life is still going to suffer from decades of medical science not properly investigating disorders/diseases that primarily affect those with estrogen-dominant immune systems/born with a vulva and uterus

-....and even a cis man suffering medical problems won't be able to access full male privilege in the medical field because our society is shit to disabled people

-white men will have access to the male privilege of police officers and the legal system overlooking their abuse of women. men of color will not have full access to the same privilege, especially if the victim is white

-the same trans person might pass to one group and not pass to another depending on how they're presenting that day and how it interfaces with that group's understanding of gender. this will affect how they're treated by those groups.

like, just take me as an example. i pass in some groups but not to others. i use a masculine name over email, which is how i make first contact with a lot of people, so they first think i'm a man and then am introduced to someone who is Not Quite A Man or maybe doesn't pass for transgender at all. i have a genetic predisposition towards diseases of the uterus/breasts, and live within a medical system that, because of misogyny/transphobia, restricts my access to many of the treatments/transition surgeries i may want. however, a doctor with whom i hide my AGAB or who sees me as a man at first sight may take my concerns more seriously. do i "have" male privilege? bit of a nonsensical question. male privilege is not a one size fits all tag that someone either Has or Doesn't it's a massive set of situational injustices

[cellsshapedlikestars]

ok so I don't get involved in fandom drama, but I saw a post that got me thinking about one of my favorite jonsa moments in the books that I feel like is a bit overlooked?

I'm putting it under a cut because my thoughts are scattered and possibly confusing but whatever lol

so I found the post on my for you tab (why do i even go in there?) and it was about how Sansa is super classist for this part: Sansa sighed as she stitched. "Poor Jon," she said. "He gets jealous because he's a bastard."

(Don't worry, the poster did point out that all the Starks are classist to some degree, but Sansa is the most, and how Arya just thinks of him as her brother. gotta love people who try to bury their Sansa hate lol. like there was no other point to the post. it didn't even make me mad cause it was just kind of a dumb, very surface level take that was clearly just meant to point out how Sansa's such a meanie)

now, if you follow me, you probably know that I'm not someone who reads a ton of metas or even believes jonsa will be canon, but if it is, I think this is such an underrated moment.

Because Sansa sees him in a way none of her other siblings do, because she doesn't think of him as her true brother.

Arya thinks of Jon as her brother. For her, she and Jon are the same, but they aren't, and she doesn't see that - because she's 9 years old and for her, Jon is an outsider like her, and that relationship is such a safe space for her. (ugh I actually love the Jon & Arya relationship I really don't get to write it enough because I do tend to focus more on Sansa's relationship with Arya). Anyway, Arya doesn't really understand the implications of Jon being a bastard. Like, that isn't going to change for him, except in a very extreme circumstance. But she will always be trueborn. (we're taking gender out of the equation here, which is its own beast that has been talked about a ton so I won't go into it)

Arya is blinded by her love and adoration of Jon. Robb doesn't see it at all because why would he even consider it? (and even if he did, we don't see it cause there's no Robb POV). Bran and Rickon are probably too young to think about. But Sansa sees Jon for who he is, and what she says is a fact. Is it a nice thing to say? Maybe not, but it is 100% true, and she's clearly emotionally intelligent enough to see his circumstances and understand how that effects his actions.

I think that's why I found the post so funny, cause I'm like - and? Jon IS a jealous bastard. He spends the entire Winterfell feast being soooooo salty about Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen and even Robb (radiant Sansa gets a pass tho) even though there's literally no other reason for it. He spends the rest of the books trying so hard to suppress how much he wants to be Lord of Winterfell. He loves Robb, but he's jealous of Robb, and he struggles a lot with that and feels guilty for wanting what Robb has.

Anyway, this is one of my fav jonsa foreshadowings (if it ever becomes canon) because to me, it just means that Sansa can see through his bullshit better than a lot of other people. And I like the idea of that, that she sees him.

meanwhile Jon's just over there like "yeah yeah yeah, Sansa's radiant, but have you seen how insipid Myrcella is??"

[neverendingford]

.

[starfruitii]

cws & notes. fluff. post-timeskip. iwaizumi hajime x gn!reader, + special guest appearances from the seijoh 4 because i love them. 800+ words.

“Wait. Wait a second.” Oikawa squints at you, then at Iwaizumi, then back at you again. “Something's different.”

“First time we see you in almost a year, and you're already acting weird.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, pulling out two chairs for you both to sit down. “Nothing's different.”

“Glad to see leaving Japan hasn't changed you, Oikawa.” You chime in, sliding into your seat. It was a nice little cafe, not too crowded, but not empty either. The table Oikawa had chosen was tucked away in the back, right by a window overlooking the street, giving you a perfect opportunity to watch the people walking by.

“No.... no, something is definitely off.” Oikawa looks over to the other two occupied seats, searching for some sort of agreement from his companions. “You two see it, don't you? Something has definitely changed since our last meet-up.”

“Our last meet-up was last September. I think it would be weirder if we hadn't changed a little since then,” Matsukawa laughs, waving him off. “I mean, look at Makki's haircut.”

Hanamaki looks thoughtful for a moment, nodding at Oikawa. “Nah, I think he's got a point. You two seem a little—Wait, what do you mean? What's wrong with my hair, asshole?”

“Hey, I didn't say it was bad! Just... different.”

“So, different in a good way?”

“Uh... sure, if that's what you want to go with.”

“You—”

“This isn't about Makki's hair!” Oikawa interrupts, pointing an accusing finger towards Iwaizumi. He looks up from the menu in his hands, glaring back at Oikawa. “It's about them. Something happened between you two, didn't it?”

“Maybe they got engaged.” Hanamaki suggests.

“They have to be dating before they get engaged.” Matsukawa pauses, realization on his face. “Wait, is that it? Did you guys actually start dating? Do I owe Makki ¥2000?”

“You're all imagining things.” Iwaizumi says bluntly. “Now, are we going to order or not?”

Oikawa's suspicion doesn't waver, but the mention of food distracts him enough to begrudgingly let the topic go. He waves over a waitress, ordering drinks and snacks for the whole table. Once she is gone, the conversation shifts to Matsukawa's work, then Hanamaki's lack of work, then everything Oikawa has been up to in Argentina.

Throughout the visit, you sit back and relax, chiming in with your own anecdotes and comments every now and then. For the most part, you keep quiet, content with listening to your friends as they catch up. Ever since graduation, when you all went your separate ways, reunions with all five of you were few and far between, so you were just happy to be together once again.

You barely notice the time passing at all, until Oikawa is five-minutes deep into a rant about his new team. Iwaizumi looks at his watch and balks, standing up from his seat.

“It's already five.” He says, cutting off Oikawa's voice. “I gotta get going soon.”

“Me too,” You sigh.

“Already?” Matsukawa groans.

“Both of you?” Hanamaki asks, raising an eyebrow. “You have plans you'd like to share?”

“He's my ride home.” You shrug, gathering up your things. “It was great seeing you guys though. We'll have to hang out again when you're all free.”

After your goodbyes, the two of you leave the cafe and walk the short distance to Iwaizumi's car. Once you're alone, you settle into a comfortable silence, accompanied by the quiet sounds of the city in the background. Without your friends' scrutinizing gaze, Iwaizumi walks a little closer to you, until your shoulders lightly brush. The slight touch sends a shiver down your spine, but you make no effort to move away.

“So, Oikawa seems to think something is up.” You say casually, watching Iwaizumi frown at the mention of his friend.

“He can think whatever he wants to think.” He rolls his eyes, holding open the side door of his car. “We don't owe him anything.”

“We do have to tell them at some point, don't we?” You continue, as you climbed into the passenger seat. “You of all people should know he's not going to shut up about it until we do.”

“Of course I know that.” Iwaizumi grumbled, as soon as he was sat in his own seat.

“So...?”

“So what?” He adjusts his mirrors, glancing over at you.

“Is he right?” There's a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It's clear you find it much more amusing than he does. You lean closer, whispering the words like they're a grand secret. “Is something different, Hajime?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head a little, but can't hide the small smirk on his face. His hand reaches out to grasp your chin, tilting your face upwards so he can press a slow, sweet kiss to your lips. As he leans back, there's a light pink dusting his cheeks. “I don't know. Has something changed?”

You laugh lightly, savouring the taste of his lips on your own. “Nope. Nothing at all.”

do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai. reblogs are appreciated <3

[lighting-and-shadow]

Post LADS Main Story: NonMC Reader x Sylus

So I had a thought again: you being reincarnated into the world of LADS, but after the story ends. Ever is no more. Wanderers have been cured and don't exist anymore. The world is relatively peaceful.

MC has found her happy ending with one of the boys, something you find out during a stroll in Linkon City. And it's not Sylus.

I was thinking it would be Xavier for the angst factor. Because, to Sylus, she chose the prince of the people that caused him so much pain over him. She chose the light Xavier represents over his darkness. She chose someone who, in Sylus' mind, was born with everything over him who worked to get everything he has for her sake.

Or maybe she chose Caleb. And that would hurt too because Sylus realizes that while they only had each other in the past, she overlooks that for her present. That their history isn't nearly as valuble as her history with Caleb.

Either way, it causes sad boy hours. The man is devasted. And while he and MC still have a friendship, it's a bit toxic. No longer do they play Kitty Cards or spend time at the claw machine. With the new love in her life, all that's left for Sylus is scraps.

She uses him. Calls him when she needs something or she wants to do something. But if it's him? She blows him off. She treats him like a joke.

Maybe not even truly realizing that she is (but part of me wants to go the bitch route because I've made her so nice in all my other current works and WIPs; I blame @rcvcgers for this (I say this with love, because I honest to god love Rotten Apples), and need to channel that anger).

Then it gets worse: he dies. She remembers her past with him, and gives back the other half of his soul. And then she turns her back on him for good, cutting ties because their morals are just incompatible. He's so devasted that he takes his own life, no longer immortal because his sorceress abandoned him (just like everyone else did).

But anyways, you figure this out, and basically come barging into his life. Not to make him love you. Not to get her to love him. But to give him something to latch onto.

Let's say Sylus was your favorite in the game (as he is for me, clearly), so you act like a total, batshit crazy, fan girl. And there's something about that crackhead energy that makes him drawn to you.

So you bug him. And bug him. And bug him endlessly. Because even annoyance and anger are better than emptiness and coldness he carries right now. Sure, he hides it well behind snark and flirting, but you know him better. You've watched him from behind a scene for quite some time.

I imagine the reason you're kept around is because of the chaotic nature of who you are and the knowledge you have. And because Sylus doesn't have it in him to give a shit. You're not a threat. If anything, it was the twins that convinced him of your use.

So you live at the base, occassionally witnessing the toxic nature of him and MC's dynamic. And you come up with a plan to help him get over her. Not by making him love you, you'd never be worthy of that, but of getting him to realize that his sorceress is dead. That even it's technically the same the person in soul, she's not the same at her (Aether) core.

Doing so makes you fall even further in love. You discover things about him a simple game could never. You see sights and experience parts of this world that could never captured by a screen or some code. And it hurts.

It hurts because he's more than just a character to you. He cares for you, is soft with you. He buys you things, helps braid your hair, takes you to fancy venues, stands up for you, protects you... You almost think that he loves you.

But that's silly. Who would love you? Who would love the real you, and not the one you present to the world? The one that cries at nothing? The one consumed by anxiety and insecurity? The one that hides under layers and layers of walls capped off by an impenetrable mask? The one that hid herself and changed herself for so many years? The one you're not even sure still exists?

You're such a fraud.

(This whole prompt was inspired by the Webtoon My Derelict Favorite, and I couldn't get it out of my head).

[mathewryf]

That would be HILARIOUS

finding out how competitive the scientific field is is so funny. i wish there were more scientist characters in sonic. i wish there was one scientist in particular who hated eggman's guts and just wanted to be better than him. who submitted all his findings for peer review, went thru the legit avenues, and got all the recognition in the field of robotics. not out of genuine love for the science but out of spite. he sees eggman committing all these ethical transgressions and just goes "man, fuck this guy. i'm gonna show him how it's done." and ends up winning a nobel prize. and eggman is SO mad. he's furious. this isn't like starline who sucks up to eggman. no. this guy wants eggman's credibility to burn. "can he REALLY be a genius if he's never gotten a paper published in a reputable journal? :/c" type shit. it's so petty. i think that would be SO FUNNY

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 3)

When you woke up, it wasn't that much later. Maybe an hour later at most, which was normal for you. You weren't a heavy sleeper, but to be fair, hard to find any heavy sleepers in the foster system. You also hadn't moved an inch from your position during your light sleep. The bed almost looked like it was made, except for the small imprint of a person on top of the soft blankets.

The room was the same as it was before, the door was closed and the curtains drawn, none of the foster parents came into the room after they left you to unpack. Well, "unpack". You didn't really do that, you kept your clothes inside your backpack and the backpack safely tucked under the bed.

Just... precation.

The house was quiet. So quiet, in fact, that you immediatly shuffled over to the door and opened to try and pin point where anyone could be. It wasn't hard, you could faintly hear low voices downstairs, where you think it's the kitchen. You don't really remember much from the tour.

You weren't sure what to do now, but you just closed the door behind you quietly as your feet, padded by only your socks since you left your sneakers by the bed, gently made their way back down stairs. The voices only got clearer as you made your way down, getting closer to the kitchen that smelled extremelly good, close enough, in fact, that you flinched for a second as soon as you heard a loud, booming laugh.

"Oi, ya prick!! Stop that!" The scottish guy, the werewolf, yelled, laughing.

"Shhhh, the chick...!" The harpy quickly reprimended, even tho he was also laughing, much quieter.

"Not a chick, are they, Garrick?" A low, low voice sounded it out, and due to process of elimination, it could only be the wraith. Simon, if you remeber correctly. He looked so serious when you first saw him, but his tone now sounded just amused.

"Oh, please, you get what i mean..." The harpy scoffs, sounding amused as well. "What do you call a human chick?"

"Not a chick, that's for sure." Johnny laughs.

"Isn't it just like, 'baby'?" John suggests, apperantly shrugging a bit.

"I'll call 'er pup!" The werewolf immediatly ignores John's words, only for them all to start laughing.

"Such a little fledgling..." Simon sighs after they all quiet down a little. "I'm not sure how to take care of a human..."

"Ey, big guy, we'll learn!" Johnny smiles easily, giving one of his mates a heavy pat on the back. "I mean... wee lass looks frail as hell, but... we had babies before. Be a bit more confident!"

"No, I get Simon. I'm worried we might overlook their needs accidentaly." The dragon sighs. "I think I got it, but it still worries me."

You fidget a little on the wall you were leaning against. You wish you could sooth their worries. You didn't really need anything special, humans were adaptive. Very adaptive. You'll fit in, one way or another.

"You heard the social worker." Simon grunts, the sound alerting you for a second. "Call if we need anything."

You can hear the loud scoff John lets out at that, and for a second, the smell of smoke reached your nose.

"I don't need help to take care of my hoard."

The growl made your body instinctively lock up, quiet breathing catching on your throat as your eyes widen for a second. It's only when Johnny and Kyle laugh that you manage to calm down a little.

"Daddy Price is not one to take advice from others, huh?" Kyle laughs quietly, smooth and gentle voice that only makes the provocation sounds worse.

"Bastard never was." Johnny laughs back, shaking his head in amusement.

"That's it, shut it, the both of you." John growls once again, quieter this time, not really mad, just annoyed at best. "Besides, apperantly, i do know better. That woman brought the hatchling here in this cold wearing only a fucking light jacket."

"Dinner is ready." Simon's heavy voice announces, interrupting the banter. "Who's gonna call the fledgling?"

"Me!"

"I can go."

Both Johnny and Kyle glared at eachother as they spoke at the same time, which only made Simon grunt.

"Kyle can go. Fucking mutt being all loud like this is gonna scare off the fledgling."

Another growl sounded out, this one, different from John's. This one was Johnny's, and made you terrifed all the same as you made your way to the living room on the other side of the stairs, your pace just a little bit desperate thanks to the growl and the fight.

Thanks to your human nature, you couldn't really tell it was more of a playful growl than an annoyed growl. (They were also not figthing, that's just the way they spoke with eachother, but you just got here, don't expect to know that yet).

Your eyes fell into the cozy living room. It looked... mostly like normal living rooms, but you could still see some kind of... nest thing to the side, close to the fireplace, with confortable pillows and blankets. The couches also had a lot of them. You didn't know they liked confort that much, but you suppose it's not... a bad thing.

"They're not-!"

You startle immediatly at the half-shout, turning around to make eye contact with a slightly desperate Kyle, giant wings opened in despair as his feathers perked up. As you both stare at eachother in alarm, his wings started to close behind him again, feathers still looking just a bit frazzled.

"Oh, hatchling, don't scare me like that..." He crooned softly, crooned, eyes going all gentle as he approached.

The croon caught you a bit off guard as you kept your guard up, eyes wide still looking at his direction. You didn't hear these weird noises often, even if you had basically only hybrid classmates at school. The croon sounded weird, but also... soft. Conforting, you could say.

"I though you had left." He murmur quietly, kneeling in front of you to try and get closer to your height. It didn't work very well, as he was still bigger even tho he was kneeling. If anything, it only made you more scared. "You're a quiet little thing, huh? Don't be scared, baby, i'm safe..." He crooned again, all soft and gooey.

Like he wasn't being all snarky and ironic with his mates just seconds ago.

Freaking... wolf in sheep clothing........... and he's not even the werewolf.

You finally managed to calm down a bit, as you breathed in quietly and nodded at him, curling just a little bit into your own body. You could see his wings shuffling at his sides, hands opening for a second before they were forced into fists quickly (before they could reach for you).

"We have dinner ready, sweetie. You'll like Si's food, he's a very good cook. Well, we all are." He smiles a bit, like he was boosting himself as a little joke. "It's cold, so we made stew. It's chicken noddle stew, do you like it, baby?"

The... baby voice, the very subtle baby voice was certainly... embarrassing. Tho, you still nodded quietly at his gentle and quiet tone, making him smile a bit bigger.

"Let's go eat then, uh?"

He murmured gently, giant hand with talons closing around your much smaller hand, so small it was completely enveloped by his warmth. You didn't really want to hold his hand, but he didn't give you much option, as he got up, still slightly bend down, and gently tugged you with him to the kitchen.

You followed.

Part 2 / Part 4

[komelliko]

manipulative!boss!sunday x timid!secretary!reader

summary: Sunday can no longer control himself around you. He will make his affections known. wc: 1.6k - this is nsfw! cw for dubcon! fingering/dry humping/softdom!sunday

part 2 / part 3 (nsfw) / part 4

---

By his insistence, it had been too late post-dinner for you to head home alone. In fact, it had been too late to bother leaving Blue Hour at all—not when Sunday could find you a place to stay the night as easily as walking through the entrance of the nearest hotel. "One room," he had told the Halovian clerk at the front desk, a kindly young lady with red cardinal feathers encircling her cheeks. "Anything will do." You tapped the empty box of mints clutched in your hand with one of your fingers, as if the slow rap-tap-tap would truly relieve any of your nervousness. His words had stuck with you after all—The Head of the Oak Family wandering around Blue Hour with a glorified nobody wearing a dress like this? Of course they'd assume something!

But you weren't a glorified nobody, you wanted to tell yourself. You had worked your ass off to be here, even if nobody else around you knew that. You were a somebody, no matter where you were or what Sunday had you wear or anything of the sort. You were one of the most powerful people in Penacony, damnit. ...Of course, at the time, you had been too distracted by this train of thought to realize he had only asked for one room. And, furthermore, at the time you hadn't asked if he would be making any trips that night himself.

Sunday had counted on this.

Sunday walks you to your room with his hand on your lower back once again, in what feels almost like a mockery of the conversation you had with him a few hours ago. You suck on the inside of your cheek, wishing the mints hadn't all been swallowed by now. Even as you try to walk faster than him ever so slightly, he seems to set the pace. Slow, methodical, calculated. The first thing you notice when you get to the room is the large window overlooking the rest of the Moment, sprawling buildings disappearing into the edge of the dreamscape. Large billboards painted in shimmering hues of gold display women in ornate jewelry, displaying dazzling watches and rows upon rows of pearls. You've never seen a Penaconian skyline that didn't have its fair share of advertisements, in all truthfulness—Every instance of gold and ochre like another glinting set of eyes watching you as you go about your day. Sunday approaches behind you, his hand resting on one of your shoulders.

"Don't you want to sit down?" he asks. You initially think to protest, but before you can even process it you're already in his lap, a lone wooden chair pulled out from the room's lounging area to sit in front of the window. Your eyes switch between glancing out at the billboards, then your knees, then somewhere in the middle distance. His voice takes on a honey-like quality that it usually only shows a hint of, whispering things in your ear that you accept so easily... because they almost sound like music. A low, deep harmony.

"I hope you know, [Y/N]," he speaks against the back of your neck, fingers dancing through your hair. "That when everything is said and done, I don't just consider you an employee. I consider you a friend."

His other hand goes to rest on your hip. You're still not sure what to make of it—Maybe you just don't want to accept the answer. This hot, churning feeling begins to twist just below your stomach, slowly growing bigger and bigger.

"O-of course, Mr. Sunday. Thank you, Mr. Sunday."

What would please him more: For you to drop the formality, or to keep it even as you're eventually moaning it? Sunday isn't entirely sure, but he lets the thought percolate while he continues to play with your hair. You sink your head back into his touch, and your whole body moves in response: Pressing up against him in a way he would kill for.

He cannot control himself any longer. For the briefest moment, he drops all pretense.

"Hike up your dress, [Y/N]."

Once you realize what he means by it, your hands have already shifted the hem halfway up your thighs. This is your boss. You can't be doing this. You'd only be proving people right this way.

...But what would he do if you said no?

The skeptic in you gives in, clinging onto the reasoning that you have no choice anyways. Hell, in the most pessimistic light, you might get a promotion out of this.

The tent in his pants pokes between your thighs like a cattle brand, hot and stiff. You clasp your knees together, but the choice works against you: the way your thighs press against the intrusion, the way the pooling cyprine leaks onto his pants. If you had any hope of convincing him (or yourself) to stop, it was long gone. You hear Sunday let out a groan, a gloved hand petting one of your thighs.

"You can keep a secret... can't you?"

There's nothing else for you to say. You stare at the floor, your face burning bright red.

"Of course, Mr. Sunday."

"...I've dreamed of doing this."

His hand moves with a particular confidence as it slips between your thighs, a single finger tracing that hidden bundle of nerves.

"It's awful," he pouts, his touch slowing to a crawl, "How often I convinced myself I could be satisfied with so little. Yet as I indulged myself with your presence further and further, I could not find satiation." The way his fingers gently pass over you cause you to jump in his lap, and he only sighs again, wrapping his other arm around your waist to keep you still. "Oh, how I betray myself."

The pace of his fingers quickens again, and you stop to think—Promotion? What in Aeon's name would you even be promoted to? What rung on the corporate ladder was there above Secretary to a Family Head (other than being a Head yourself, which was obviously out of the question), and what difference would it make if he changed your title to Personal Assistant or something of that ilk?

Well, there was no point in asking that question. You knew the answer. A promotion was clearly on the horizon—it just wasn't a corporate one.

His fingers breach through, and Sunday gasps as if he himself is being penetrated, not the other way around. What first seems to simply be Sunday readjusting himself in his seat eventually becomes a slow, desperate grinding of his hips, thrusting them up into your own as his fingers continue their work of spreading you open. Two, then three, then four. His head spins at the sensation of syrupy fluid coating his knuckles, as if even touching it is enough to get him drunk. Hissing out a minced oath under his breath, Sunday rips off his stained glove and plunges his fingers in again, practically dry humping you in his lap once he can truly feel the way you clench around his hand.

"Oh, you're perfect," he exhales. "Aeon forgive me for what I want to do to you, [Y/N]. The things you do to me... How badly I needed this." He starts to direct his huffing into your shoulder. "Come for me, [Y/N]—Right on my palm. Ruin me, I beg you."

"Mr. Sunday," you heave, the words forcing themself past your wobbling lip even as you bite it shut. "I—"

"[Y/N]," he whimpers. "Please." You clasp both your hands over your mouth when you finally reach release, throwing your head back with a muffled cry. Your heart continues to race so hard that it makes you dizzy, the sound thumping in your ears. Sunday, too, starts to heave in tandem, and you feel the sheen of sweat on his cheeks as he sloppily plants kisses on the back of your neck. As he catches his breath, Sunday's eyes glance around the room warily. He notices the pitcher of water on the countertop (a complimentary convenience typical for this specific hotel, and the main reason he chose this one to begin with), and resolved to dump it on his lap. Not to wash off any of his and your release currently sticking your laps together and staining his trousers, of course—But simply as a convenient excuse. He'd only been attending to his wonderful secretary, his treasured secretary, when the water was spilled as he filled a glass for you. ...Or maybe spilling it over his head and saying he had to dive into a fountain to valiantly save you from some ne'er-do-well would be more reasonable? Catching stray bullets with his hand to keep his darling safe and the like?

Your orgasm had all but knocked you unconscious, your half-lidded gaze unable to focus on the flashing lights and colors out the open window. The two of you must have been twenty, thirty stories off the ground, far from anyone spotting your little tryst. You slump back into Sunday's chest, rolling your head backwards as you mumble a weak "Mr. Sunday..." "Thank you for indulging me, my dear," is all he responds with, scooping you up off his lap and bringing you to the room's bed. Once you are draped in the bed's covers, you quickly fall asleep, with the night's events sure to become a hazy memory.

Sunday sighs contentedly to himself. In a final moment of trangression, he takes his soiled glove into his mouth for a brief moment to savor that which stains it. He can only hope—no, be certain of the fact that—the endless dream he searches to blanket this world in will be to your every liking. ...With you by his side, no doubt.

It wouldn't need mention just yet, but for your marriage to him to be the first union blessed by Ena THEMSELVES..?

Why, what could be better? --- a/n: when looking back through some of his lines, i thiiiink sunday uses aeon as the singular? correct me if I'm wrong on this lolol. feedback is always appreciated, especially regarding pacing! criticize me to hell and back y'all I want to write better smut :,) tag list: @j1yu425 @crepezinhos @i-am-tiredd

[dearwhs]

the ultimate 10 steps to confessing (jaehyun's idea) ★ hts — 한태산

★ genre: 80% crack, 10% fluff wc: 2.4k warnings: nothing, down bad loser taesan... watch out

꒰ ☆ ꒱ notes: TAESAN'S FIRST PASS? WE CHEERED. FINALLY OUT FRM THE DRAFTS + its lacking cute scenes but ure gonna ijbol i hope

★ part 1 here !!! > 10 steps to NOT fall in love (100% works?)

꒰ ☆ ꒱

remember jaehyun's "what about 10 steps of confessing to yn now?"—well, that thought is flying over taesan's head now, messing him up, contemplating. is jaehyun's suggestion really a good idea?

probably not. definitely not. you're just his crush. it's bound to fade, right? well, despite failing all the 10 steps of how to NOT fall in love. why's he still in denial?

okay, maybe ever since that day—acting like your parent or something, being concerned about you—you lived inside his head rent free. he'd replay the moment you two shared that now he's openly smiling in front of jaehyun whenever he thinks about you.

safe to say we lost taesan to you. you had him wrapped around your fingers.

maybe he really needs to do something about this crush thing. his actions? not normal. he's experiencing all the symptoms you'd get when you're crazy in love—and the smartest move he could do to fix whatever this was? ask jaehyun for help. after all, he's in this mess because of their silly bets.

which is as to why taesan is now in jaehyun's habitat, cause he cannot bare to see you right now. he's afraid he's heart would go badum badum again 'til it explodes.

now, taesan's face is buried on the pillow, groaning. and what is jaehyun doing? laughing. mhm, he's laughing over taesan's despair because this is a side he never saw in their years of friendship ever, like EVER. he'll even take a video if he can, but you know what'll happen if he does... maybe that wasn't part of his best ideas yet.

"hey, taesan. i'll help you, dude. i've got an idea. " jaehyun grinned, nudging taesan's shoulder.

taesan just looks up at him thinking, he's up to no good again, isn't he?—either way, he's so lost that he just accepted his faith under jaehyun's hands. here goes nothing.

"the ultimate 10 steps to confessing!" (jaehyun partially plagiarized taesan's first plan), after hearing that? taesan didn't even bother to argue on why they're doing this 10-step thing again, but instead he's just hoping whatever this plan was, it better work.

and again, just like that, "the ultimate 10 steps to confessing" has been reborn. let's just hope it works.

꒰ ☆ ꒱

Jaehyun's Ultimate 10 Steps To Confessing!

STEP 1: admit you like her

– first step, stop being in denial. pretending to be all cool when she passes by doesn't add aura, taesan—the moment you're gone, he'll smile like a freak IN PUBLIC (which is an automatic -800 aura for our fake emo).

– okay, easy! he just gotta admit he likes you. except, he's outside the apartment mumbling to himself as he takes out the trash, "i like–" you got this "i like h–" — "you like?" yup, of course you were there, accidentally creeping up behind him.

– despite being caught off guard, he just plays it off, coughing. "oh, i like pancakes." (in fact, he doesn’t. STEP 1: PASSED! even if he didn't admit it—his actions did, let's cheer!)

꒰ ☆ ꒱

STEP 2: start acting normal

– according to jaehyun, taesan's normal mode is currently turned off. because recently, he had been so conscious of his actions when you're around. it's like he's overlooking things—is he staring for too long? should he look away?– or does that makes him look weird?

– you'd be in a convenience store eating out—his treat. you're rambling to him how you did so well on your quiz, you'll subconsciously high-five him. you don't know the impact that high-five had caused to him, cause the moment your hand touched against his, his hands just freezed in place, literally. once he noticed his hands were paused up in the air, he just awkwardly plays it off as scratching his head, "why is my head suddenly itchy, haha." (STEP 2: failed...?)

꒰ ☆ ꒱

STEP 3: stop overthinking EVERYTHING

– after over-reading his actions detail by detail—he's slowly latching now over yours. even searching on google, "what does it mean for someone to..." yep, he's cooked. (he needs to be stopped..)

– curious what made him head to google?— it was the way you said good morning to him, earlier. somehow, he caught the fact that your voice was two notes lower than usual. did it even make sense for him to notice that? maybe. he is studying music, after all. (STEP 3: failed, once again…)

꒰ ☆ ꒱

STEP 4: planning the actual confession!

– so, at this point, jaehyun thinks taesan had finally calmed down (which i don't think he did) and is finally ready to plan the confession: their og plan.

– though, taesan's a little bit stuck on step 3. he ended up questioning himself—what if i mess up?— like what if you laugh at him? what if he ends up messing up? what if you ignore him forever, or worst.. what if he confesses to the wrong person!? (okay, maybe the last bit is unlikely, but we can see how bad his overthinking can get.)

– jaehyun pats taesan's back, "it'll work as long as you follow my steps, okay man?" he said with determination in his voice.

– oh, jaehyun's the biggest taeyn shipper—now listing all the steps using his pencil with bite marks (we don't talk about that – jaehyun) and a dream.

꒰ ☆ ꒱

STEP 5: figuring out your interests (secretly...!)

– easy! — "what's your favorite..." he said, for the 30th time, practicing his words as if he was reading a script, even putting efforts on his facial expression. (which he had never done—well, not until now)

– upon entering the bus, someone yells your name, and of course, it was taesan—you automatically sit on the chair he saved for you, right beside him.

– you two sat quietly—well, not until he broke the silence (little did you know, he'd been practicing in his head), "sooo, what are you into these days?" wincing at his own voice as soon as the question came out, trying his very best to awkwardly not look away—like he usually does.

– you pour your interests all over taesan—the cafe you've been currently obsessing over, your new favorite drink, your favorite band: guynextdoor, you spilled everything. and taesan? he just nods as if he understood everything your mouth blabbered.

– in reality, he didn't. though, he now has an idea! you like this new cafe, new drink alert for the nth time, and guynextdoor—which he considers that band his enemy for now for owning a place in your heart. (STEP 6: a somewhat success—back to researching he goes.)

꒰ ☆ ꒱

STEP 6: drop little hints

– how is this in any way useful? well, according to jaehyun, if you drop little hints, maybe, just maybe, you'll notice, and then you and taesan get together and live happily ever after. but, i wish it was that easy, jaehyun. i wish. still, taesan does it anyways.

– first thing he does? he tries to compliment you—keyword, tries. "hey. i um, like your handwriting," — "thanks!" it was unusual, but you appreciated whatever that was. him? he's whispering under his breath, did i do okay? was that obvious?

– taesan told jaehyun—it made him slam his own face, because how could you fail COMPLIMENTING??? he told you to try again. (he's locked in)

– at this point, he's showering you compliments everyday, when you see him outside the apartment, when you're on campus, wherever you are, he'll make sure he gets to throw you at least one compliment. he hopes you don't find it too weird, though. (STEP 6: passed...)

꒰ ☆ ꒱

STEP 7: learn from the professionals (aka kdrama)

– jaehyun wrote this idea, cackling to himself, "this is the best step yet," he's totally just not gonna make taesan watch kdrama with him—totally. according to jaehyun, you could never go wrong with kdramas!

– now, jaehyun and taesan are slouching on the couch. taesan's arms crossed, squinting at the television, "so, if i surprise her with flowers, it'll make her like me...?" he muttered in confusion, jaehyun just pretends to nod—he's too busy giggling at the kdrama in front of him.

– then, as they were watching, the male lead spouts their usual cheesy lines, "i've loved you from the moment i saw you,” which made taesan groan, covering his face with a pillow. “no way i’m saying that without cringing.” he'll totally use that scene as a reference. (STEP 7: might work)

꒰ ☆ ꒱

STEP 8: TESTING THE WATERS

– okay, for this, they had to make sure what you think of taesan before going all in. he needs proof that you're comfortable with him or something, so that he won't fall flat on his face scarring the rest of his life with this confession. so, what's their plan? simple. they decided to test the waters with totally not so obvious questions. they'll try their best to fish out your reactions at the mention of someone secretly admiring you—or if your face lights up when taesan is brought up.

– you'll be walking around campus with taesan, and... jaehyun who coincidentally bumped into you two. he casually started the conversation with "so, what do you guys think if, um, someone you know secretly likes you? or uh if they confesses?"—that made taesan's eyes size up because that was NOT in their plan (sadly, he wasn't informed), you gave jaehyun's thinking a thought, "hmm, i guess it depends? if they're sweet and romantic, i'd fall for that."

– jaehyun nods, trying not to hold his grin as he stares at taesan who's quietly biting his lips to stop himself from giggling, mentally taking a note: sweet and romantic, got it. (STEP 8: HAPPY TAESAN AND A SUCCESS)

꒰ ☆ ꒱

STEP 9: going all out >:)

– it's time to prepare taesan's confession. taesan's in jaehyun's little jungle, avoiding you for now to not spoil or slip anything about the confession. in reality, he knows he'll fold if he sees you next door.

– jaehyun's step are pacing back and forth, thinking of the greatest way to confess to you, "what about... you accidentally fall in her arms and confess?" "what? no." "hm, what about you write her name using those drones stuff?" "no? i'm broke." "broke and unromantic? tsk." — taesan just glared at him before stuffing his face on a pillow as jaehyun continues his little brainstorming, not until taesan randomly gets up after getting an idea.

– "wait, she said she wanted something sweet and romantic, right?" taesan suddenly mutters, his eyes lighting up. "and… i kinda know what she’s into, so… maybe we can combine those?" jaehyun just blinks, "i liked my suggestions better, but i guess yours could work. (STEP 9: CHECK!)

꒰ ☆ ꒱

STEP 10: CONFESSION TIME

– they're basically prepared now, flowers? check! chocolates? check! plushies? check! all they've gotta do now is to execute it well—hopefully.

– taesan and you are walking, heading back to the apartment after an exhausting class today. the sky fading from orange to a beautiful purple, casting a soft glow on the environment—it's as if everything came out from a kdrama which is perfect. everything seems to be going to plan.

– the plan was simple: he'll ask to hang out in your place for a bit, then casually pick up your guitar to play a song you've been practicing lately—not knowing he was also getting guitar lesson from the guitar master sungho, then after that, jaehyun will pop up with the gifts. simple and easy, right?

– as you two arrived, he instantly heads for your guitar, "mind if i play something?" you just checked up on him from over the kitchen, "sure, go on." okay, just relax, he can do it. jaehyun's voice enters in his head, "don't mess it up."

– so far it had been going so well, you two were vibing, sitting next to each other, locking eye to eye with the sweetest smiles—it made a somewhat romantic atmosphere. all are going according to the plan, until "TING" his finger caught the wrong string which caught him off guard, making him continuously go off tune—okay, he messed up a little, flustered taesan just slowly puts down the guitar, glaring at his hands for betraying him 'til the guitar slid, clattering on the floor. this is awkward.

– what made it worst? the creaking sound of the front door opening, "CONGRATS TO TAESAN, MY MAN!" it was jaehyun putting on the biggest smile, holding the gifts taesan prepared, even wearing sunglasses indoors... wrong timing, jaehyun, wrong timing...

– the room was insanely silent—you could only hear the flowers and chocolates rustling. you blinked at jaehyun, taesan blinks at jaehyun, and well, jaehyun just blinked, "i saw you through the window proposing..." taesan just slammed his face, "i was apologizing for knocking her guitar down."

– taesan stood up, facing your way, "yn, i like you. i'm sorry this confession thing turned for the worst. it didn't really go my way- but i swear if you give me a chance, i'll properly confess next time-"

– your laugh escaped your mouth, you couldn't barely hold it anymore. "wait, why are you laughing-" you cut him off as you grasp for air— you couldn't stop smiling your cheeks started to hurt, "taesan... you've been too obvious. i've known for a while." which made him look down as he scratch the back of his neck, deeply embarrassed.

– "i like you too, just so you know." he immediately looks up, "really?" that sent him straight to fully crazy in love final level, if you could only hear his heart going crazy to the point that it might actually jump out, and suddenly, ta-da, pretty pink petals started falling down, the same as the one in dramas—except it doesn't make sense at all, well, since you're inside... it was actually just jaehyun sprinkling the petals, "sweet and romantic!"

– taesan couldn't stop himself from laughing at the fact you liked him too despite the ridiculous, awkward, and gone wrong confession. he realized that maybe it wasn't so bad at all, but rather memorable. he ended up leaning closer next to you, holding both of your hands, "i'll make it up, i swear," with the sweetest tone as he squeezes your palms. (STEP 10: it all worked out)

꒰ ☆ ꒱

if you liked this, a like, reblog, or comment is highly appreciated, thank you! ><

[yoyomomiko]

Heyyy could you make a fluffy comfort oneshot of ticci toby x ignored reader? So like the reader tends to not be listened to and like, doesnt talk much because of it? If that makes sense! Just a super cute fic full of reassurance and physical affection/words of affirmation lol! Thankyou! 💗

꒰ ☆ ꒱ — “HEARD”

pairings: ticci toby x female reader

wc: 1.1k+

cw: angst (?), cringe, not proofread, also probably contains grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language!! the creepypasta mansion is real!! >:(

— (a/n): i actually haven't written anything in soooo long!!! also i'm extremely bad at writing comfort so i'm very sorry :(( -> m.list

You were used to silence.

Not the peaceful kind, the kind that wraps you in warmth and lets you breathe, no. Yours was the heavy, suffocating kind. The kind of silence that clung to you because no one ever truly listened.

It wasn't that you never spoke. You did. Sometimes. When it felt important.

But your words were often brushed aside, ignored, or spoken over. So, with time, you just sort of... Stopped trying.

It was easier that way. Easier not to try.

Because trying meant disappointment, and disappointment always hurt more than silence.

It wasn't hard to see why Toby had fallen for you.

You were both outsiders in your own ways, different kinds of overlooked. The moment he met you, something just clicked in his brain.

He didn't talk over you. Didn't brush you aside. Didn't make you feel like you had to fight to be heard.

And yet you still held back.

Even in the mansion, surrounded by people who were supposed to be your people, it was no different. Conversations just flowed around you, and if you tried to join in, it was like no one would even notice. Sometimes, someone would glance your way, but by the time you worked up the courage to speak, the moment would pass.

And tonight was no different.

You sat on the worn out couch, curled up in the corner, listening as the others talked. Ben was ranting, Jeff was being as loud as ever, and Toby was laughing along.

You saw a gap in the conversation, a tiny opening where you thought that maybe it was the time to speak up. All you had to do was wait for Ben to finish his sentence, and then you could finally start.

"I–"

"That reminds me of–"

Jeff quickly yelled out, not even acknowledging you. You couldn't even finish your first word, the subject just changed in an instant.

Your mouth snapped shut, the grip you had on your shirt tightening. Of course.

Your chest ached, but you swallowed it down. You had no reason to feel upset. This was normal. You should be used to it by now.

So you did what you always did. You quietly forced yourself to your feet, slipping out of the room unnoticed.

Or at least that's what you thought...

...

Toby had noticed.

It had taken him longer than he'd like to admit, but once he saw it, he couldn't stop seeing it. The way your eyes would light up for half a second before fading again. The way you always shrank into the background, like you believed you didn't deserve to take up space.

And then there was tonight.

He saw the way your lips parted, just barely, before the conversation swallowed you whole. He saw the way your shoulders dropped, how you curled in on yourself before quietly leaving the room.

He wasn't the smartest guy, but he knew that wasn't normal.

So, without hesitation, he pushed himself off the couch and followed after you.

...

You were sitting outside, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the dark trees surrounding the mansion. The cold air nipped at your skin, but you didn't really care. It was better out here, quieter.

A soft thud sounded beside you.

You turned your head just in time to see Toby plop down, his face twitching for a quick second. He didn't say anything at first, just sat there, hands fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. It was strange, Toby wasn't really the type to sit still.

"You didn't have to come out here." You glanced away, a frown slowly forming on your lips.

"But I wanted to." He replied, his gaze softening.

Silence.

You weren't sure what to say, so you didn't speak up. Just like you always did.

"Are you okay?" Toby spoke up after a while, his voice unusually soft.

You hesitated. You weren't used to being asked that. At least not in a way that felt... Real.

"Yeah." You lied, gently nodding your head, avoiding his gaze.

"Liar." He shot back.

You glared at him, but there was a grin plastered to his face, eyes filled with something warm that made your stomach twist.

"Come on." He nudged your shoulder. "I saw what happened."

"It's nothing, I'm used to it." You felt a bad taste in your mouth, like you were about to cry. Your chest tightened, and then came that same heavy and suffocating feeling you always had.

"That's not– That's not alright." He shifted so he was fully facing you, his knee brushing against yours. "You shouldn't have to– to be 'used to it'."

You shrugged, trying to ignore the lump forming in your throat. "It's not like it's on purpose. I just... I don't matter as much as everyone else–"

Toby's entire body went still. For a second, you wondered if you had said something wrong, which you did. Then, before you could react, he leaned closer, his forehead gently pressing against yours.

"Don't–... Don't say that." He mumbled, his voice was softer than you had ever heard it.

Your breath hitched as your heart skipped a beat.

"You matter." Toby continued, tilting his head so his nose brushed against yours. "I hear you. Even when no one else does, I do."

Your eyes burned, but you blinked rapidly, forcing the feeling down. "Toby..."

"I mean it." He whispered, his hands coming up to gently cradle your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "I love hearing you talk. I love the way your voice sounds. I love the way your eyes light up when you get excited. And I hate that you don't feel like you can share it."

"It's hard..." A shaky breath left you as you prayed that the tears in your eyes weren't visible.

"I know." Toby whispered. "But I promise you never have to be quiet around me." He smiled, tilting his head playfully. "Actually, I insist you talk my ears off. Give me all the random thoughts in that pretty little head of yours."

A smile tugged at your lips, and before you could stop it, a small snort escaped you.

"There it is, there's that smile!" His smile widened as he gently kissed your forehead before pulling back to look at you again.

Your chest felt lighter, like maybe, just maybe, you weren't as invisible as you thought.

Toby pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in warmth. He rested his chin on top of your head as he started swaying you gently. "I love you." He mumbled into your hair. "I'm gonna make sure you never feel alone again."

And for the first time in a long time, you actually believed it.

[brucewaynehater101]

The Tim and Dick bonding ask made me think about the angst of eidetic memory but specially for Dick.

He tries really hard to make really good memories with Tim, knowing they'll be well kept. Something he fails to consider is the fact that all of their fights (which is a normal part of being siblings, especially under the stress of being also vigilantes) are also perfectly recorded in Tim's memory. I think Dick's hot temper gets the better of him sometimes but he doesn't mean it, so to him it doesn't register as something particularly memorable ("Yeah I had an argument with Tim but that happens sometimes").

It's not until Tim makes a remark about something Dick said in one of their arguments (maybe even the one about Robin) that Dick suddenly has that realization: Tim remembers EVERYTHING. And it's so nonchalant, like Tim isn't bothered by it (there were times when he was more insecure about his place in the family, but now he understands that fights are normal and Dick isn't really mad at him). But Dick is having an absolute crisis about it.

Not only does his little brother remember every single shit he didn't mean to say but blurted out in anger, he's also coming to terms with the fact that he must remember every traumatic shit his witnessed in HD. Obviously there's the very graphic death of Dick's parents to start with, but also the corpse of Tim's father, just to begin with.

Cue to Dick having a breakdown trying really hard to remember all of the extremely graphic and brutal shit he deletes from his brain on a daily basis to cope with their way of life while Tim's just beating the shit out of him at Mario Kart.

Dick: Bruce. Bruce, were you aware of Tim's photographic memory??

Bruce: ....yes? It's a valuable skill for-

Dick: Bruce. B. Dad. Have you consider the horrors we see on an average night?

Bruce:...

Bruce, sweating: hmm.

One, I love the notion that the Bats are extremely intelligent detectives, but they also overlook a lot on accident (like Tim's memory being as much a curse as it is a blessing [they maybe somewhat realized this, but not to this extent]).

The idea that Tim has an instant replay of every harsh word, disgusting comment, and traumatic event he's been through? Yeah. No wonder Dick is freaking the fuck out.

Anyways, it'd be interesting to see how the Bats treat Tim's memory. If he remembers everything in HD, he might be the most trustworthy source if there are no cameras (to an extent. His memory is a biased account and will be affected by his emotions. It's also dependent on what he notices, catalogs, and focuses on). Therefore, gaslighting Tim by saying stuff like, "I never said that!" doesn't really work.

I want to know more about the ins and outs of how Tim's memory operates

[letorip]

kiss with a fist [iii]

"your slaps don't stick, your kicks don't hit, so we remain the same"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you can't help but feel like maybe you and tara are more than frenemies, and it culminates in a night where you finally share some truths with each other.

warnings: a somewhat traumatic dream sequence lmao, mentions of sex, kissing (almost), curse words, blood

word count: 5.8k

A/N: hope y'all like this one because i definitely liked writing it. definitely a whole lot more kissing than fisting.... wait a minute....

it's 5 am, my ass is grass. anyways, part 4 relatively soon because woo wee theres still so much to explore in this story i legitimately cant believe my idiot self said it'd be done in 2 parts originally

===+++===

===+++===

"(Y/n)," a voice calls to you, sing-song and sweet as your eyes fade to darkness. It's a gentle woman's whisper, but it manages to hit you like a truck, pulling you down from wherever you came from, and plopping you wherever you've arrived. Or, rather, wherever you've always been. "(Y/n), look, darlin'."

A gust of wind gently strokes over the plane of your cheek, and when you open your eyes, all you can see is rye. On one end, it reaches out towards a sharp cliff, overlooking a lake, with nothing but rocks and the water below. On the other, it runs far up the plains of land in front of you, stopping in front of the white house you know all too well, with its rickety porch and broken tire swing.

You take a few steps forward, as if ready to run right inside, and then before you know it, you're running. Like the world is about to end, like the house is burning down, like you'll never see the place ever again. Foot after foot, you dash towards it, hearing Alisha's piano flit through the front window for the first time in years, and the smell of a pie right along with it. "(Y/n)!" the voice calls again. "Dinner time, kid!"—

But your foot catches on a root, just like it did in your memory, and in an instant, you've fallen down into the rye, with a painful thud, right on your face. You let out a grunt, feeling the dirt on your new, white shirt. The one your mother never let you wear when you were playing outside.

And when you right yourself again, sitting up out of the field, the house isn't any closer than it was before. It sits, perfectly far away, only all that stuff is gone now, and the house looks about as dark as it did the day of Mitchie's funeral.

"(Y/n)!" an excited voice calls from behind you. "Wanna play tag?"

"(Y/n)'s too old for that, Mitchie," another voice chides, and you whip around like Calvin would actually be there to chide him like that. Like he used to. But he isn't. All you can see is the rye. It stands in thick stalks, reaching up to your knees in lush groupings, tall and abundant, strong and growing.

Another voice. "Read me a story?" It's soft and it's a little girl's and it's far away, and you get to your feet and spin in a circle, waiting for her to appear. It seemed to reverberate through your ears, washing through the pathways of your brain before seeping into your heart. It fills it up, and before you know it, you can feel yourself hastily searching for her.

"'Randa?" you called into the open field. "Miranda? You there?" but she continues on like she didn't hear you.

"Would you read me a story? Please?"

"I will Miranda, but where are you?" you called back, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the barrel of the hot sun.

"I'm gone, (Y/n). You're supposed to be gone too," she says back, with a sweet giggle. "Why aren't you gone with us?"

"I—" you stammer, whipping your head around the field in search of your siblings. "I don't—"

"Do you really think that's fair, (Y/n)?" Calvin asks.

"Why aren't you here, (Y/n)?" Miranda asks again, this time her voice wavering like she was about to cry. "Why aren't you in the rye with us?" Your hands came up to your head, trying to squeeze your eyes shut and block out the noises, but they seemed to reverberate into your skull.

"Mitchie was your fault, you know," Peter chides. "We would've never let that—"

"—Why did you get to stay, (Y/n)?" Came Tomas' voice. "We're supposed to be cursed, and you're supposed to be cursed too." He was always the quiet one, but now his voice had a sharp edge to it. One of jealousy. One of anger.

"Why didn't you catch me?" Mitchie asked. "If you just would've caught me..."

"Come play piano with me, I'll teach you," said Alisha, in her light, airy laugh.

"Why did it get to be you?" snarled Calvin. "And why are you getting closer to Tara? You want to curse her, too?"

"Stop—" you stammered, squeezing your eyes shut tighter.

"Wanna play hopscotch?" said Mitchie.

"Do you miss us, (Y/n)?" Alisha said, in between tears.

"Yes, of course— I—" you tried, but now the voices were filling up your head, threatening to spill over and knocking you to the ground. You curled up into a ball as your brain filled up. Words piling up on top of words, piling up on top of words, about to split you open. "STOP!" you yelled.

And everything went silent. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself still in the field, but your siblings' voices had gone entirely. Now it was just you, in the field, alone with the rustling of the wind and the rye, as it grazed gently against your legs. You hadn't remembered standing up, but you were now.

In a flash, you could see a shape, running through the rye in a line that was very visible from where you were. You recognised the dark hair, and the yellow jacket he always wore. With the realisation came the looming dread, and you realised with very little time left what this exactly was a memory of.

You took off running, faster than you had to the house, faster than you had ever run, and faster than you had run then, chasing after him as he took off towards the cliff-end of your rye field. "Mitchie!" you yelled, trying to be louder than the buzzing cicadas, but it seemed the moment you yelled, the cicadas got even louder. He was too short to see over the stalks, but you could see him go, running in odd shapes as he got nearer and nearer to the cliffs edge.

"Catch me if you can, (Y/n)!" he called back with a gleeful laugh.

"(Y/n), grab your brother," called your mother. She didn't seem too worried, and she hadn't been, then. No one had been, until it was too late.

"Mitchie! Stop!" you cried out, feeling tears already beginning to fall down your cheeks. "Mitchie!" you tried again.

"Come on, you've gotta be faster than that if you're gonna be it!” Mitchie called back. "Catch me! Get me! C'mon! I'm gonna make it hard for you to win, Duck."

"MITCHIE! PLEASE!" you screamed, but all he did was giggle. “STOP! DON’T GO!” But the moment you reached the end of the rye, he was gone over the edge, just he had been when you were 13, and there was an arm shaking you awake.

===+++===

"Oh my god, you're about the least peaceful sleeper I've literally ever seen," Tara laughed, grinning at you from over her textbook. She had it pulled into her lap from her side of the table and titled against the table edge, and spread out in front of you were her papers galore, with notes scribbled all over them in preparation for her upcoming exam.

Mindy sat next to her, playing a stupid game on her phone, while Ethan was also studying in his own textbook. He had stopped trying to avoid you as much, as had Chad. You and Tara "dating" seemed to offend them less and less the longer it went on.

"Uh," you mumbled, still feeling a little bit disoriented from the dream. It was like a dose of adrenaline had been shot directly into your heart, and you struggled to adjust to the calm, peaceful library that actually was around you. "Shut up," you grumbled, but not like you were actually upset by her teasing.

Tara watched you with her eyebrows raised. "You look tired."

You sat up in your chair, running a hand through your hair. There was a small layer of sweat on your forehead. "Aren't you never supposed to say that to someone? Pretty sure that's how you get someone at the bar to throw their drink in your face."

"It is," Ethan nodded. "I made that mistake once. I was trying to be sweet."

"Good thing I'm not seducing you, then," Tara shrugged. "You've seen me puke everywhere. Pretty sure that ruined my chances right-out, and yet you love me anyways."

You grinned, leaning back to stretch out your arms. It was meant to be a gentle teasing from Tara, but you had only gotten better and better at deflecting the longer you were around her. "You'd be surprised, actually. That was super pretty. That was the prettiest you've ever been." Mindy snorted next to Tara.

Tara glared at you, unappreciatively. "And you're pretty when you do not speak."

"I'm pretty all the time, Tara," you mockingly shook your head. "And you think I'm joking. Find yourself a girl who looks nice covered in sweat, with her hair going everywhere, and puking in the toilet. That's my girlfriend."

"You're such a dick," Tara scoffed, but you could tell part of her was stifling a laugh. It was funny to her too, and you both had laughed at it together for days, afterwards.

If anything, it had gotten easier and easier, to act like the both of you were actually dating. You weren't too sure why, maybe Tara had become less annoying, or you had become less annoyed by her, but you had definitely at least become a better actor. That's what it was, after all. "Oh, also," she continued.

"Yeah?"

"Someone tried to call your phone, while you were sleeping. I think it was your dad."

You frowned. "You didn't pick up, right?"

"No," Tara said, shaking her head. Then she paused. She dropped her voice to speak just to you, guarding the conversation from Mindy and Ethan. "Do you and him not get along?"

You shrugged. "Eh. He was probably just checking in. We have a fine relationship." It wasn't true but it was an easy lie, that rolled off the tongue like nothing. He had already called twice, that day, and you knew why.

"Seriously, though," she said with a frown, looking up from her book. "You look fucking horrifying—"

"—Thanks," you said, flatly.

"—I mean, even more than normal, it's crazy—"

"—Thanks," you repeated.

"—Have you not been sleeping, or something?"

You shrugged. "I mean, I'm an architecture major, and it's midterms... so not really."

"Hm."

"What?" you asked, propping your head up on your arm. "What's the 'hm' for?"

She shrugged, trying to turn back to her textbook. "Hm, nothing."

You furrowed your eyebrows down at her. "Well, obviously the 'hm' was something, Tara." Mindy shot you a look again.

"Or it was just a hm."

“Would you two shush,” she said to you, rolling her eyes. “You bicker like an old married couple.” But you both ignored her.

"It's never just a 'hm.'"

"I say hm all the time. It's literally just a hm."

"No, it means you've got something to say but don't want to say it."

She frowned at the accusation but was obviously even more displeased that you were correct. "I was gonna suggest we go to the OBK party tonight, but maybe you should just go home and sleep. I was trying to be nice.”

You shrugged. "I won't be doing either, actually." Tonight was not the night for parties. You were somewhat grateful, that you had a legitimate excuse to busy your time, or else you would've spent even longer thinking about the dream. "I have to do homework. My final is due tomorrow."

Tara furrowed her eyebrows at you. "Wait, but I thought classes ended today."

You shook your head. "Nope. I've still got some stuff do."

"Oh," Tara frowned.

"Not all of us can have easy majors," you teased, trying to lighten the mood away from what was clearly concern.

"Hey! You chose the stupid thing," Tara shot back. "Not my fault I chose something fun." She stood up, gathering her things into a neat stack. The time was nearing for her midterm exam, and you stood up with her, grabbing her textbook to be helpful.

"Thanks," she said, then she wandered over and held out her hand. You grabbed it in yours, lacing your fingers together, just like you had practiced together.

The library was a tall building on the far side of campus from where you lived. It was a trek and a half to get there, which is partially why you had been a little annoyed, when Tara said she needed to go there. It ended up being the perfect place to fall asleep in, with the quiet signs and only a few murmurs now and again, and though it had been a less than peaceful dream, it was more than you had been getting for the past few days.

"I don't see why you can't just go without me," you shrugged, adjusting her book in your hands. "Just tell Sam I'll meet you there. Besides, Chad and Mindy are going to the same party, right?"

"Yeah, but I what if they realise you're not actually there and mention it to Sam, or something? And, I'd have to go there alone, since Chad and Mindy are going early."

"They are?"

"Yeah. Helping with set up. Mindy literally just mentioned that. Shows how much you listen to her.” She shook her head in a mocking disappointment in you.

“I was asleep, jerk.”

“I know,” she said, grinning.

You looked down to her, where she walked next to you, gently swinging your joint hands back and forth. "It's not a far walk to OBK. You could probably make it there in five minutes. It's well-lit, and—"

Tara frowned, shaking her head adamantly. "Not alone. Not without you, no way. Sam would want to see you at the door to pick me up. She'd probably hate the idea of it."

"Fair enough," you shrugged. "Find a movie at home tonight, then. Relax, or something. I'd kill to be done with this stupid project."

"What are you even making?" Tara groaned, breaking your hands to shove hers into her pockets. Actually, it was your jacket, and therefore technically your pockets too, but she had taken a liking to it, after your date. You had been less than pleased, when she asked to borrow it, considering how much the jacket meant to you, but she insisted it was assisting her to keep up the act. You figured you could part with it, at least for a little while.

"Architecture," you said with a thick layer of sarcasm. Tara rolled her eyes at you. She nudged you, and you couldn't help but laugh as her elbow pointed into your side.

"Oh, you think you're funny, huh?"

"I'm hilarious."

"You wish..." she scoffed, shaking her head.

It was a beautiful day in autumn, and the weather was soon to leave the sigh of brown leaves and rainy days and move into whispery winds and icy pavement. You didn't mind winter, but you didn't like the chills, even though it was undoubtedly what gave summer's warmth a certain sweetness. Still, nothing burned like the cold.

You walked her all the way to the door of the exam hall, stopping out front to hand her the textbook you had been carrying. You went to speak, but the moment you tried to open your mouth, your phone started ringing. You grabbed it from your pocket, sighing and declining the call, while Tara stared at you.

"Is that your dad, again?"

"No," you said. "Telemarketer."

"Right..." she said, frowning. "You're a terrible liar."

"Am I?" you challenged. You were, it was true.

"Why don't you want to talk to him?"

“I just don’t.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m asking why, (Y/n).”

"Why don't you leave it alone?" you shot, in frustration. You could see Tara's eyes narrow at your tone, and you felt a bit bad. There was the occasional reflex still, to bite each other's heads off. You weren't sure what it was about her, but something about Tara Carpenter always seemed to rile you up inside, and do the same for her with you.

"Sorry," you said, looking down at your shoes. "I just don't want to talk about it."

"That doesn't mean you have to be an asshole," Tara glared.

"Right... I'm... sorry."

Tara sighed. "I guess I'll see you next week?" She asked.

You nodded. "There'll be plenty of time after this, I just need to get this thing done."

"Okay," she nodded, failing to hide her excitement. Tara seemed to really love parties, the more and more she went to, and you were somewhat glad you could help her find something she enjoyed. It was nice to see, not that you'd ever say that to her. Doing that would absolutely result in her teasing you again, or something even more annoying.

"Good luck on your test," you said.

"Good luck on your project, babe," she said, drawing the name out.

“Now who’s hilarious,” you said with an eye roll. Tara winked at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Me.”

===+++===

It seemed you were having no good luck on it whatsoever, actually. Laid out in front of you was all of your materials, in a messy pile of cut-out pieces and foam boards that were there, sure, but not likely to just jump together and put itself together on its own.

The clock had already ticked away to 12:33 in the morning, and your design was barely finalised to where you could get to work and finish quickly. All of the other students had left at a much more reasonable hour, and it left you standing at your table alone, quietly working to classical music in the empty modelling lab.

At this rate, you could be here for another two or three hours, and the project was due at eight. You were sluggish, slowly working through the plans you had set out days ago and working through the kinks.

Every few minutes, when you stopped for even a second, the dream seemed to rush back to the forefront of your brain. Your mother had been the one to call, that evening while you were eating a poor excuse of a dinner, and you had declined that call just like you had declined all the rest.

You were hunched over your work, probably unhealthily so, with your face buried in your iPad, hastily throwing out sketches of the various shapes. You were settling on a design that would have to do, heading for the woodcutter, when you heard a noise.

It resembled a door shutting, and you froze right where you were. "Greg?" you called out. There was no one else in the building except for you and Greg, at his usual security post, and you waited with bated breath for him to return your call.

But there was no response, and all you could hear was the sounds of classical music gently floating in the background. Usually, it set you at ease while you worked through whatever you were doing in the lab, but now all it did was raise your heart rate to match the increasing tempo. It was completely dark, except for the overhead light above you, which illuminated the table you were working at and a few of the stainless steel cabinets that held tools and supplies.

Then, off to the side, you heard a rolling. An odd, wooden rolling, slowly drifting towards you. On the ground was a pencil, gently pushed towards you, playfully rolling as if perfectly in front of your toes. You hopped to your feet. "Hello?" you called, squinting in the dim light, in case anyone else was there. "Is anyone there?" you called out again. "Greg?"

Now you could really feel the thumping of your heart. The modelling lab had always been creepy late at night, but this was a new level of unease. It was as if someone was watching you, playing with their food, and you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "Is someone there?" you said to the rest of the room.

"Hey!" said a voice, and you jumped what felt like five feet into the air.

"Fuck!" you shouted, spinning around and seeing Tara behind you. She jumped at your reaction, raising her hands up. In one of them was a tray with two coffees on it. “You scared me!”

"Woah, woah, are you okay?" she asked, face etched with concern. She walked towards you slowly, and you put your hands on the edge of the table, trying to calm yourself.

"Don't just sneak up on me like that, dude," you glared at her.

"I literally didn't, I fucking announced myself, loud as can be," Tara said, rolling her eyes at you. Then, it melded into concern. "How long have you been here?" she asked, looking around the place and its emptiness.

"Since I left you at your test," you shrugged. "How'd it go by the way?" Tara's eyebrows furrowed, ignoring your question instead for one of her own.

"Did you at least eat dinner, or something?"

"Yeah," you nodded.

"Good."

“Yeah…,” you trailed off, turning back to your work. “How did you know where I was?"

“I asked Chad. He’s still a little snippy with me about, well, thinking we're together. Tried to tell me that if anyone would know, it would be me, and I said, yeah, that’s true, but it’s only been three months, now.”

“Well,” you said, gesturing around to the lab. “This is the modelling lab.” You were a bit of a nerd about the whole place, showing it off like it was your cool superhero lair.

“I know,” Tara mocked. “I saw it on the giant sign above the front door.”

“Ha ha. Does Sam know that you’re here?” You asked, grabbing your pen and resuming your work while you continued to talk to Tara. She plopped herself down on the edge of the table, letting her feet swing.

She looked a bit sheepish at the question. “Uh… no.”

“You know she’ll kill me like she did that one time, if you’re not home when she wakes up,” you frowned, wandering over to the supplies and grabbing out a box cutter to help trim the pieces you needed.

Tara nodded. “I know. But I snuck out, so I’ll sneak back in.”

You turned back around to reply, maybe say something stupid, but you had to stop yourself from laughing, when you saw her legs hanging off the counter and not reaching the ground.

“What?” Tara asked, furrowing her eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head and returning to the table. “…Dwarf.”

“Hey!” she said, smacking you on the arm. “I brought you coffee, don’t make me take it back.”

“That’s true,” you frowned, weighing your options. “Guess I can’t make fun of you; you brought me caffeine.”

“That’s more like it."

You worked in silence for a few minutes, feeling Tara watch your every movement. It was harder to work, under her scrutiny, but you were grateful that she was there. It wasn’t lonely in there, any more. A few months ago, you would’ve hated her guts for sitting around while you attempted to work. But not with Tara anymore. Not on that day.

“This might be an all-nighter,” you warned, sending her a small smile as you sliced a piece of foam in half and went to work to attach it to your board.

“Fine with me,” Tara shrugged. She just continued to watch you, in a calm silence. “Actually, I have beef with you,” she hummed.

You laughed, looking up while you secured the base with glue. “Why’s that, Tara?”

“You got that song, stuck in my head.”

“Which one?” You asked.

“The one you sang for me. I found it online.”

“Which one?” you teased, smiling again. Your face was tired and the smile certainly didn’t help, but you couldn’t help the newfound peace washing over you again. You had completely forgotten the weird happening from earlier.

“You know, don’t play dumb.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I really don’t know.”

“You literally do,” Tara scoffed.

“Sing a little bit. Refresh my memory.”

“Nuh uh,” she said, crossing her arms. “This is a trap.”

“It isn’t,” you insisted, sticking your pinky out to her. “Swear.”

She wrapped it in her own, rolling her eyes. She definitely knew it was, but she obliged anyway. “If you need a friend, don’t look to a strangerrr. You know in the end,” her voice broke on the low note like yours did, and you laughed while heat rose to her cheeks. “I’ll always be thereeee.”

“And when you’re in doubt,” you sang back to her, in between laughs. “And when you’re in dangerrr.” You both were tone deaf and the rendition was awful, but the mood in the lab was getting lighter and lighter the longer you were together.

“Take a look all around,” Tara sang, coming back in. “And I’ll be there.”

It was impossible not to laugh at how bad it was on both sides, and you grinned at her toothily, before turning back to your work. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re welcome, idiot,” she teased, nudging you in the side again.

===+++===

You went back to working on your model, finishing the first floor in about an hour. You and Tara occasionally talked now and again, but mostly she just watched you while you worked. “Why are you doing this all tonight?” she asked.

“Uh…” you stuttered. “I didn’t have time the past couple weeks…cause of… well, you.”

She shot up to her feet, mouth dropping open. “Why the hell didn’t you say no to me?! I didn’t know you had all this to do.”

You shrugged. “I never mentioned it. Plus, you were having fun. I’m glad someone was enjoying themselves.”

“Oh…” she said, and it sounded small.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“…Nothing."

“It’s fine, Tar. Seriously.” She blinked at you.

“Tar?” she asked, looking amused.

You looked up from your work, feeling the change in the atmosphere. “What?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just never used the nickname for me, before.”

“Yeah, I guess not. Is it weird?”

“Well… no. I kind of like it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she agreed, nodding a little. “My mom was the one who gave me the nickname Tar. Haven’t spoken to her in a little while, though.”

“Do you still miss her?” you asked, glueing your second story onto the base successfully.

“Sometimes…” she trailed off, staring out at the pitch black night through the window that hung over your workspace. "She calls me once in a while."

"Do you answer?" you asked.

"No," she admitted. "It's usually about Woodsboro. I gave up on her a few months ago, but she still calls sometimes about the town."

"You never talk about it..." you comment, trailing off with a hand on the back of your neck. "You don't have to, if you don't want to." You leaned back against the table with a curiosity, watching her face move as she struggled to answer.

"Well... it's cause I don't want to that I don't talk about it. You know how people say that shit about manifesting happiness?" you nodded, knowing what she was talking about. "Well, I keep saying I'm fine, and I'm moving on, but it just keeps following me everywhere. It's like this chronic cough I can't shake. This constant thing. No matter how much I run, it's always there. People don't see me as anything but one of the survivors."

You swallowed, feeling her words hit you. "I know what you mean." Tara's eyes snapped down to yours, but when you didn't volunteer more information, she sighed.

You frowned, turning yourself back to your work and hunching over, so she wouldn’t see the heat rising to your cheeks. “I, uh… I listened to that song you said you liked, too.”

“You did?” she asked, lighting up at the mention of it.

“Yeah… added it to my playlist… so…”

“So…” Tara laughed, amused by your awkwardness. It was somehow less awkward when you hated each other. The fact you could tolerate each other now was unusual but not unpleasant, and you still found yourself grappling with how pretty Tara’s eyes looked in lamplight. "If I get a nickname, you absolutely have to have one too."

You scoffed. "That's not at all what that means."

"You had to have had one at some point."

"No, I haven't had one," you said.

"Liar!" Tara said with a giggle, pointing at you with her finger. "You're so bad at lying it's remarkable. Now spill. What is it?"

"I'm not lying!" you insisted, but now you were laughing and it was even less convincing.

"C'mon, promise I won't say it in public— unless it's really bad."

You stared at her for a moment, when she clasped her hands together in a begging plea.

"Please?"

"No," you shook your head.

"Please?"

"Nope."

"Pleaseeee?"

"Fine," you sighed. "My family, they used to call me Duck."

"Duck?" She asked, leaning back to look at you as if the nickname would re-contextualise your entire appearance. "Where'd that come from?"

"It's dumb. I used to wear this yellow raincoat when it was storming outside and these orange booties, so my little brother Mitchie saw me, when he was like five or six, and said I was a Duck. And so I was Duck."

She smiled at you, genuinely pleased with the explanation. "That's adorable. Where is Mitchie, tonight?"

You opened your mouth but shut it. Then, you opened it again. "Probably watching cartoons, or something. Back in Nebraska." (A/N: my ass genuinely did not know that was a U.S. state until right now)

You couldn't tell her that today was the day he had died, several years ago. That a year or two before that had happened, Calvin had gone, and a few months before that, Tomas and Alisha had passed too. That Peter had gotten sick, or that Miranda had gone missing before any of that mess had happened. That you were the only one left.

It was a bad lie, and probably one you would regret later, but it was one you ushered past, and Tara didn't seem to pick up on. From one cursed person to another, you figured it was probably best that you keep your own curse to yourself. It's part of what had made you hate Tara so much at first. She walked around knowing her days were likely numbered, so carefree and careless. And then there was you, you who was so careful in order to keep living.

But you couldn't resent her for that. It had melted away with seeing the Tara underneath. The real, beautiful Tara underneath.

"Duck is good, though. I'll bring it out when I want to embarrass you," Tara smiled, inching closer on the table.

"Yeah?" you grinned back at her, standing up to gently tap against the glue. It was set, and your model was finally finished at 4:42 in the morning. Tara leaned close, watching the glue with her own eyes, cheek almost up against yours in curiosity.

You finished the thing, looking over at her and her large, warm brown eyes, staring at the model you had made with so much curiosity and genuine interest. Tara hadn't lifted a finger to help, but you couldn't help but feel like it was partially hers.

You went to pull back but found your face turning towards hers, looking at each other for a long moment. Your eyes lingered on the slope of her nose, down to the curvature of her soft lips, turned up in the corners like Tara always did when she smiled. They looked so soft, and before you knew what was happening, you could feel Tara's hands coming up to the sides of your face, thumbs gently stroking against the skin there.

You couldn't breathe, feeling the warmth of the pads of her fingers on your face and the faint brush of her breath upon your nose. "Tara," you whispered. The pull was magnetic, and just as you were about to say to hell with it all, her phone began to vibrate in her pocket, and you both leapt apart from each other.

You wandered a few feet away, trying to seem busy while she answered it. You could feel Tara watching you while she spoke on the phone, so you did your best to hide the blush that was certainly spread wide across your cheeks.

This was the very girl you had spent the past several months hating. You suddenly felt dizzy, like the world would slip out from under your feet. Tara, the very same annoying girl who had pestered with you and bickered with you. The one who had so much more to her that what you had ever thought possible. The one who drew you in. The one in search of a hook up, for which you were only the decoy. You cleared your throat, whipping around when you heard Tara say "What?!"

"What's wrong?" you asked. "What's going on?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at you like she was about to cry. "They're questioning Sam again. They think Ghostface is back."

===+++===

DUN DUN DUNNNNNN anyways my ass is going to bed now. also i do not recommend anyone lie to someone they're interested in about who they are, ESPECIALLY an attempted murder victim

[2cupids]

incel!jisung thinks women are beneath him. that doesn't stop him from fucking you.

contains. perv!jisung, misogynist ideologies, he's dirty (literally), unprotected sex, degradation, calls reader “bitch”, dubcon. mdni!

length. 1.2k+

he hates women. 

the only thing they’re good for is to satisfy men and continue the family’s bloodline. oh, and they make for good eye candy too, but that’s it. 

yet for some odd reason that he can’t exactly put his finger on, he feels a strange attraction to you, his hot neighbor a few apartments over. though it can probably just be chalked up to the simple fact that you’re nice to look at because he still doesn’t think anything positive about you. you’re nothing but an object to him, one that he imagines using to pleasure himself. 

on the rare occasions he does pull back his curtains and open the blinds to get a glimpse of the outside world, jisung sees you arriving back home, always around the same time. his eyes linger far too long on the parts of your body you’ve chosen to accentuate and draw attention to as he stands in the window of the third floor watching you with a clenched jaw. today, you’ve got on a pair of shorts. some that he determines are much too short for you to be out wearing and he scoffs.

to him, you dress like a fucking whore. he should loathe you. but instead, he finds himself silently wondering what color panties you’re wearing underneath them, if any at all. sometimes he pictures the look on your face if he were to call you out on your raunchy choice of clothing while bringing his large hand down across your ass, teaching you a lesson.

the few times he’s decided to leave the confines of his apartment, he’s run into you from time to time and if he’s being honest, you’re even better looking in person. and that body of yours up close? he’d do unspeakable things to you. the scowl on his face that he doesn’t even bother to hide as you nod your head towards him in passing, greeting him politely, doesn't match the way his heart thumps in chest as your eyes make contact with each other. 

why the hell does he feel this way? why does his chest tighten when you give him that subtle smile? you’re just an object, a thing, after all. unworthy of his time or respect.

you on the other hand, find what you think to just be his unwelcoming attitude and antisocial personality, to be the tiniest bit charming. when in reality, it’s extremely unnerving how you’ve chosen to simply overlook the signs that indicate something clearly isn’t right with the guy. 

everytime you’re in his presence, your instincts are screaming at you to get away from him and stay away. and despite your gut feeling that he’s dangerous, you find yourself trying to engage in small talk with him occasionally. the vibe surrounding jisung isn't the only thing that signals there’s something terrifying brewing underneath the surface, though. 

an unpleasant waft of something foul smelling has never hit your nose the times you’ve tried conversing with him, but his appearance is always disheveled and unkempt—almost dirty. jisung looks as if he hasn’t stood under the warmth of a shower or had a nice soak in the tub for awhile. and no, not in the sense that he’s skipped shower time for just a couple days or even weeks, but months. 

or maybe, it’s just that you’ve just tricked yourself into believing the strong, pungent stench emitting from him isn’t really there at all.

but he’s cute, extremely cute. and good looks and attraction are fatal things that end up blinding people, including yourself, into ignoring red flags that are bright as day.

nothing about jisung can shake you, not even the menacing look in his eyes can deter you. dark, lifeless eyes seem to bore into yours as you speak and they only seem to grow darker with each encounter with him. it should scare you, put you on high alert. make your blood run cold.

what effect does it have on a person with a warped mind like you though? it makes your stomach flip and your panties wet with arousal as he stares you down like he wants to rip you apart, limb by limb.

anyone who knows you would be utterly disappointed in you right now. hell, there’s even a part of you that's disappointed. you’ve always had strict standards in men, and if they didn’t match them, you wouldn’t even give them the time of day. not even in your wildest dream would you ever imagine you’d stoop this low—letting a smelly, shabby-looking guy fuck you and raw on top of that.

jisung had reluctantly accepted your offer to come to your apartment and you two ended up tangled in your sheets. the tall, slightly muscular boy seemingly developed superhuman-like strength when he threw you on the bed, manhandling you into position. in the blink of an eye, your knees are almost resting beside your head as his fingers dig harshly into the soft skin of your thighs as his hips drill into yours, turning you into a babbling mess underneath him.

he didn’t give you time to adjust to him, why would he? he just eyed your sopping wet folds and let his lips curl up into a sneer, a flicker of amusement flashing through his eyes. females… such easy creatures.

your squishy walls immediately stretched to accommodate the girth of his length, wrapping around him snugly like a glove. a groan that he tried to suppress slipped out as he slid into you, and he hated how he accidently let you know how good you felt around him. 

his hips snap into you so deeply and rough, you swear you feel him hit your cervix. “you fucking slut,” he growls, low and cold. you think he’s just one of those guys who’s into degradation, but he means every word. “worthless p-piece of shit,” he pants. “only good for taking dick. stupid bitch.”

words like those would usually strike a nerve but in this moment, they only pull filthy moans from your lips, pussy tightly clenching around jisung like you don't want him going anywhere. and each time his patch of bushy, overgrown pubic hair brushes against the hood of your clit, your breath suddenly seems to get caught in your lungs. 

jisung doesn’t warn you before he cums, he just lets out a deep grunt as his balls unload inside you. and then he’s right back at it, just like that. the opportunity to remind you of your place in this world is right in his hands, both literally and figuratively, and there’s no way he’s going to waste a chance to remind a woman who’s the superior one. once he’s done with you, he doesn’t linger or even speak a word. he gets off the bed and grabs his clothes off the floor, slipping into your bathroom and leaving you on the bed dazed and breathless as three loads of cum leak out, pooling onto your sheets beneath you. the bathroom door opens a few moments later and jisung emerges, dressed and with two pairs of dirty panties he stole from your laundry basket tucked into his pocket. he tells himself they’re a trophy, nothing more than that. it’s only partially true.

he’s already thinking about jerking off with them later.

[toriaaniin]

Part II: What Rebranding Really Means... and Why It’s Risky

When we talk about rebranding, especially in the entertainment industry, we often picture something loud. A haircut. A viral campaign. A new kind of role that screams “I’m not who you thought I was.” But the truth is: the most effective rebrands often whisper before they shout.

And that’s what we’re seeing with Luke.

This isn’t a radical reinvention. It’s a strategic pivot. A slow exit from the “soft romantic lead” persona into something more sculpted, more stylized, and—at least on the surface—more masculine-coded. The grid is darker. The gaze is cooler. The softness is still there, but buried beneath shadows and sharp tailoring.

But here’s the risk:

When you shift your brand, you risk leaving people behind.

Fans who fell in love with the soft, earnest Luke—the man who made self-deprecating jokes, who looked at Nicola like she was made of starlight, who tap danced his way through press tours—don’t always know what to do with this version. The version with the drink in hand and the unreadable stare. The version who posts a cheek kiss without tagging the woman in the photo. The version who archives his history.

It doesn’t mean this version is fake. It just means it’s different. And difference invites interpretation. Especially when your fanbase is this emotionally invested, this observant, and this good at picking up what’s unspoken.

The Male Gaze and Rebranding Masculinity

One of the most overlooked truths about rebranding male actors is this: they’re not just being repositioned for us. They’re also being positioned for each other.

Luke’s new aesthetic doesn’t just appeal to a fashion-forward, film-savvy audience. It appeals to casting directors, studio execs, and brand reps — many of whom are still operating within systems coded by the male gaze. That doesn’t just mean how men look at women. It means how men are conditioned to see themselves. To aspire. To be perceived.

Softness can be charming. But when it comes to anchoring a franchise, fronting a fashion house, or leading a billion-dollar drama series, the industry still leans toward controlled masculinity — the kind that reads as sexy, stoic, and “in demand.”

Take the photo above from this weekend's Gentleman's Magazine as an example:

Controlled Masculinity - Posture: Relaxed, but not vulnerable. His left arm is fully extended, hand planted — it claims space. Meanwhile, his right hand rests across his lap, subtly pulling your eye toward the centre of the frame. This is deliberate spatial command — it says: I own this table. I own this room. - Suiting: Dark and tailored, but unbuttoned at the top — a deliberate contrast of formality and access. He’s not in a tux; he’s in leading man casual — elegant, but dangerous. - Chest hair and necklace: These signal earthiness and sex — a man comfortable with his body, with just enough aesthetic restraint to keep it high fashion. It reads: I’m sensual, but controlled. - Pool table: Deeply symbolic. Cue associations with strategy, competition, dominance, and old-school masculinity. He's not playing the game — he's waiting for you to join, but he's already won.

Luke's shift from boyish to brooding isn't accidental. It's calculated aspirational masculinity — the kind that makes him relatable to the men who want to be like him and palatable to the brands and studios who want to sell him. He’s being made watchable from a distance, rather than lovable up close.

And that’s uncomfortable. Especially for those of us who fell in love with the closeness. The charm. The silliness. The joy.

Rebranding vs Betrayal

This is where the emotional dissonance lives.

To some fans, this isn’t just a shift. It’s a betrayal.

It feels like Luke is walking away from the version of himself we trusted — the one who felt sincere, open, and maybe even in love. And now that he’s carefully sculpting something more controlled, more aesthetic, more leading-man-adjacent… it’s hard not to wonder if we ever knew him at all.

But what if the two versions aren’t incompatible?

What if the joy was real, and the distance is necessary? What if the softness is still there — just beneath a layer of curated fashion and editorial-style shadows?

And what if… he’s still telling us who he is — just in a new language?

When the Image Doesn’t Match the Man

And here’s the part that keeps catching in the throat for so many of us:

This new version of Luke — calculated, stylized, curated — doesn’t feel like the man we’ve come to know. The man who couldn’t hide his emotions during the World Tour. The man who made awkward jokes, let his heart leak through his eyes, and seemed to lose all sense of self when Nicola laughed beside him. The man who wore softness openly, not because it was strategic, but because it seemed to just spill out of him.

So when we see him now — posting sleek portraits, standing beside someone who feels more like a prop than a partner, it creates whiplash. Not just because we miss what was, but because it doesn’t feel true. Or at least, not true to him.

It’s possible that this is growth. It’s possible that this is strategy. But for those of us who have been watching closely, it also feels like he’s playing a part.

And the heartbreak is: he was most magnetic when he wasn’t playing anything at all.

Next: Strategic Separation (or Part III of Rebranding)

We’ve talked about branding. We’ve talked about perceived betrayal. But what if this new version of Luke — the one that looks so far away from Nicola, so calculated and cool — is part of something deeper?

What if the rebrand isn’t just about him… but about them?

In Part III, we’ll look at the growing theory that Luke and Nicola may be separating on the surface to protect something underneath — a tactic of camouflage, distance, and privacy that says more than it hides.

Because sometimes, the act of pulling apart is the clearest sign of trying to keep something whole.

Aaniin Xxx

P.S. Find a listing of this blog post series along with short summaries of each - including those not yet published - here:

[starrycassi]

Of course Nicky will never clock Kevin as bisexual. Of course he never clocked andreil as queer. Of course he can't ever see the members of his own community.

As far as we know, Nicky's first time actually being in a big, queer community was the camp. I feel like people overlook this. He was raised baptist, and no matter how gay you turn and how much sinful sex you have, you're always going to be just a product of your environment. The hymns are embedded in your vocal cords. The wine flows through your veins. It's all he's ever known until it suddenly isn't.

I'm pretty sure that he grew up thinking that gay people were only this caricature, this nameless freak, like many of us did. Gay men always dress a certain way, they're annoying, loud, touchy, and lesbians are always disgusting and manly and smelly. This is what he was taught, and there's no indication that he ever grew *out* of this mindset.

Yes, I believe Nicky enjoys a lot of the things he does, but I also think he's portraying the part of who he thinks he *needs* to be. And everything outside of those boundaries is still new and unbelievable. He's still a child, and relatively new to being openly gay.

And he's so proud. He can't think of anyone being anything other than proud of what they are. Nicky sees things as very black and white (completely gay or straight as a rod, hatefucking or about to get married) and probably thinks that if you're not out and proud, you're working with internalized homophobia. He never wanted anything other than to be free, and he cannot even think about the fact that some people don't want that level of fanfare.

He expects anyone who's queer to immediately come and talk to him. He's trying so hard to be the safe, iconic gay that other people can look up to and latch onto. He thinks that the only thing stopping people from screaming their sexuality to the world is homophobia, therefore they would at least tell him.

He doesn't get that people (Andrew, Neil) might just want to keep things private, because, to him, privacy equals secrecy, secrecy equals shame, and, well, there's nothing to be ashamed of!

Or maybe I'm just rambling. Idk guys this is my hot take of the week or whatever

ADDITION: guys I edit it to baptist I'm SORRY for the previous mistake I was sleepy.

ALSO ALSO the fact that he had to choose to be baptized?? That he's being faced with the choice he made and the nature of what he is?? The nature versus nurture themes HELLO?? This man is driving me crazy

[killishin]

— ◇ jjk men when you draw them.

pairings: nanami kento, gojo satoru, geto suguru

category: fluff

content warning: suggestive themes, sfw

a/n: i love when men support their partners in their art, its literally so sweet. saying so as an artist myself. wrote this in the dead of the night so not proofread. hope everyone enjoys :)

dividers by @cafekitsune

masterlist

NANAMI KENTO

he would have all your art and pieces memorized. he would be the one who'd give detailed compliments— strokes, composition and a hell lot of 'you're the best, darling'. he would definitely have favourites, and god forbid you ask him to choose— he'd be going back and forth, trying to choose because you won't accept the 'all are beautiful answer', only to mess with him.

also i believe, he would also have tried it out. just some doodling, some sketching perhaps— turns out he is good. he can grasp the basics quite fast and he finally understands why art is such a part of you. best believe all he ever draws is you.

now, the often times you draw him, he's a mess. a sputtering mess even though you've made like a ton of portraits of him, in every medium you knew and still he blushes.

"sweetheart why don't you draw something better?" he'd suggest as he tries to maintain the small smile on his face that was itching to widen into a full blown grin. he was all mushy inside.

"define better." you rolled your eyes at him, a knowing smile adorning your lips.

"i don't know— i guess something more... captivating?" his nose crinkled as he suggested that, looking up at you only to pause at the deadpan stare.

"honey, the love of my life—" you begin as you inch close, holding his jaw between your thumb and index, "this should be the last time you insinuate that you aren't captivating."

you lean closer to peck his lips and he subconsciously moves forward to chase your lips, not caring about the dazed smile or the blush raging on his cheeks that he tried so hard to hide.

"you are my muse." you added, murmuring against his lips, to further mess with him.

oh you best believe he is going to thank you for that portrait and sweet praises.

with praises. just in a different setting.

GOJO SATORU

"BABE AM I REALLY THAT HANDSOME?!" he exclaims, fully believing himself that yes, he is that handsome.

he is that push you need when your mind is stuck in an art block, with his constant over the top praises and compliments, he literally powers the creativity in your mind. he is the type of guy to literally decorate your shared home with your pieces, every inch. he'd leave no opportunity to show off, to a friend or even sometimes strangers. it gets especially concerning when the person doesn't quite like it.

"how do you not like it?"

"gojo i just—"

" absolutely pathetic taste." he says with the withering glare still on, rattling the other person's soul and you need to literally drag him away.

and oh when you draw him. its like already fanning that enormous, gigantic ego into something much more out of control. he absolutely smothers you, crushing you in a hug and a fit of kisses attacking your face.

"babe do you have a crush on me? seems like you do, how you draw me so damn beautiful."

"you idiot we're married."

in the moments when he isn't as loud with his appreciation, you catch him gazing at your paintings in silence, that content and proud smile on his face.

even his wallpaper is a your painting of your self portrait, for him to gaze at but also to boast about you when someone asks about the painting in the wallpaper.

"my love's a genius." is what he always says, and never gets tired from it.

GETO SUGURU

he loves your art, like its a part of you. he even helps you sometimes when you don't quite know if it looks good, gives pointers and suggestion. he even tells you if something looks wrong that maybe you overlooked, says it in the best way possible. he likes to watch you do your magic, at first it was a little unnerving for you in the beginning of your relationship so he used to just sneak and watch. there's just something about you in your element that puts him at ease, grounds him.

he poses for you if you want to draw him, a huge help and you don't even have to go look for references. he'll do whatever you like. whatever pose you suggest, anything. (he means anything ;])

"is this pose alright?" his eyes twinkle while he smiles smugly, knowing exactly what he's doing.

"...yes. hold that." you can't even focus on your canvas, god knows drawing what.

"darling you're sweating. you okay?"

"shut up."

he keeps the more...mature art safely tucked away, his daughters don't need to see that, only for his eyes.

but like satoru, he's vocal with his appreciation. whenever guests are home he literally gives a whole ass description, from the strokes, inspiration, interpretation, paragraphs of pure compliments— literally everything. and lets just hope they do not say they don't like it, that sweet smile doesn't look much sweet later.

and you don't know it, but he has drawn you a concerning amount of times, he just doesn't show you because they're his little secret.

reblogs are appreciated :D