#and there isn't even a lot of plot going on here
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elyscena · 2 days ago
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This is a cool take too, because you're right there's a lot of odd baseball motifs scattered around that I didn't even notice, but I think that could point to the knight's motivation aswell.
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For one thing, while the weapon she wields is initially bat-shaped, it's definitely sword-shaped more often than not. Note the severe sharpness at the end.
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We can even see it shimmer like metal in chapter 4.
Also you don't hold a bat one-handed either, so that doesn't really check out. All it says to me is that the knight wants to look cool (maybe another point in favor of dess-knight lol)
Beyond that, the weapon we get after Susie chips the knight's is labelled as:
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Maybe I'm underthinking it, but why would it be called the "Black Knife" if it's a bat? (Although, a wooden splinter would fit with Kris's general theme of using wooden things like pencils as weaponry, and a bat might be just as lethal as a katana when introduced to a dark world.)
but above all else, how would she create dark fountains without a sharp implement?
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Susie implies that it's necessary to have something sharp to create one. you could for sure argue that she has no idea what she's on about, but Kris obliges her, offering their knife.
We never get to see their knife in the inventory, and they won't use it even in a dark-world when circumstances are dire. so they clearly want to hide it from us.
They wouldn't let us see it if they knew there was another, less sharp way to make a fountain
(this argument is somewhat presumptuous, though, both that Kris knows more than Susie and that the Knight doesn't just. also have a spare knife lmao)
So why the baseball visuals then? Cuz you're right, thats absolutely on purpose. But what do we know about lightner-abilities in the dark world?
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It reflects the experiences and desires of the lightner using it. So Noelle manifests moves from her favorite RPG and the abillity to heal those close to her
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Kris manifests the ability to act and a sword (i have a pet theory that this game they play is very similar to something they played as a kid but thats besides the point!!!)
and Carol would manifest...
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her daughter.
Maybe that's the reason she's doing all this. She is agonized by it because every time she enters a dark world she holds in her hands only reminders of what she lost. Maybe Dess's motif appears in the knights theme because that's the reason she's here.
This is gonna get more into speculation so bare with me lol i can't back any of this up
She digs and she digs through dark-world after dark-world trying to find anything she can to bring her daughter back, even if it means causing the roaring.
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But the roaring isn't her ultimate goal, otherwise she'd just do this more often. Maybe what she really wants, to finally get her daughter back...
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is a sacrifice.
If the knight is Dess, why would they try to kidnap Toriel and Undyne and take them to the bunker, if it was Carol that wanted the sacrifice?
but I can't explain why she looks so much different than other lightners, nor can I explain the plot-hole with the timing being wrong. ill be honest I mightve missed that bit, if you could elaborate a bit on that point i'd like that thank you lol .-.
A lot of the points for Carol-knight could also go very easily to Dess-knight, like her going (comparatively) easy on Kris. That's a childhood friend, of course she would relax on them.
good post op thank you
dess is the knight. here's why
so, i keep seeing people arguing and being unsure who/what the knight is. lots of people saying that it's carol, or that it's actually none of the holidays and is just connected to them somehow. meanwhile i'm 99.99999999% certain it is in fact DESS. and you know what bumped my certainty levels up from like 75% to that 99.99999999%? gerson.
the dark world was able to use his dust to revive him for a time. he was perfectly himself, and he was in this sort of... limbo state of being a darkner and a lightner. but his funeral rites were followed correctly, minus actually burying his urn. so let's ask ourselves: what happens when the funeral rites aren't followed correctly?
what if they CAN'T be? what if the death is so sudden and horrible and her dust is lost? ... what if a fraction of her dust attaches itself to an object that does not correctly resonate with her soul? what if that's all that you have left of her? this incongruent amalgamation of her-but-not-her? do you throw the object away? no, that's your daughter. your childhood best friend. you're going to cling to the little bit you still have of her and try to bring the rest of her back. let the world end if it must; she's more important.
knight carol immediately falls apart for me for two big reasons, and one is simply that this is not what a lightner would look like in the dark world.
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this is a lost, twisted being. this is the other side of the scale gerson was on, of near-simultaneously being a lightner and a darkner.
the other reason i can't buy into knight carol is that the knight was already waiting for susie and kris in the dark world while carol was at home grounding noelle. can the woman teleport? exist in two places at once? no. it's just not her.
anyway, plotholes in knight carol theory aside, there are SO many visual clues that the knight is at least a fraction of dess. if you weren't paying close attention - and good chance you weren't because you had bullets to dodge - you might have interpreted the knight's sword as just a sword. and then later, in noelle's house, you run into carol's katana and it's like, woah wait a SWORD?! that is intentional misdirection. the knight's sword is not a Sword. it's a bat.
here i have a handy and very painstakingly detailed chart just for you
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real life + in-game katana vs the knight's "sword" vs real life bats. note the bottom of the knight's sword jutting out in one direction and how the real life black bat does the same thing.
katanas are also not wielded with one hand. the correct posture is with two
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now, look how the knight swings her "sword":
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if you manage to "win" the fight in chapter three, susie attacks the knight head-on, and chips the sword
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and, oh, huh would you look at that-
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interesting coincidence. also, the knight turns into a baseball-looking ball multiple times
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one more thing. this stained glass window design in the church. it's dess standing below the titan she now shares a body silhouette with
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(pardon the shaky outlines i refuse to turn on my tablet right now but hopefully that helps you see what i'm talking about if you couldn't at first)
and this isn't even getting into how dess's song is incorporated into the knight's battle theme. we finally met our girl, guys. it's her
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itsnesss · 1 day ago
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𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 | max verstappen × fem!reader
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summary | you’re alone at home, feeling a growing sense of desire. while relaxing in your room, max unexpectedly shows up, surprising you
warnings | smut without plot, explicit content, masturbation, fingering, blowjob, p in v, unprotected sex
word count | 1.7 k
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🖇️ more mv1 🖇️ f1 masterlist
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You're wearing a Max Red Bull t-shirt, you like to wear it when he's not home.
Max has been away for a week, and you miss him, a lot.
Again, you have the house to yourself and you feel strange, you're in the room, it's almost night, the lights are off, and only the reflection of the moon is visible. You're leaning against the door frame that leads to the balcony, dressed only in panties and the t-shirt that almost covers your thighs. A slight breeze makes you lift the t-shirt so the air can pass and give you space on the inside of your thighs. The air doesn't seem to be enough. Your breathing becomes heavier, and your nipples become firm and hard, clearly showing through the t-shirt.
"What's happening to me?" you ask yourself.
You close the balcony door and walk towards the room, suddenly you feel your thighs wet, and a feeling of pleasure invades you. You stop in front of the bed, sit on it and open your legs slightly.
One of your hands is placed on your breasts and you start to caress them in a soft and delicate way, you massage the outline of your breasts, then you go down to your navel and caress your abdomen area, while with the other hand you continue to caress one of your breasts. You feel as if your body is burning, you feel very hot.
You start to bite your lips, while the hand that is on your abdomen is placed just above your Venus mound, you feel heat and moisture in that area, and a tingling sensation runs through your entire body. You can't take it anymore and one of your hands goes under the t-shirt and starts to touch you over your underwear. You start to moan softly.
"Mmm!" you hear yourself moan.
Your eyes close tightly, and your movements become faster and more desperate. You take off your panties, and with more freedom, you touch yourself with more intensity. A louder scream escapes you.
"Ahh!".
Slowly, you begin to slide a finger along your wet folds. You feel a little liquid escaping that runs down your hand, while you gently caress your clitoris with one finger, and with the other hand you touch a breast.
"Oh!".
You start to insert one finger, then two, and your moans become more intense and frequent, the heat and moisture become more intense, and you feel your body tremble and shake. Your fingers move faster inside you.
"Fuck!".
Suddenly, you open your eyes and see Max standing in front of you, watching you.
"Oh my god" you sit up in bed and cover your face with your hands, embarrassed. Max approaches you.
"Oh no, don't stop for me"
"What are you doing here?" you ask him.
"I came to see you, I missed you" he smiles looking at you "Besides, the race isn't until tomorrow" he sits next to you, hugs you tightly and kisses your neck.
"And wouldn't it have been better to call me and not scare me?" you try to sound annoyed, but your voice betrays your emotion.
"You know I like to see you like this"
"Oh, my god!" you cover your face with your hands again and make a face of embarrassment.
"Continue" he tells you while taking your hands and lowering them from your face. His voice is low and husky, and he looks intently into your eyes as he speaks to you. "I want to see you masturbate, I want to see you when you touch yourself and bring yourself to orgasm". He caresses your cheek.
His words excite you even more, and you feel your body react to his gaze and his voice. Your breathing quickens, and your nipples harden even more. Max smiles at your reaction and kisses you passionately.
"I want to see how you touch yourself, how you come", he whispers against your lips.
His words make you feel intense heat in your body, and you start to feel even wetter between your legs.
Max strokes your hair and kisses you again.
"Continue", he encourages you.
You start to touch yourself again, and Max watches you with a look full of desire. You bite your lips trying not to moan. Your fingers slide through your vagina, and you can feel your moisture escaping.Your breathing is fast and ragged, and your movements are quicker and more desperate.
"No," he touches your lips. "I want to hear you, don't hold back," he tells you. His voice is soft but firm.
"Ahh!" you moan louder.
His hands caress you and his gaze never leaves you for a moment.
"Fuck!" you shout louder this time.
"That's it!" he whispers. His hands move towards your thighs, and he begins to caress you with soft and delicate movements, his hands moving up until they reach the junction of your legs. You feel the warmth of his fingers near your most intimate area, and your heart pounds in your chest. His fingers begin to caress your vagina, and you feel increasingly wet.
His movements are slow and deliberate, and each time he touches your clitoris, you feel a wave of pleasure that runs through your entire body.
"Faster, please!" you beg. Your voice is hoarse and full of desire.
"Yes," he replies with a smile. He increases the rhythm of his fingers, and you begin to move to the rhythm of his movements, you feel closer to orgasm and you want to get there with Max. His fingers penetrate you deeper, and you can feel your muscles contracting around them.
"Almost! Almost!" you shout, with your eyes closed and your head thrown back.
"Come for me!" he tells you in a hoarse voice.
"Oh, god!" you shout, and you begin to come. An intense heat spreads through your body and you feel as if you are floating, your body trembles with pleasure, and your thighs press against Max's hand. You feel completely liberated and satisfied.
"Was it good?" Max asks you, smiling.
"Yes... but now it's my turn," you say with a mischievous smile.
He tries to pull away, but you grab his shirt, pull him close to you, and kiss him.
"Now you're mine," you tell him in a commanding tone.
"As you command, princess," he smiles and hugs you.
You push him onto the bed and get on his lap, you lift his shirt over his head, throw it away, and kiss him. His hands slide over your hips.
His lips slide to your neck, and he begins to kiss and nibble your skin. You feel his warm breath on your ear, and his tongue traces a wet path down your neck. Your breasts are firm and sensitive, and you can feel Max's erection against you.
"I want to feel you inside me... mouth," you whisper against his ear, and he smiles.
"Then take me," he tells you in a deep voice.
You move your hands towards his pants, unbutton them, Max helps you take them off along with his boxers until his erection is free. You take it with one hand and caress it slowly. He closes his eyes and lets out a moan.
"Fuck, you're amazing!" he tells you.
"Now I'm in charge," you smile and lean forward. Your tongue slides over the tip of his penis, and then you take it in your mouth, starting to move up and down. Max groans and you grab his hair, guiding the rhythm.
"Shit, that feels good!" he tells you. His hands take your head, and you can feel his breathing getting faster.
You stop and look him in the eyes.
"Do you like it?" you ask him with a flirty smile.
"Very much," he replies, with narrowed eyes and a hoarse voice. "It's a good welcome."
You continue your work, and you can feel his erection growing in your mouth. His moans get louder, and his hands press your head against his body. Suddenly, he pulls away from your mouth and looks at you intensely.
"I want to fuck you," he tells you. "I want to feel myself inside you." His hands take your hips and put you on the bed. His hands run over your body and stop at your thighs.
"You're ready for me," he tells you, looking into your eyes. "I want to feel you." His voice is deep, and you can see the desire in his eyes.
"Yes!" you reply, and you take him in your hand again, guiding him towards your vagina. You begin to penetrate yourself with him, feeling your body open to accommodate him. His hands grip your hips, and he begins to move inside you with slow and deep movements,his gaze fixed on yours.
"Oh, fuck!" he shouts, and quickens the pace, filling you completely with each thrust.
"You're perfect," he tells you.
You feel full and satisfied, and pleasure completely floods you. You can feel the climax approaching, and each thrust from Max makes you feel closer to the edge.
"Come on, come on!" he encourages you. His movements are getting faster and stronger.
"Yes, yes, yes!" you shout. His words excite you, and the orgasm washes over you, completely shaking you.
"Oh, shit, I'm coming!" Max shouts. His body tenses, and you can feel him inside you.
"Yes!" you tell him. His thrusts become more frantic, and finally he spills inside you, with a cry of pleasure.
"Fuck!" he says, collapsing on you, panting. His arms wrap around you, and he hugs you against his body.
"That was incredible," he says, kissing you on the forehead. "You're incredible."
You smile and hug him tightly. "You are too," you tell him.
"Can we stay like this forever?" He hugs you, burying his face in your shoulder.
"Not if you want to win the next race," he laughs and kisses you on the lips.
"Who said I want to win?" he asks you.
"You," you smile. "You're the best driver, I can't take that away from you.
"Honey, you don't know how happy that makes me."
You look at him mischievously. "Do you feel ready to sleep?"
"To sleep?" He pulls away and looks at you. "Are you sure about that?"
"No," you laugh and push him onto the bed to position yourself on top of him. "We're not done yet." You kiss him on the lips and start kissing his neck, then slowly moving down.
"Another round?" he asks you.
"Yes." You smile. "But now it's my turn." His eyes light up.
"That's my girl." He smiles at you and closes his eyes, preparing for what's to come.
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ein-asahina · 3 days ago
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where was ein between the events of pdh (s2) and emerald secret?
i've seen... a few interpretations. you may ask, "how the hell did he remember what happened" and the truth is that mys!ein is just a hater. well. either it affected him so badly that it was burned into his memory (likely) or, if we take the more fanon ein route, micheal kept reminding him about it as a way to keep ein motivated to catch the ultima. as for aaron? it was for plot! (we don't talk about pdh aaron.)
anyways. the first is that ein got sent to juvie/jail- which is canonical! i think what happened to kacey would count as aggravated assault because he didn't die. the sentence for a minor would, at maximum, be 14 months. however, when charged as an adult, it'd be a maximum of 12 years. let's assume that ein got charged as a minor (he was 15) and the maximum sentence. 14 months is barely over a year! even if he still stayed the full sentence, that would barely make a dent in the 10 years.
ein did not stay the full 14 months. we know this because of a murder mystery minigame. (i'll link it in the comments) yes, the minigames aren't considered canon, but since it doesn't contradict anything in the series, i think we can let it slide. ein says that he "was released due to good behavior." this could very well be true! but for his character, i think he we can assume that he escaped. or... was bailed out by a certain someone. the first two bring up the question of "well where else did he go?" the most likely option for this is that ein was stalking the main cast, getting by with what he could. have we seen how disheveled the guy looks during emerald secret? though that could be due to. living in the middle of nowhere. as for the last? that'll be talked about later on.
the other likely option is that ein was sent to the mental hospital. it's been a while since i've watched pdh s2 (if it has no haters i'm dead) but from what i remember, he was pretty unstable when he got arrested. stays can range from a couple of days to a few years. again, it's highly unlikely he stayed the entire time, so maybe he escaped yet again. and probably still stalked the group.
the more fanon approach would be that he was experimented on at the lab. there's not a lot pointing to this in canon, but we do know that he was mentored by the snake eyed man for some amount of time. his mannerisms rubbed off on ein- this isn't as clear in emerald secret, but it's very apparent in when angels fall. the most notable example I can think of is in episode 15 (will you be here for me?) when ein slaps aphmau. his voice dramatically changes, becoming much rougher and deeper... similar to his mentor's.
the opposite of this happens in episode 13 (i will always love you)! ein's vocabulary and general way of speaking becomes more formal. he's always used bigger words, but here it seems... weird? i mean have you ever heard someone say "on the contrary!" unironically in this day and age. (i have to admit it's. one of my favorite ein lines.) or tell some guy "temper now..." so he's trying to speak like his mentor. awesome. great. hey have we ever noticed how his voice changes when he's around/referring to micheal? yikes.
let's talk about forever potions! victims of the potion have an almost dreamlike way of speaking. it also becomes more monotone... much like someone else i know of! zane is much calmer, lucinda seems. high. and aphmau is just weird. maybe ein was put under a potion as well! sorry for not shutting up about how he talks but I find it interesting. okay... ein in emerald secret is calmer compared to his. um. counterparts. at least when he's got aphmau under his control. other than that he's busy crashing out. so maybe the potion he was under activated during his confrontation with aaron? and somehow that let the snake-eyed man see what he was doing? how did he know ein was bleeding out in the snow?
i hope you get what i'm trying to say. please correct me if i'm wrong about anything and feel free to share your own theories! i'm not good at getting my point across i fear
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enden-agolor · 2 days ago
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IT'S SO GOOD I'M HAVING THE TIME OF MY LIFE I LOVE MARIO!!!!!
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Here are some pictures I took in the photo mode. I love playing as Mario, his outfits are to die for 🥹 I know a lot of people have complained that the free roam is really empty but I personally found myself mindlessly driving in it just looking around for like a half hour and I enjoyed every second of it. I haven't even started any of the challenges yet.
The courses are so fun and full of life. This is, without a doubt, the best Mario Kart game so far. The new Rainbow Road is the best in the entire series. It's SO amazing.
I still wouldn't recommend getting a Switch just for Mario Kart. Andy and I got Switches because we both love the series and love destroying each other in it. It's such good competitive fun, but I feel like the Switch 2 probably isn't going to be worth it yet if you aren't a Mario fan. It definitely needed some stronger release titles.
Regardless, we're both doing great and having tons of fun! We also finished the new Deltarune chapters and loved those a lot too.
And while I'm here I will reassure readers that YES I am working on chapter 34, don't worry. These next few chapters may be a bit shorter, but still very plot driven, so it's going to take a bit of time. The wait shouldn't be too long, I promise. : ]
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grimmfauna · 2 days ago
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I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm just imagining Uryuu and Kaito being momentarily startled out of their internal spirals by Ryuuken getting fucking GUT PUNCHED by Medicham or Lucario because he didn't leave fast enough for their tastes adsgf Or they at least attempt it and that's enough for a message even if Ryuuken gets pissy about them 'controlling their pets better'
Also, I'm double checking the pokedex and Weavile is both devious and capable of leaving scratched out signs on trees and boulders for communication. Weaver(? Temp name for weavile maybe idk) just scratching out what is essentially 'stay away' into Ryuuken's front door if left unsupervised for long enough.
Honestly, I can see getting laid on by a giant cat being kind of like deep pressure therapy. Like a big soft weighted blanket that can purr at you. And Uryuu doesn't even have to ask for hugs from Ichi! They just lay on him when they sense him getting anxious feel like it. Lucario coming over and giving him an awkward lil head pat before settling down beside him totally not standing guard because Uryuu is in fairly vulnerable position while trapped
Speaking of Lucario, I think Urahara is the first (well, probably second after Kaito who has lived with it longer) to catch on to the fact that Lucario is so attuned to Kaito's feelings towards people and is frankly DELIGHTED when he connects these dots because he was kind of wondering why he has a new little sentinel and gosh darn it, isn't that so cute? Sometimes, taking care of Kaito is like feeding the feral cat in the alley behind the shop so he's very touched by obvious signs that Kaito cares (Not that he ever doubted it, it's just that some things come slowly, is all). I think Yoruichi and Tessai get to hear Urahara cooing about how cute it is.
All the pokemon helping in training is very true, I was thinking that Kaito's slightly feral about combat-ness would rub off on the team, especially since they already come from a world where battling together is one of the ways to strengthen the bonds between pokemon and trainer so this is all just Pack Bonding Time lmao
heheheh Kaito learning Aura from Lucario, Lucario learning Kido with Kaito from Tessai... They'd be absolute fucking menaces LMAO
And hey! Kaito is just doomsday prepping now that he's run through the full extent of his future knowledge and everything is going to be new to him from here on out /silly (Especially now with both Aizen and Mayuri dead, the stuff after Aizen's betrayal will be ESPECIALLY different, considering the roles those two play in the more recent stuff)
I think Kaito has stories for all of or at least most of the pictures he brought back with him considering that no one else any of the assumed background knowledge of that world. I think it would be nice if he got to ramble about it to Kisuke and whoever is hanging around while they transfer over and check that all the pictures made it. (though I can see Kaito also perhaps getting a little self conscious about talking so much and getting gently prompted to continue, since both him and Uryuu are kind of reserved like that. They're still getting used to people actually wanting to listen to them and not having to be as to the point and curated as they had to be with Ryuuken and their lack of close friends before now)
Like, normally he doesn't talk a lot about himself but this is Easier to talk about because he's not really talking about himself, technically! He's telling them about his pokemon and that world and that's less personal aside from the obvious fondness in his voice for his team lol
for the born into the pokeworld AU, I think it would be hilarious if it had it's own version of dimension hopping Kaito but instead of actually traveling dimensions, he's traveling the different regions and constantly accidentally tripping in the various different Pokegame's plots asdgfhg. Never as the MC or Rival of course but always like, accidentally present and with more ability to contact his family and friends so he can tell them the shit he's fallen into THIS TIME. It'd be especially funny whenever the new 'plot' calls back/references legendaries/mythicals from previous regions and he has to bite his tongue about kind of sort of already knowing them (except Giritina, He can't deny knowing Giritina with the fella just FOLLOWING HIM like this lmaoooo) because otherwise the evil team of the season will try to capture him because why WOULDN'T they if he could be the easy way to their plot. Especially since most times Legendaries are mentioned in the games, the characters talk about how they haven't been seen in a LONG TIME and yet here's this kid who has both seen AND INTERACTED with them?? Need to get him, Now.
Kaito checking his phone and being lowkey bewildered over how his contact list has grown (the MCs and the Mc's friends and rivals from various regions, the numbers of professors he has probably used once or twice, that sort of thing)
I do love the thought of Kaito getting, like, reverse adopted by pokemon, legendary or his own team, just like he sort of unintentionally does to other people (the Teens, Hanataro, his shinigami friends...) and he just kinda doesn't know what to do about it. He also can't really HIDE Giratina unless he puts it in a pokeball but that feels kind of mean after all the time it spent isolated in its own dimension. So he's stuck asking his Poke Professor dad if there's anyway that they could like, help Giratina hide/obscure it's presence while allowing it to still see and experience the world.
I'm restarting my save file for Pokémon Brilliant Diamond and was thinking of naming the protag after Kaito (it seems fitting for the game where you get the time space pokemon haha). Which got me thinking- Do you have any thoughts on what starter and pokemon Kaito would have? 🤔
Hahahahaha, very fitting, yes 💖
Hmmm, if we're talking about pokemon from Brilliant Diamond.. I think he'd either start with a Piplup or a Chimchar. Piplup because of the Pokedex description of being very proud and hard to bond with, and Chimchar because it's a fast fighting pokemon and that's sort of his whole thing.
As for a full team, let's see... I'm sticking to Brilliant Diamond pokemon to uh, ease my decisions a bit, and assuming end game final team. A team that I am assembling based on Vibes, not whether or not it is a balanced team capable of rolling up the final fights easily or not, so absolutely zero promises on viability looooool
Empoleon (first partner pokemon, chosen bc he sees himself in it)
Luxray (caught as Shinx, he needs a cute fluffy to pet)
Medicham (caught as Meditite because it saw him practicing jinzen and joined him)
Lucario (from Riley's gift, Riolu/Lucario are just friendshaped, fite me)
Rapidash (caught as Ponyta, sometimes u wanna go fast without doing all the work yourself)
Weavile (caught as Sneasel, companionship and seeing a bit of who he's become in it)
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hanshenrykcd · 6 months ago
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Bruce watches from the shadows above, perched on a rooftop, his gaze fixed down below. He tells himself that he’s scanning the Arkham Knight armor for design weaknesses, but his attention keeps drifting to the lines of Jason’s waist. It's crafted for efficiency and intimidation, yet there is something almost scandalous about how it fits him. The armor cinches his waist, and the fabric clings to his skin, making his shoulder appear even broader. He shouldn't notice the way it hugs his body perfectly. Jason presses his fingers against his helmet, sneering something into the comms, then starts walking. Hips swaying, stalking forward like a goddamn feline. The pointed ears are a mockery of a bat, but Bruce sees nothing but a cat.
The light from the city frames Jason's body, showcasing his slim waist and Bruce can't help but wonder what it would feel like to press his fingers into the soft skin, to hold him down and never let him run off again.
A wave of nausea crashes over him as it usually does when these thoughts claw their way into the back of his mind, grabbing on like a parasite until they drain his thoughts and leave him thinking of little else. It's a sickening familiarity. Jason turns his head suddenly, tilting it upward toward the rooftops. Bruce knows he's shrouded in darkness from where he is standing, hidden from being spotted. But Jason pauses in his steps, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the curve of his hip exaggerated even further as he places one hand there. His stance is almost suggestive.
Bruce feels his entire body stiffen as he can't tear his eyes away. The stance, the way his armor pulls tight across his waist and hips, and the way his fingers tap idly against himself, as if taunting whoever might be watching, entirely ripped apart all of the self-control he prided himself on having.
The suit doesn't only protect Jason—it weaponizes him. Bruce is convinced it's with purpose, serving as a distraction for all of his enemies. Jason finally moves again, but the damage has already been done. The image is seared into Bruce's mind and he knows it will come back to him, late at night when he's lying in bed. He hates himself for it.
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psychopomp-namine · 5 months ago
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#mine musings#not tagging etc etc#i just want to ramble (this is about lc)#do people feel like lg's character is incomplete without a backstory?#like a “past” before he met cxs#i feel like it's a nice-to-have thing (wouldn't be opposed to it) but i don't think his character requires it to be fully fleshed out yknow#his character is strongly defined by his role in the narrative because that's how stories work. but like#i do feel like we've learned a lot about him that would've stayed constant even if cxs isn't in his life though#like idk i just don't understand calling him a plot device i guess#like would he be more interesting if it was revealed he got attached to cxs so easily bc he had some kind of unhappy childhood or whatever?#i mean if it's executed well. sure?#personallyyyyyyy i think it's already compelling if he's just like. some guy#he's just some nerdy kid who made a friend and felt grief and loss for the first time and couldn't take it#like. that's compelling to me. unhappy childhood would be interesting too but like. there's nothing wrong with lg being just Some Guy™ imo😭#maybe it's bc i like the idea that lg could be anyone#and what i mean is like. that could be me. that could be you#all it takes is to find a love and friendship you're not willing to let go of. and as S1 has shown many clients have the same regrets#the only difference is that they never had the ability to change the past like lg did#like cxs said in YE1. everyone would want to have the ability to change the past. it's human nature#and i like the idea that the love and grief lg went through isn't something that's unique to him#like obviously it's unique in the sense that he makes it worse for himself with time loops#but like. the love he experienced could also happen to me. could also happen to you#same with the grief#i'm realizing as i'm rambling here that THIS is actually what i love about lg's character#now i kinda wish i didn't hide this in the tags lmao but whatever#i didn't want to invite debates over this and like if director li wants to give him a backstory that's fine#but the way lg is right now. i don't think he's “just a plot device”#and i don't think he's an incomplete character#i'll accept any backstory but god i really wish he stays being just Some Guy who loved and lost and continues to love and lose#because it's human and normal and everyone goes through it
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okalanissolis · 4 months ago
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⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ꜱᴇᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ
ᴀ ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛɪᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ᴀ.ᴜ.
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⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖
ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ɪꜱ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ . . .
pt. ii | | series masterlist
focus on: muni sarang (diane meunier), choi san, & song deokhee word count: ~4.6k warnings: language, intermittent Lore Dumping™, mentions of violence, occasional graphic imagery, mentions of semi-main character death, Even More Gods Are Introduced and i think that is lovely
ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) ɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ !
⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭
lilo's mic: still knee deep in history but with more character introductions! i think at some point i might do a character recap page where i can offer some quick stats about the character's strengths and role, but idk if it would be helpful or just another way that i Procrastinate™ — let me know your thoughts !
⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭
⌜ my girl pinched my hips to see if i still exist / i think not ⌟
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ꜱᴇᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖
— ʜᴀᴇᴍᴏ ᴘᴏʀᴛ was the main harbour of hoku city. home to the oldest and most robust working port on the island, the leeward side of the city was often referred to as haemopu side — an amalgamation of the names ʜᴀᴇᴍᴏꜱᴜ, the god of light and namesake of haemo port; and ᴋᴀᴘᴜ: sacred, taboo, forbidden. it was an unspoken rule that the shadows that danced on haemopu side were all puppets of that power known as serpens, and if you saw their strings or witnessed their plays, you would keep quiet, or your days were numbered — your gift from samgong through.
— still, haemo port was vast and wide, and business had to keep. it wasn't particularly bad luck to be a shop stationed near haemo port: there was so much foot traffic there, so many lives crossing back and forth, still hungry to survive; the best of money could be found for those who dared haemopu and kept their sight where it belonged — out of their eyes and in the open hands of hoku — or so the urban prayer went.
to the untrained eye, haemo port and ʜᴀᴇꜱᴜ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ (the road that led to the devouring mouth of it) were the same as any other harbour on the island: only slightly more complicated than the sum of their intricately stacked, labyrinthine parts; bathed in light by enormous streetlamps so that when the sun went down, the majesty of ʀᴀᴋᴇᴛᴜ, night, couldn't be the refuge with which spirits attempted to thwart demons. but the fangs of some serpents still found their venomous purchase, and the storefronts along haesu street were often just that — fronts. legitimate stores, but facades for things still sinister, sliding their way through the waters, encircling your world, whole.
— on the furthest place inland haesu street ever went, there was an old business complex that had stood so long the original signage was lost and along with it, the precedent name. haemo complex, haesu park, haemo plaza, haemopu ether — old things have many names, and in legend, the many named becomes gods. inside the six story building, shops and establishments checked in and out like aimless souls in a graveyard: some lingered, some faded, some lasted the test of time.
on the first floor of haesu complex stood a taekwondo studio.
next to it, an indoor shooting range.
— we start this story with the taekwondo studio — the dojang, where mountains go to be edified and pupils to be fortified. eventually, we will open the door to see what is made with bullets and loose gunpowder, but for now, we take an abrupt turn right, through the third set of doors on the ground floor.
ᴄʜᴏɪ ᴊᴇᴏɴɢᴄʜᴇᴏʟ, father of one, was the owner of the modest studio: a stern man with a compassionate underbelly, a fourth dan black belt and the first sabeom — teacher — to enter the business complex. in the early days, when he was newly teaching and the world was more cruel and wanton than it ought, he orchestrated and ran illegal fights in the backmost part of his dojang. necessity begged it; life forced his unwavering hand. he'd never been proud, but he stood in his choices steadfast, and if you only saw the whole of him from an angle upturned and below, it seemed the might of him was his honor, unmarred.
dealing in entertainment and prestige, jeongcheol made ends meet in the evening to bring necessities and opportunity to his wife and newborn son at dawn, and by noon, instill dreams in the children that called him sabeom, center of their budding confidence.
when the serpens found out about his midnight habits, they paid a prompt price for front row tickets. by the end of the evening, jeongcheol's rental payments were moved to an account more reliable, and his small family moved out of the back office space and into one of the apartments that sat on the fifth and sixth floors. in exchange, the fights would persist on a grander scale at a more regular schedule ad infinitum, and the serpens would get their due cut.
jeongcheol always knew that this favor would amount to more debt, in the future, but for the security he was promised, in this blood oath? for the advantage and chance he could bestow upon his son? if it were shortsighted and misguided — this business deal with the serpent of the sky — then forgive him, but omniscience was simply the name of his city, not the power in his mind.
— and as san, his darling boy, grew from jeja to seonbae and in the course of time, sabeom all his own — a 3rd dan black belt and the pride of jeongcheol's world — the price of a demon's mercy became ever clearer, crystalizing into the certainty of future: law.
— it was in that very dojang, after all, that jeongcheol added to his myriad of students two young girls: diane and soyeon, dawn and dusk. jeja diane, a student named wisdom, took early to sparring with san, never minding that the younger always won, ever scheming to learn from a protégé's skill.
when san was chosen to be the demon heir's protector, it wasn't a matter of surprise or honor, simply that of providence.
and san was dignified by it, at any rate.
— only ever envisioning an inherited taekwondo studio for himself, a modest future but fulfilling dream, san's world expanded at the hands of diane — and his dojang, while still being the center of all his tethered existence, was a future now shared. ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ, a pupil and friend, would aid him in handling the fights in the backmost part all of his father's hope and shame, an eternal rite, the sisyphean promise the choi family would never complete.
— jeongcheol had slowly backed away from the uglier side of his business as he aged into complacency and fatigue, and san had taken up the mantle in his place. now, sin would beget sin and shackled to the serpens would be yet another soul.
yeo was clear that he didn't mind.
already one foot into corruption, what was one more leg?
— he'd been cleaning up bruises from betting fights and broken limbs from shadow duels for years. he'd sewn flesh together the way others might knit tenderness and virtue, goodness and love.
every dojang needed it's medic. and every medic needed his charge.
— this was merit enough, for the both of them. respect for san in being trusted with something on which the whole of the underworld revolved; prestige for yeosang in the power inherent of a ruling head of a domain long standing, and in it's ancience, revered.
and watching them both, once the hand that led them deep into the mouth of something ravenous, still, stood choi jeongcheol, left wondering when security was no longer security — a promise no longer words of honor.
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ꜱᴇᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.
— diane had asked him to disappear, again.
— it was never an explicit demand, not since the first time, when she'd been following the tail of a banker and realized it would be so much easier to approach him if she were just a woman and not a daughter, held.
the nameless banker had decided he no longer wished to be a pigeon fed from an opened hand but a raven shot out of the sky, the shiny things he stole slipping from his traitor beak and landing back into the hand of the power that wielded the shotgun evermore.
— "you're intimidating, san." and it hadn't been her words or the command in her eye so much as it was a shift in her being — sarang to diane, veracity to something mutable and ever brewing. "i need to ensnare him..."
and he'd slipped away, taken her half-cue and was already gone.
— if the demon of hoku knew how often diane asked him to slip away, san was sure the mythic ernest would be none too pleased. it takes half a second for malignance to seize you in hoku city, and only a fraction of that if you're particularly inclined. of course, san was never far, and sarang more competent than what the wills of well meaning fathers offered her, but it would be more than just san's immortal soul on the line if something befell her and he were at all still breathing.
but it was always sarang's eyes that sought for the mercy of him, in the hairbreadth turn of her infinitesimal micro-expression, the graceful warp into something so unseen it were all but hidden to eyes that were any less devoted than his. and it was never a question because she would never need to ask; he'd learned to read the depths of her during sparring sessions in a dojang made of his youth and all his tomorrow. once, he'd crafted alongside her the armor that was so much a second skin, there were barely any joints or seams that one could rub the pad of their thumb along.
he'd seen her, then, and so he always knew.
— and that's how he found himself here, again. vanished from a spot he said he'd always defend: dematerialized, because bang chan had come to call.
— or so diane let the boy think. she'd found chan first, weeks before this encounter he'd name 'chance' or 'fate'. it had been simple to learn his routine and easier to insert herself in it. a coffee shop he always walked past. her new favorite window seat. a position so comfortable it looked as though it had always been.
and so they talked; this woman neither diane nor sarang, crafting a life by degrees of admission, chan warming to the gentle flame of her lies so that eventually, perhaps, knowledge of him would melt, secrets in him slip between them, in this place behind glass, warm between cups of untouched coffee.
not even san would hear the things chan would reveal in his adventurous, half-flirtatious speech. the thought often made the black belt's heart skid — his resolve stutter — but the bulk of him never wavered. he was a mountain and summits never crumbled; their might certainly never moved.
and that simple conflict of interest was something his friends never failed to entertain, and in mocking, enjoy.
— ᴅᴇᴏᴋʜᴇᴇ, twin sister of ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ and the one-minute younger half of their expert gunman team, was the one to first discover san's internal battle, having joked about his affection for diane from his sabeom days at the dojang. first, a true baseless joke, then overtime, a comfortable uncomfortability for san as it grew in truth and size.
san and his diane; no one loved their work the way san did; if san could marry duty he would.
— if he wasn't always looking at deokhee down the barrel of her sniper rifle, he just might knock some humility into her near prophetic teasing and her twin's identical shit eating grin.
but what was he to do when she was, in part, always right?
— sarang laughed at something chan said, and diane reached out to touch his shoulder with the soft of her hand. san turned his gaze, somehow half guilty, and that's when he saw the ephemera of a shadow he should not have.
what was kim hongjoong doing all the way here?
— first order of business would be to pull sarang from the place at which she stood. second would be to see just who the informant whisperer was that hongjoong strove to meet. third would be to evaluate just where that placed this puppet-master of secrets in the ever turbulent waters of organization and fealty — obeisance and axis.
— san was standing in front of her in the coffee shop before the shadow had ever truly dissipated — before any of the prior thoughts had fully formed in his mind.
sarang was good at smoothing her own confusion and concern, and playing the part of the innocent and sheltered. she huffed a convincing sigh and muttered something about a father that, overprotective, cut her time with this young officer short, and san caught the thrown word of 'cousin' like a fire-hot, thousand pound and ever-burning coal.
so that's how she'd explained his presence to chan.
— when she knew she'd almost been caught in the act by hongjoong, sarang swore.
— ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ was a member of the serpens syndicate, and had, since the death of byeonghwa, been the watchful eye that extended past the confines of hoku city. loyal to the demon — a horkos made potent in the poignance of a blood debt — hongjoong was trusted... so far as anyone could be reliable, in this city that ate you whole, in these times that twisted the sinew of your very heart. at any rate, he was an informant of ernest, and while not one nearly as volatile as soyeon, still convoluted in intent.
he would be interested — perhaps even moreso curious than san, who daily burned all of his inquisition and steadfast resolve near through — as to what the demon heir was doing out here, in the pristine half of hoku city, talking with an officer that would just as soon as imprison her, if he knew even a fraction of the atrocities and moral impurities she ordered and aided, abetted and carried out.
— of course, even if hongjoong were to ask, sarang would never tell.
— not even with san, himself, did sarang reveal her true intentions in this business involving newly minted officer bang chan, a rookie at some few years post-graduation, an acquaintance turned friend from their first windfall encounter. not even with san, who knew the verity of sarang and had cherished her humanity from it's first appearance, did she let any information slip, a single hint pass.
he'd look into her eyes and unexpectedly, a wall was there — a guardedness of which he'd never known. she was no longer forthright about all possibilities with him. her thoughts were not so easily read, her want not so readily known.
— but that was not the worry that had the jaw with which to gnaw at san. not yet, anyway. not when hongjoong was surreptitiously on the same path as them, in a place where neither was colloquially seen (his informant hadn't been anyone of note, and so the consequence of his gained knowledge that day couldn't have been much, but one could never be complacent, if they wished to thrive).
— not when soyeon was unhappy, and sarang was the fool to not believe it.
— not when ernest, kingpin of terror, chessmaster of the underworld and ruler of hoku city, was mired in that slow changing-of-hands and place of gentle retreat where all of his speech was about the hand of iku, that terrify in the weight of dying.
the death of a demon was always a wounded threat that demanded first redress.
— it had started, in part, with the death of byeong-hwa. what was a king, after all, when his sworn shield had fallen? what menace was left in a monster, when his right hand was rotting, 6 feet below? the monsoon season would come, and a sickness would plague ernest along with the rain. jangma was the will of bada — the monsoon season the cursing volition of the sea. it was divine law, in some ways, that bada would claim her vengeance on hoku by taking it's epicenter and sweeping it's fortune and prosperity into her tumultuous seas, but it was still too soon, and thus, a secret well hidden.
no one in the serpens outside of the few remaining elders that sat at the demon's table, byeong-hwa's only daughter, his heir, and his warded nephew knew of the state of ernest's true mind.
the tides were swelling, the ground was saturating; bada was clambering toward the city, and at the time least affordable, the cracks between sarang and soyeon's friendship and intertwined lives deepened to a schism, with roots on either side, blooms torn apart, thorns tearing stem like gnashing teeth devouring flesh.
— when it rains, it pours, and in jangma, the storms were violent and unending; when bada raged, all the gods hovered close to witness her torrential price.
— "i'll tell ʏᴜɴʜᴏ." when they were haemopu side, diane turned to san, the silence between them broken, the confidence that always held in it's place perhaps worse for wear, if either of them had the resolve to mention it. "he'll have some clever way to spin hongjoong off our track - if he even saw anything in the first place."
— san nodded: just once, a jerky motion that left this world still buzzing, a dull, low whine.
yunho, sarang's cousin, was a close confidant of theirs. he moved into the serpens complex when he was 17. some commonplace tragedy left him with a want in the pit of his belly, and ever since the breaking down of all that tied sarang to soyeon and night to the dawining day, he had played the role of strategist and pragmatic advisor to his cousin — a safer, less volatile option for diane to pick, considering soyeon had always been her council, former.
— diplomats need their advisors; conmen require their marks. diane had a necessity for yunho and a plan for bang chan, and of course, they would be dealt with first. san was just a bodyguard, and in this way, he'd always known his place. but favor had a way of lead to want, and if he tended to that fire, it could always lick its way past his defenses and consume him whole.
— sarang blinked, and the change pulled san from his thoughts the way it always would. born to serve, her movements were what he'd been shaped to read. "i guess i'll tell hermes that you stood him up for yunho again, when it's time for your 13:00 date and you don't show."
— sarang laughed at that, warm and clear, almost chasing away the mist that had gathered all through the day, at choice intervals and expected alleyways, thickening to the obscurity of fog. hermes was sarang's greyhound — the puppy she'd once found when younger but crowned wise. she never had taken him to the serpens complex, where he could be socialized with the dobermans she'd cared for most her life. instead, san took him in — an act of kindness she never stopped praising him for, never quite forthright about her reasoning but offering just enough to where he was satisfied.
"tell the twins when you see them i need to have a word."
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ꜱᴇᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.
— the shop never had a name: just a wordless sign in the shape of a generic gun scope: the focus for an eye you'd never look into as you took your final, heaving breath.
the shooting range, the eye, akita's place, the final shop on the ground floor of haemo plaza.
— every child who'd ever touched a gun — any soul who had enough of some small mercy they had the fire to protect it in this heaving city — had, at some point, entered the shooting range that sat haemopu side. established longer than jeongcheol's dojang, but having changed hands at around the same time, the shooting range was owned by a woman named ᴀᴋɪᴛᴀ — ex-military but dishonorably discharged, a mother of twins, and simultaneously warm yet cold: distant, but always manning her station.
it was only natural that, sharpshooter of her squad, akita had taught her children to shoot from the moment their hands had the strength to thumb a trigger.
eyes bred to look at you through the barrel of a firearm, hearts trained to see the liberation at the end of a mission and none of the causalities between. akita took her twins, cradle of her future, and gave them all the skills she broke skin and bruised knuckle to hone. they would never have to struggle, because they would be born with skilled gift. they would have the freedom of honor, because no training would mar their resolve.
— at first, the shooting range was only that which sat within the four walls in the ground floor of that complex. but slowly it expanded: the back property, accessed through the side entrance, narrow but deep, for single sessions with moving targets; the abandoned lot near the docks that akita had come into possession of by chance and was appraising for sale until her daughter showed an aptitude for long range and a spark to pursue it.
before long, what was modest expanded, and with an open mouth, devoured until engorged. the shooting range was well known. beloved. conspicuous. exactly the sort of place one would expect to find a doorway into the depths of a now illegal, though still legitimate syndicate, and therefore, a place where they could never be found. in reverence and renown, akita secured a safe haven for her children, a place where they could rest without the fear of being poached.
two doors down, the serpens paid a lease, but here, in the four walls she maintained, they could never sink in their teeth.
but fate was the domain of samgong, and mischief the trait of hoku, and here, in a city where the presence of gods were only so strong because they were so ceaselessly revered, the two powers often conspired to thwart the dreams of those who dared trying, and those whose complacency masqueraded as crown.
— wooyoung, the older of the twins, was the impulsive to deokhee's passion. touched by caprice, drowning in compulsion — akita whispered into his ear as he grew up, tickling the soft skin hidden there, that he was born the same star sprite as hoku: before he became the omniscient eye, back when he was nameless, and his fervency was tried by the test of his father's tedium. in constant motion, neverending activity: "make no deals with iku, listen not to the obligation of horkos. you are a star, you belong to nothing but your own burn."
— deokhee, of course, was the fire burning her older brother brighter, still, the combustion in his path that kept him from apathy, that saw all his visions through. ᴇɴᴊɪ, her mother would call her, the fire god born into flesh. the ardor, the devotion, the commitment deepening to obsession, the dedication to wooyoung's whims, the conviction in her twin brother's mania. akita adored her daughter's fervency, fanned the flames of her exuberance never quenched. "shackle yourself to no one, my enji, you are not meant to be contained. never turn in on yourself; find a direction to incinerate: you are meant to set this world ablaze."
— avoiding flirtation with the fetters of the serpens was an unspoken request from akita, a desire never plainly raised. if she had been wiser (if she saw all too clearly the way serpents rise to challenge and adaptable, warp their venom to something honey-sweet) perhaps akita would have been more explicit in her demands, exact in all she envisioned and prayed to conspire. but it seemed an evident requirement, a moral anchored deep and in it's inevitability, made potent and strange.
"you are made for more," she had always told them.
but what can be done when your only framework of 'more' and 'greater' is the gunpowder residue of a superior weapon?
— once, akita built her children into crook of a firearm. ever after, they would know mostly it's bitter taste.
— none of this is to say, however, that the twins were a tragedy and their penchant something acrid, lead.
— deokhee was bottled excitement and effervescent joy in every task, and wooyoung the kind of gregarious that surrounded him with enthusiastic friendship and kindred brotherhood in every space he ventured to grace.
— and ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴜᴍɪɴᴀʀʏ was one of those third spaces that wooyoung and deokhee frequented most.
a serpens owned establishment: an electricity plant on the edge of town, with hidden rooms that opened into dark things that could only hide in the shadow of a generator as massive as that which fueled a never-blinking city. the luminary was one of the largest holes in the wall that the serpens ran. there, you could order any sin you could pay the ferryman to usher you to.
(so long as you were in the right room, of course. the serpens liked to keep their messes orderly.)
— the twins mostly frequented the rooms with standard bar fare. alcohol, dance, betting and games of chance, fisticuffs when more than just spirits hit you square in the jaw after one freedom too many. a common enough vice with a burgeoning sea of acquaintances and a militia of contacts and friends. it was here, in the pale of haemosu's light — all the glare they could harness but never reach — that the twin's sociability spun a web that was never meant to entrap them, but still made them the perfect players for a serpent game.
after all, it was in the luminary that the twins aligned themselves with the ꜱᴘɪɴᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴇʀ ʙɪᴋᴇʀꜱ.
a group of criminals and delinquents that rode through ꜱᴋɪᴛ — the next door neighbor of hoku city, and the border at which the serpens let their needles halt. the serpens owned hoku, and every gang and group of would-be hopefuls that they'd long run out had taken up station in skit and brawled it out, there. a neighboring city was of no consequence to the serpens as long as they spilled blood on their rightful side of the fault line, and the spine breakers were a fairly established group that worked their own city and only occasionally crossed the borders of hoku — careful to always show their deference and pay their dues. they were a infrequent though to some familiar face in the luminary on nights when the moon hung low, mostly to work deals with the mercenaries for hire in the back, and always to chase a drink alongside the twins.
ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ was their closest companion of the lot, and if his drink of choice was an expected usual, and his uninspired flirtation with deokhee an affectionate and comfortable aside, then the night would be warm and the luminary waitstaff would make better money in tips than they had all month.
— and it was precisely that friendship with jungkook (and perhaps their closeness with san, though why make complicated something already written by fate?), that brought the twins to the serpens those aging years ago.
it had been hongjoong, newly syndicate minted, that noticed these two sparrows who somehow seemed to know everyone he had been keeping his thousand eyes on, and dared to ask himself what use could come with knowing their names.
it had been simple, after, for seonghwa to convince him that wooyoung was the easier approach, and for soyeon to cast the die on his fate.
(but that had been years ago: before the breaking down of factions, before suspicion and envy cast shadows that demons new not how to play, before ties were cut like marionette strings, and seonghwa and soyeon became a duo, and hongjoong, far enough from the barrel to not yet choose how to align, had to keep his ideas in his breast pocket and his lies tucked beneath his tie.)
— in the end, the twins were brought into the serpens because their connections would open doors that had no keys. it was through wooyoung and deokhee that the serpens greedy left hand reached into the heart of skit and, with an emboldened and wanting jungkook, staged a coup and installed this friend as the spine breaker's acting head.
ever after, the bikers would be in debt of the might of hoku, and in perpetuity, there would be scouts and reinforcements should there be need of aid from a distance.
— it was simply providence that the twins would have use beyond their sociability and want. it was the work of that ever mischievous hoku that in a chance encounter and a single ploy, diane was gifted with the two best marksman the city could afford.
danger, of course, in the single-minded passion of deokhee and the brilliant, aimless apathy of wooyoung, but when combined together (and wooyoung under the threat of the only one he swore obeisance to: san), they were a power more than their arsenal, a weapon greater than their might and distant reach.
— when san found the two of them sitting on his couch, deokhee knuckle deep in affectionate rubs for hermes, wooyoung eating noodles out of the pot, on his pinky swinging the apartment's spare key ("for emergencies," san had said, and pointedly handed it to deokhee), there was less a reaction of disappointment or surprise, and more an acceptance that at least this way, the message would be easily delivered, in brevity, made sweet.
"diane's calling."
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⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ pt. ii | | series masterlist
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ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) :
1 - jeongcheol, san's father, used to run a taekwondo studio. because times were hard, he ran illegal fights in the back of his dojang, and when the serpen's found out, they co-opted his business and expanded it. as he got older, he passed down his dojang to san, who now works as the bodyguard of diane. because of his busy schedule, he co-manages the dojang with yeosang, the medic of the taekwondo studio.
2 - the taekwondo studio is situated on haesu street in an unnamed work-live complex often referred to as haemo plaza. on the same floor as the dojang there is an unnamed shooting range, owned by akita, the mother of twin gunman for the serpens deokhee and wooyoung. akita does not know of her children's affiliation with the syndicate and would disapprove if she knew.
3 - san, deokhee, and wooyoung are all friends are are closely allied with diane. diane is also close allies with yunho, her cousin and strategist council after her falling out with soyeon has deepened in the past few years (there has been a vague multi-year time skip from pt. i to pt. ii).
4 - ernest, kingpin of the serpens, is currently dying. it is a well kept secret - but not from soyeon, who diane fears will use this knowledge opportunistically. recently, diane has been keeping many secrets from even her closest confidant, san, especially regarding her consistently visiting officer bang chan, trying to weasel from him secrets... but about what?
5 - hongjoong is a member of the serpens with many secrets and many informants. diane is unsure if, in the power vacuum created after ernest's death, if he will show loyalty towards her or soyeon, and so she is wary of what he knows, when he was in the area as she was meeting up with bang chan.
6 - hongjoong was the one to originally recruit twins deokhee and wooyoung, because they have many contacts in hoku and neighboring cities - notably jungkook, now leader of a biker gang in the neighboring city named skit.
7 - diane has a mission for deokhee and wooyoung heretofore lacking details or rhyme.
now onto pt. iii . . .
#lilo.writing#writing.otbka#another 'not been beta read: we die like men' entry in the tumblr void but if you love me you'll let that go#i'm sorry if this is still lacking a semblance of a plot because WOW there's like. a lot of history here to set up.#why did i choose to start where i did when i easily Could Not Have????#anyway so sorry mingi wasn't introduced this chapter like i was hoping i got carried away and didn't want to keep you past 5k#can you tell i love a dramatic set piece half of this upload was me waxing poetic about new locations and The Trap Of Poverty#IF YOU'RE WONDERING WHY YEOSANG IS HERE I THINK I'M RECANTING MY 'CRUMBS OF JONGHO AND KYUNG-AH' IN EXCHANGE FOR SOMETHING ELSE#also hey yunho's here! maybe in pt 3 or 4 mayari will show up so i can sprinkle in exposition for their romance (it's the soft one)#also yeah i know i originally said the first arc of this fic was going to be 3 parts but i lied#anyway pls pls pls annoy me about this i have THOUGHTS about itttttt#and reblog or at least reply to the post you cowards#like if you simply cannot do anything else but bro i just want to know if you even made it to the function.#not even requesting you tell me if you had a good time.#oh yeah; san in falling into his trap of: always being portrayed in fic as the tragic 2nd male lead#also can you guys guess who the owner of the luminary is. can you.#it will become plot important but the reveal isn't anything beyond silly silly stupid.#it rhymes with wackson jang.#YOU KNOW I HAD TO DO IT TO US.#oh! and yeah; i've conflated mythology and made diane an amalgamation of diana (artemis) and minerva (athena).#diane deserves the wisdom motif okay. it fits symbollically in the narrative.#also every csl girlie has a patron god or mystical force; if you guess what they are i will give you a virtual piece of haupia
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sskk-manifesto · 7 months ago
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ಥ‿ಥ
#God this episode is so so good.#Tachihara sweetie I'm sorry I never talk about you. I swear I love him so so much he's an amazing character. I love his story and conflict–#so much.#This arc is peak bsd writing / meta literature plot. The tearing page moment is insane. The sentiments expressed here are so–#deep and emotional. The theme of the ordinary man. God and the force of human spirit.#Fighting against one's own destiny and finding the reason for own's existence. It's all subjects that are so interesting to reflect over–#and they're elaborated on in such a cool and compelling way. I love Dazai's quote on the strength of humans who–#“are caught in the tempest of contingency and scream‚ run and shed blood” so much. It moves me deeply.#The animation was really neat. A lot of detailed sequences. The wind was animated beautifully. The colors were so pretty and the stained–#glass visuals still go so hard.#Again I love Tachihara's conflict so much!!! I'm so into tachi/gin too... I know it's more of a Tachihara x oc since. Well.#We know little to nothing about Gin. But there's still so much spice to it... What do you MEAN Tachihara stabbed Gin !!!!!!#I'm so into the drama. AND the kind of relationship born from the big brother complex™ they both (may) share. AND the work partners.#AND the hiding their true identities to the other. How could I not love them...#Still believe season 4 should have ended where episode 11 ends but spreading it all in 12 episodes to allow it all better pacing.#I really think this season is great but the pacing really is its weakest point.#Of the sky casino arc they could have made a movie if they wanted to. Or just a cool arc at the start of season 5 that can work too!!#(((and not put ch 84-88 at only ep3. And then animate it grossly. But that's another talk.)))#Anyways 100000/10 what a good episode. This really was peak B/ungou Stray Dogs. And Akutagawa isn't even in it!!!#random rambles#Very hot take but I don't think Lucy should jump off a sky casino for a man. Sorry#My feelings for atsu/lucy are so fluctuating. I could write a whole other tags rant on it.#Actually I will
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morningmask27 · 9 months ago
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I know I make Whis a slightly incompeteny hunter myself too, but there is something that irks me a bit with how Whis is genuinely just Healer that goofs off in this book.
this is the second time Whis has been sent flying because someone run into faer fast, the first time being with Slate and Beach, and then they hit on faer.
Whistlepaw is still a WindClan can goddamnit, let faer do something useful too and HUNT THAT RABBIT.
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yeleltaan · 1 year ago
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// Hello again! As you might recall, I've been meaning to make a new blog for Cayin's Elden Ring verse in hopes of better exploring its themes and aesthetics without diluting those of Cayin's main verse.
I wanted to take this soft "reset" as a chance to overhaul the presentation, make a blog that looks thematic, something that drives home some of the topics covered with just a look. Alas! As excited as I was to implement all these ideas, I've been struggling with motivation and focus for long enough to realize that I can't match my old expectations.
I've also come to the conclusion that if I wait until I'm satisfied with the blog (until it feels "complete" if you will) and continue to let my writing grow rusty and miss opportunities to write with my friends, I might very well never return to the hobby in this form.
With that in mind, I've decided to launch the new blog as a WIP. It's not going to be as fancy as I wanted, but I'm not waiting any longer to write! This isn't a decision I've made lightly as I'm very reluctant to make my work public when it's in an early state. I hate it!
But having made a lot of progress enjoying other creative outlets of mine, and having been unable to be a consistent writer for a little longer than... two years?? I think that taking the plunge is my best chance of solving this.
Now, this might feel a little strange to say so explicitly, but I want to make the following as clear as I can:
If you like Cayin but aren't interested in his Elden Ring version, there's no need to follow the blog. I understand the setting's not for everyone and you're free to enjoy this blog (yeleltaan) without engaging with the other one.
Likewise, if you like Elden Ring and are interested in the ER verse, but don't feel that interest towards Cayin's main verse, it's also perfectly fair to follow the new blog and not follow this one.
For newcomers: I understand that a blog lacking a proper about page and other information isn't easy to get into. It's in the works and I hope to be able to make the blog more welcoming for everyone sooner than later. Until then, feel free to message me for a short introduction to the character, I'll be happy to give it.
It's going to be a slow process, and I'm not sure how effective this change of attitude will be, but I still think this is the best move I can take. I'll be linking the blog shortly!
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random-cockroach · 6 months ago
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TUMBLR STOP CUTTING ME OUT OF SCREAMING TAGS I KNOW MY TUMBLR RIGHTS
#Swerve and Jazz were working before. Not in a right way but they DID #No one knew it wasn't the same agsgsghah #And now they meet hello ahsvehwb #OH PLEASE
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My hands are shaky and my head is refusing to work properly! But! I made it!
The Blurr chapter for Mecha au >:D
Blurr's job is not to fight for humanity.
Blurr's job is to smile for the camera and take the applause of people who praise him for his bravery and sacrifice. Blurr's job is to sell his face, his voice and his skills to millions of viewers. He must impress investors, show off advanced technology and make a determined face saying that to save mankind he is ready for anything. And then get in a luxury car and drive off to some expensive place to burn a whole bunch of zeros out of his paycheck.
He's not someone who stays after work to help his coworkers. And he's not the one who spends his nights trying to save as many people as possible. He signs autographs, makes big statements, and promises people he'll protect them.
And people believe him.
And they love him.
Swerve is sick of this spectacle. Swerve is sick of this man.
Under the cut
————————————
Nobody likes Blurr.
Okay, if you think on a large scale, everyone loooves Blurr. His face is on every poster, his brand is in every possible store, his voice and is in every cool commercial. You literally can't exist without knowing who Blurr is, or at least seeing his face once. It's a “Luke I'm your father” level phenomenon. How massive a rock do you have to live under to miss something like that?
Everybody loves Blurr. You can go buy a t-shirt with his face on it. You can go listen to his interviews or purchase a tiny replica of his action figure. There are incredibly many ways a Blurr fan can blow a hole in their budget.
Swerve knows, because he's done it many times. And recently, it's stopped being something he's proud of. To be precise, it was exactly four days ago when Blurr first stepped into his office. Swerve had just finished his shift and was finishing his tea when his boss suddenly appeared in the doorway, with the best racer in the world right behind him.
The tea was instantly dropped, adrenaline was released, and the brain was turned off.
In that moment, Swerve thought that this is what it must look like. The moment when all your good karma comes together in one pile to reward you for all the times you dropped a sandwich butter side down or missed a deadline.
Both of which happened with annoying regularity. Swerve is unlucky. Sometimes things seem to fall through his hands.
It started out great.
Swindle, their boss, showed up in the office space one day looking simultaneously jubilant, nervous, and very inspired. Usually on such occasions, Swerve could almost see the dollar signs reflected in his boss's glasses.
“Attention everyone. We have an important guest arriving in an hour.”
Swindle expressively pushed his glasses down on his nose and looked around the room
“I promised him a tour and I expect you all to behave yourselves.”
He meticulously looks around the floor beneath his feet
“Send someone to clean up all the trash. This place is unbelievably filthy. The floors should be sparkling in twenty minutes! And, oh! Hey you, go buy some good drinks.”
Having finished inspecting the floor Swindle hurriedly runs off, probably to say the same thing to the neighboring department.
Swerve stretches his neck out curiously, listening in
“Is the president coming to see us?”
Walking by, Jazz shrugs
“When the president was coming Swindle said the floor was dirty and made him wear boot covers.”
It's not the president
Swindle gestures generously to the entire office at once and looks overall like a bird trying his best to primp up
“And here we have the engineering department offices. In the next building is the assembly plant, that's where the mechs are put on their feet so to speak. And this is where all the computing, design, and planning happens.”
Just over his shoulder stands and looks around at none other than
Oh, dear God.
Swerve's tea flies to the floor next to his thought processes.
He's seen Blurr countless times, but never in person. How can this guy look as good in person as he does in expensive retouched-until-squeaky-clean photos? Mystery.
Blurr's gaze slides lazily over the simple office setting and for those two seconds when it's directed at Swerve it feels like sheer madness. He tries to look normal. He's not sure he's succeeding, but he's making an effort.
Swindle waltzes through the office, heading for the next door
“Come on I'll show you the mech hangar.”
Blurr grins.
“A highlight of the show I suppose~”
His voice is like a needle bursting a ball of stunned silence. People begin to rise from their seats and scramble to say hello. Someone asks for an autograph, others ask for a bunch of selfies, a couple people in the corner hastily fix their hair, one of the employees just pulls out his phone and shamelessly starts filming.
Swindle looks at the this with an unchanging commercial smile, but his gaze promises all kinds of punishment.
Perhaps if it had been the president, the buffoonery would have been smaller.
______________
For the next few days, Blurr is the big news and the center of all discussion.
Officially? He's becoming one of the pilots in the Mecha program.
In fact? Swindle's greedy soul couldn't get enough of the idea that the Mech concept could be monetized.
The dust is blown off Blurr and his boots are licked. He doesn't go to general training, he doesn't participate in ordinary or overly dangerous missions. He's allowed everything and a little more. His job is to look pretty on camera, speak his lines, smile and wink. He's a walking advertisement and Swindle's incredibly powerful tool in negotiating with investors.
Swerve once saw him called to a negotiation in the middle of the night, and even sleep-deprived and exhausted after a full day of filming, Blurr had the strength to pull that charming expression on his face and flawlessly play along with Swindle wherever he needed to.
His mech was a work of art. And that's not even an exaggeration. Usually the main purpose of mechs is to be efficient and practical. Blurr's Mech was made separately and so many people worked on its design that it could have its own end credits. It's beautiful, sleek, shiny and show-offy. It's designed to be awe-inspiring, but not so decorated that it's ridiculous.
When Swerve looks at its specs, he almost feels sick. Maneuverability, mobility, everything is absolutely top-notch. But most importantly, speed.
The technology to accelerate Mechs to incredible speeds has been around for some time, but the average robot doesn't reach even half of the technically possible maximum. Because even the fastest machine can't outrun the human brain.
After a certain threshold, pilots are no longer capable of controlling their own Mech. Human reaction speed is simply not enough to maneuver without crashing into anything or losing their orientation in space. And. Well. Without losing consciousness.
This has led to Mech manufacturers sort of tacitly agreeing on a rough speed limit and tending to stick to it. Just to make the technology safer and more suitable for everyone.
Regardless. Everyone except Blurr apparently.
Because the numbers across from his Mech's speed specs are horrifying. Swerve looks at the blueprints and thinks it's either freaking awesome or absolute suicide. Maybe something in between. Can a human being have reflexes like that? What about this turning mechanism? The numbers tell him that these levels of g-force make a large percentage of pilots just pass out.
Is Blurr really going to pilot this death wagon??
To achieve that kind of speed and mobility, they'd have to cut off half the armor or make it very light. Which would almost be like inviting a dangerous injury.
But if the Mech is made primarily to flaunt rather than fight...well... it probably makes sense.
Swerve's inner fan is sliding down the wall.
Blurr is incredible. And what's even more incredible is that he's kind of sort of almost Swerve's coworker now.
It only takes him a couple days to realize.
Everyone loves Blurr.
But the one who loves Blurr the most is Blurr himself.
The rose-tinted glasses are breaking slowly but surely. On the first day, Sverve walks up on shaky legs to get introduced. He tells himself that this is definitely not an attempt to get an autograph. They're coworkers. He's just...uh...greeting a new employee.
Blurr looks slightly bored.
“You're from this department....uh.. What's its name, whatever.”
Swerve clutches his hands in front of him so he doesn't accidentally drop anything
“OH.Uh yeah. Swerve! Engineering Department. You were there on a tour the other day. I usually work in the assembly plant, making armor for Mechs, developing new alloys. But I design too! I, uh.
(Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. He'll think you're a crazy fan. Don't talk about Blurr.)
Blurr starts to get sidetracked by his phone.
Swerve swallows awkwardly.
“I'm uh. I'm a big fan of yours. Sir.”
(Good job...)
Blurr chuckles softly and offers out his hand
“Well, nice to meet you.”
Sverve's hand is shaking like crazy, he hopes he isn't squeezing too hard. Working in the assembly has made his hands rough. Blurr's narrow, soft palm is almost sinking in his grip.
“ 'Nice to meet you, yes. Nice to meet you sir! If you, ah, if you have any problems or questions or uh, well. You know, if you need help with your Mech or upgrades or or.”
Blurr chuckles.
“I'll be counting on you~”
Swerve feels like his soul is about to break away from his body.
The next, day when they cross paths in the hallway Blurr waves to him.
“Hey you. Whatever your name is. Can you tell me how to get to Block D?
Swerve stops awkwardly.
“Ah. Of course! I'm Swerve sir. Come, I'll show you.”
Blurr smiles a beautiful, ad-libbed smile and follows him in
“Thank you darling.”
From this point on, the entire program gradually learns a simple but unpleasant truth.
Blurr is an asshole.
And nobody likes him.
He always has everyone at his beck and call. You rarely get to see him on his own. There's always someone swirling around him with a guilty or annoyed face. A sort of serve-get-show-explain designated poor guy.
Swindle treats Blurr like a precious antique vase.
Blurr treats people like his servants.
The whole world is in love with the glittering cover, the image polished to a squeak. Until recently, Swerve was doing the same thing. Now it feels more like an embarrassing crush.
Blurr still doesn't remember his name. He actually remembers at most three to four people by name, and calls everyone else “hey you” or “ darling”. After Swerve reintroduced himself to him for the fourth time he just sort of...stopped trying.
On the field, Blurr is incredible. No one can deny that. The tremendous speed of his Mech leaves all the other pilots in the dust. Whoever said human reflexes weren't fast enough? HA. When Swerve sees his reports and results, he gets dizzy.
The combination of such incredible speeds and light armor means Blurr simply can't miss. If he hesitates, if he falters. If he gets confused. The whole metal thing will smash him to smithereens.
And yet Blurr comes back untouched time after time.
Swerve's no longer inclined to think it's just because of his mad skills. He knows that Swindle is paying Blurr a lot of money for his cooperation. No one would let Blurr fight on the front lines, no. It would be too dangerous. He has to do just enough so that Swindle can record a commercial and in it call Blurr a badass pilot without adding small print to that statement.
Blurr's job is not to fight for humanity.
Blurr's job is to smile for the camera and take the applause of people who praise him for his bravery and sacrifice. Blurr's job is to sell his face, his voice and his skills to millions of viewers. He must impress investors, show off advanced technology and make a determined face saying that to save mankind he is ready for anything. And then get in a luxury car and drive off to some expensive place to burn a whole bunch of zeros out of his paycheck.
He's not someone who stays after work to help his coworkers. And he's not the one who spends his nights trying to save as many people as possible. But he is the first person every citizen would name if asked to say something about the Mech program. He signs autographs, makes big statements, and promises people he'll protect them.
And people believe him.
And they love him.
A month later, he still can't remember anyone's names and sometimes calls people by the colors of their clothes, laughing as if they should take it as a cute joke.
Swerve is sick of this spectacle. Swerve is sick of this man.
That's okay.
It's not like fanboying over Blurr is Swerve's only passion.
He gets upset.
Then he gets mad and rips down all the posters.
Then he has no time to be angry because Swindle wants to launch Mechs into outer space and damn it, Jazz flies off the planet and doesn't fucking come back. The engineering department stays up nights trying to figure out where he's gone, but they can't.
Unlike Blurr, everybody loved Jazz.
Unlike Blurr, Jazz deserved every ounce of that love.
The ground beneath his feet is starting to shake.
At first, all that happens is panic. Everyone starts making a confused noise, someone assumes an earthquake.
A voice on the speakers says that everyone needs to evacuate immediately, but no one hears it because huge mechanical tentacles start coming through the windows and the whole building starts shaking, creaking and crumbling.
Sverve has seen the monsters humanity has to fight many times. But never this close. And their size leaves him absolutely terrified. These things are huge, they take up all visible space. And what's most damning is that they can break down the walls around Swerve like a fucking cookie.
He's gonna die. Oh god he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die here under this stupid rubble or get eaten or turned into one of the ugly bloody stains on the wall. His heart is doing a million beats a minute and his eyes are starting to sting. He tries to get to the emergency exit, but the door is blocked by one of the huge toothy creatures that is actively trying to get in.
Next to him, Swindle is shouting to someone on his comm, trying to sound louder than the rumble of the collapsing building and the hungry aliens.
The floor tilts at a very disturbing angle and Swerve grabs one of the interior doorways to stay in place. A second later, he reaches out and pulls Swindle, who has already slowly begun to slip toward the monster's huge hungry maw, to the same doorway.
Swindle grabs onto the frame of the door and Swerve at the same time. His glasses are cracked and his usually neat expensive coat is all dust and debris.
“It was a trap.”
Swerve can't hear a word over the grinding of breaking structures.
“What?”
Swindle almost slips and falls, but Swerve grabs him by the scruff of his coat and puts him back on his feet. Working in an assembly shop gives a man strong arms and right now he's very grateful for it.
Swindle makes a second, louder attempt
“It was a trap!!! All available pilots are now on the other side of the country! I've called for backup, but who knows how fast they'll get here.”
A smooth, silky voice comes from a walkie-talkie strapped to his coat.
“Ouch Swindle. So little faith in my professional skills?”
Swindle rounds his eyes
“Blurr??! Where are you!”
Blurr's voice sounds...not quite as it usually does. It's missing the habitual lazy note. The one that makes him sound like the whole world owes him money.
“Give me another minute and the answer will be 'here'.”
The building shakes again. Swindle swears so eloquently that Swerve can't help but admire it.
Swerve can't stand Blurr's smug face, but when he spots the first glimpse of blue metal in the window, joy floods his brain.
He usually associates Blurr with dumb nicknames, dismissive treatment, and commercials.
Now he watches the sleek, fast Mech lunge fearlessly at the monsters surrounding the building and thinks that. Fuck this. He's an asshole, but if he buys Swerve enough time to evacuate, he'll bring him a thank you card or something later. Though it's unlikely Blurr will care about that of course.
Swindle continues to shout instructions over the walkie-talkie. Swerve basically drags him outside by. He jumps up probably a full meter when very near him one of the monsters falls to the ground.
Blurr's Mech stands proudly on top of the fresh corpse and looks...actually really bad. Swerve knows that this particular robot was not built for rough, open confrontation. Its armor is too thin. Designed for speed and agility, not strength. He assembled it himself, after all.
Many of the plates are crumpled. Some are torn off. His legs are intact, but one of the joints sparks funny.
Blurr quickly looks around and Swerve unwittingly follows his example. The whole place is on fire. Office buildings are in ruins and a huge column of black smoke rises above the assembly plant.
Blurr's Mech drops to the ground and gets down on one knee. The plates on its chest are pulled aside and Blurr sticks his head out of the cockpit while simultaneously opening the visor on his helmet.
“Everyone okay?”
Swindle clutches the walkie-talkie
“The office areas are empty, but there still could be people left on the lower floors of the assembly plant. But we have no access there!”
Blurr drums his fingers quickly on the metal plate
“Fire?”
Swindle shrugs his dusty shoulders
“Something exploded at the bottom of the building. It's a real smelter down there.
Even if we send a Mech, it won't last more than a minute before it overheats. Or make the building collapse.”
Blurr's gaze becomes focused. Sharp. Swerve has seen that look many times on tough front line fighters like Jazz. On Blurr, never.
“'That's enough time for me.”
Swindle waves his hands
“Are you crazy?”
Blurr slaps his palm against the armor of his Mech
“This baby is light. Lighter than anything you've got! If anyone can do it without dropping the building, it's me. They make Mechs in the assembly hall, it's got high ceilings right?”
Swerve wants to snap. He wants to throw his hands up angrily and yell something along the lines of “you were literally there!”
Who else is down there on those lower floors??? Tailgate? Maybe Wheeljack? If something exploded, Wheeljack was definitely there. And probably closest to the explosion.
Swindle curses furiously, but retreats and runs off to give orders to someone else.
“”Be a hero if you want, but I'm not going in there. For all I know there could be melting metal in there instead of a floor! It's just not reasonable.”
Swerve's brain stumbles over that statement. Why...Swindle is acting like he's being forced to climb into that building too...?
Blurr looks nervous.
“You know what. Fine. I got it. Hey, you--”
And there it is. The good old namelesness.
Blurr pays no attention to Swerve's frowning face, nor his hands shaking with fear
“ You're familiar with those buildings. You know who was there and where to find them right? I need you to walk me through.”
Swerve feels the urge to snap again and this time doesn't hold it back
“If you cared about something other than yourself, you'd know this damn building and the people who work in it too and !”
“I don't fucking remember!” Blurr interrupts him.
Swerve doesn't have time to put anything in after that. Though a sarcastic comment is begging to be made.
Blurr quickly takes off his helmet and wipes the sweat off his forehead.
“I don't remember okay! This isn't a fad or posing or whatever else you think of me. This is what an accident can do to you if you miss a turn! I can't remember shit, okay?! Do you need a medical report?!”
Swerve just...stands there with his mouth open and probably looks like an idiot.
Blurr nervously tucks back his disheveled hair. The longer he talks, the faster he does it.
“Now. I know you don't want to die in a pit of fire. But I need your help to save them. Don't do anything, just take the map. I promise I won't let you die.”
He sounds determined. And holds out his hand to Swerve, silently inviting him to climb up onto the Mech.
His face is stained in sticky dust, his hair is an absolute mess, and his narrow palm is covered in streaks of soot. It's as if he's been dragged face down a muddy road.
He's. Very Handsome, Swerve thinks.
He takes his hand.
Blurr helps him up, pushes him into the space next to the pilot's seat, and closes the cockpit.
“Been inside a working Mech ever?”
Swerve clenches his hands nervously on the back of the seat
“No.”
The lights of the consoles around him come to life as Blurr puts on his helmet. The space around him hums. It's a strange noise. At once unsettling and calm.
Mech feels alive, he thinks. Then corrects himself. Blurr is mind-linked to this Mech. This Mech can technically be considered alive in a sense.
Blurr moves one of the monitors toward him and opens the map.
“Just mark the path here. Don't touch anything else. And hold on tight. I won't be going too fast anyway, but it'll be shaky.”
Swerve swallows nervously.
“Understood.”
After that, everything turns into motion. Watching the Mech work while being inside is mesmerizing.
Blurr doesn't say much, concentrating on the controls. His hands aren't shaking anymore, Swerve notices. Not even a little.
He steers the machine forward confidently and smoothly, dodging falling debris and avoiding the biggest pockets of fire without panic or hesitation.
He's also strictly following the path Swerve is laying out for him.
The air filtration system is doing well so far. Swerve can feel the smell of burning and the heat slowly creeping up, but it's bearable for now. For now.
They find a man on the nearside of the emergency exit.
Two more people a floor below. A small group stuck in the elevator.
Wheeljack's on the doorstep of his lab.
Blurr pulls them all out. Picks up the first group of people and carries them outside, goes back into the fiery furnace, finds more survivors, pulls them out, goes back, searches, rescues, goes back, searches, rescues.
The heat is coming up. Swerve can feel it. The plates around him are getting hot. The air smells like burnt wires.
Blurr’s Mech wasn't designed for this kind of thing.
His Mech was made to flash for the camera and accelerate to impossible speeds. To deceive and confuse the enemy. Its armor is thin and cools easily in the air, which usually helps it avoid overheating.
This also means that this Mech heats up very quickly as well.
Now, with the air around him feeling like a red-hot frying pan, Swerve regrets not saying anything back then. He regrets that he didn't make any changes to the blueprint.
More and more warnings pop up on the screens. The map stopped working correctly some time ago and Swerve is forced to give directions verbally.
He nervously grips the back of the pilot seat with one hand and, without noticing, Blurr's shoulder with the other.
Blurr carries two more people outside and hands them to the rescuers. Then turns back to the building again and. OH FUCK. Right in front of him, a huge crack begins to creep along the structure. This thing is on the verge of collapse. The roof is already starting to fold down in a very bad way.
Swerve clenches his grip fearfully and hears Blurr hiss through his teeth.
Suddenly, the cockpit opens. The fresh air of the street feels like a cold sledgehammer blow after the heat and stuffiness of the lower levels.
Swerve is about to ask something, but doesn't have time because Blurr uses Mech's hand to gently but quickly pull him outside and set him on the ground.
“You were going to mark another spot.”
Swerve nods hurriedly.
“Tailgate is still there.”
Blurr wrinkles his face.
Swerve corrects himself and clarifies
“Bright blue uniform. Short. Considering all the places we've been, I think he's in the staff quarters. It's...”
He chews his fingers, trying to remember numbers and directions without a map
“...two floors down, left, another floor down and straight ahead.”
As he speaks Blurr bends over the side of the open cockpit and spits...blood on the ground. His nose is bleeding, Swerve realizes. That's not good. It's a clear sign of a malfunctioning neural connection. Or damage to his respiratory system? Possibly both.
Blurr doesn't seem to notice his worried look
“Two down, left down then. Shit. Wait. Two down, left then down, straight ahead yeah?”
Swerve nods.
Blurr keeps repeating these directions like a mantra. A very fast and creepy mantra.
His gaze roams strangely and his breaths sound hoarse. His teeth and chin are covered in blood and his face is streaked with soot.
Swerve understands. He's about to do another go.
Two down, left, down, straight. Two down, left, down, straight. Two down, left, down, straight.
Alone. He's going, and he's going to fry himself alive in there for a stranger he doesn't even remember.
Swerve doesn't have time to say anything. What's he gonna say? Stop? But he wants to save Tailgate? Go on, I believe in you? But it's certain death.
Swerve rarely has nothing to say, but this time he can't find the right words.
Blurr wipes the blood with his sleeve, wrinkles his nose, and storms off, heading back into the flaming mess the plant has become.
Not twenty seconds later, the roof collapses, spewing a huge cloud of smoke, ash, and fire into the sky.
Swerve wrinkles his shirt nervously in his hands.
The walls are still in place, right? If the roof is gone but the walls are still standing it's... it's. It's.
Damn it. He's trying to remember the blueprints. It means the ejector will work. It means Blurr can still get out through the top. That--
Blurr's not getting out. As the small, bright blue escape pod appears above the falling walls of the building, Swerve feels his brain stop. Remember the blueprints, remember the damn blueprints. The Mech is light, the design is compact, the space in the pod is for only one person.
In the capsule lies an unconscious Tailgate.
Swindle grasps the radio
“Blurr? BLURR!”
Swerve looks at the smoke and ash and feels numb. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He has to know. He doesn't...
He feels weird. The same kind of weird as when objects fly seemingly through him. Everything just stops being real.
The thought comes out of nowhere. You don't have to obey the rules. You can see more. Just look.
He's not sure how or why he's doing it.
No one around him is paying much attention to him. Everyone's busy with survivors and damage assessment or just stunned by the chaos.
And him? He disappears.
And then he appears at the bottom. Under the rubble.
All around him is ugly, molten and red-hot chaos, but he doesn't care anymore. He feels like whatever is happening is about to end and he just has to be in time. Time for him to find out.
Blurr's Mech lies crushed by the fallen roof. Its cockpit is open. A gaping hole where his chest was, the place where the escape pod had undocked.
Wall debris has pinned him in a crooked, grotesque pose.
Blurr is here. His legs are wedged between crumpled metal plates inside the cockpit, leaving him hanging upside down. His suit is charred. Half of his face is destroyed. It looks like a horrible bloody and burned mess. It's ugly and gruesome.
Blurr opens his only working eye and gives Swerve a cloudy look.
“I must be seeing things...”
Swerve shrugs in daze. He knows he shouldn't be here.
Blurr spits up a mouthful of blood
“I'm sorry I hurt you uh...”
“Swerve.”
“Yes. Swerve. It's hard for me to remember things unless they're...akgh...hell... not in my face all the time.”
Swerve moves closer and frowns
“You know, that explains but doesn't excuse you.”
Blurr closes his eye and coughs. That sounds really bad.
“No...I guess not.”
He huffs off the blood again. The burned half of his face is oozing with it. The blood runs down his forehead, collecting in a small puddle on the floor.
“It was better than letting everyone know what's wrong with me. I can't even begin to think about the amount of messes I'd be dragged into.”
Swerve notes that the fire seems to be getting closer.
This whole bit of dialog is so unnatural. Who even talks about that kind of stuff before they die. On the other hand. Well. Character development?
“So you think it's better to have everyone assume you're a jerk than that you got your head screwed on?”
Blurr wrinkles his nose.
“ You're a very specific kind of ghost.”
Swerve shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away
“I needed to know. Before you die.”
“That's ...akghhh...ha....it's good to know. Can you tell me something Swerve? As..agh...
As a last wish?”
Swerve shrugs again. He stares at the dripping blood. At the ugly, bubbling burns. At the burst vessels in his eye and the paths of blood from his bleeding nose. He looks at the broken and scorched and dying bloody mess.
He looks at Blurr.
And he thinks, until today, he didn't really love Blurr. Not with the posters and figurines. Not with the disdain and dislike.
He loved an image. And hated an image.
He reaches out and tries to touch Blurr's hand, but goes through it.
“I'm sorry. But we're both not really here. And I have to go.”
He can feel the cold metal around him, which is strange because he's standing in the middle of smoking and burning ruins
“But if it makes you happy, I guess you're my favorite character after all.”
Blurr doesn't answer. Swerve isn't sure he even heard him.
The feeling of metal around him grows sharper.
Someone shines a flashlight in his face.
Swerve blinks stupidly and tries to move away.
The unknown Autobot medic standing over him smiles happily and puts the flashlight away
“Welcome back. You've been in a coma Primus knows how long.”
The other medic to the side frowns
“You have zero tact.”
Swerve blinks his optics puzzled, raises his servo and for a while just stares at it like some movie character. All around him is an Autobot medbay. Metal walls. Metal instruments. And him. Metal.
Yes. Seems so. That's the way he's always been. That's right.
“Doc, you won't believe what kind of weird dream I had.”
___________
Swerve feels like he's going crazy.
He's standing in the middle of a hallway on one of the Autobot ships, and he's staring. shamelessly.
There's Prowl standing at the end of the hallway. And on his shoulder is...
“ JAZZ????”
Both bot and human turn around abruptly at his scream. And both look equally puzzled.
Jazz waves his hand
“Do I know you?”
Swerve is definitely going crazy. It's Jazz. The same one. From his...dream??? But he's real and tangible??? Sitting on Prowl's shoulder, talking and breathing and being seen by everyone not only Swerve????
“You're...real...?”
Jazz raises his eyebrows
“I am. Yes. Really Mech, you sound very familiar.
But I can tell you for a fact that I have not been friends with any Cybertronians before...”
This can't be, this can't be, this isn't....
It was a dream. The spawn of his TV series-addled mind. A hallucination. It wasn't real. It wasn't, was it?
But Jazz is here. And he disappeared from Earth. And now he's here.
And.
What the..
Swerve blurts out something like “sorry-sorry-see-you-later-now-I've got to go” and runs off.
“HEY DOC????”
The autobot, already familiar to him, flinches
“Primus...Swerve? Is something wrong?”
Swerve realizes that everything is about to either make sense or lose it completely.
“Tell me...is it possible to project a holoform...like...very far away?”
The Doctor tilts his head.
“Depends on power consumption. If you channel all the energy available in a frame, you can go very far. But that would send you into a...coma...if you...tried...Swerve, is there anything you'd like to tell me?”
“Doc do you know where Earth is?”
“Wha...no?”
Swerve chuckles nervously and bites his knuckles.
“I don't either. But I think I've been there...”
#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA#OKAY OKAY OKAY I'M FINALLY HERE AND I SWEAR TO GOD I AM IN LOVE WITH IT WITH EVERY INCH OF ME#OKAY OKAY OKAY WHERE TO HOW TO#President is not as important pfffht#Everyone loves Jazz!!! Yes everyone does and now Jazz left PLOT INTERVENING MY FAV MY FAV HERE IT GOES OH GOD#Blurr forgetting names and EXPLANATION TO IT#He forgets everything because of the Mecha he had to pilot and little misses in it and no better be a jerk#I mean it could be used against him so of course#He. Goes in. Saving people. In that burning hell. Every back and forth#His mech is lot built for it but he goes straight in#Oh my god I need a moment to breath#LAST GO AND HIS FACE BURNED. HERE IT GOES#*puts phone down* *gets phone back*#How do I even....#Swerve...#I MAKE SUCH AN UGLY FACE WHEN HE “BECAME TRANSPARENT”#Just flew out of his body#While Blurr was talking#And then APPEARED ON CYBERTRON AS A BOT AHAHAAHH#THIS IS 10000 TIMES BETTER THAN I COULD IMAGINE I AM GOING CRAZY#AN EARTH FAN WHO FANNED SO HARD THAT ENDED UP PROJECTING HIS HOLOGRAM ON EARTH AND GOT INTO COMA#PLEASE I HAVE AN UNBEARABLE UMPUNT OF LOVE FOR THIS TURN#THE TALL OF THESE TWO AHAH#THEN SEEING JAZZ WPFKIFODOSPAPF#oh god I need to sit down again....#AH I SAW THAT BLURR WILL BE ALIVE SO I JUST "YOU WON'T DIE.'#BUT SWERVE IS SURE HE WILL DIE#And he just guilt tripped him before death ahah oh sh and then called him his fav character#SWERVE. SWERVE AHAH HELLO NOW THIS ISN'T A DREAM AHAHAHA#fav
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trans-soapberry · 2 months ago
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I think the Kirby series deserves another anime, but I struggle to identify what exactly I'd want from a new adaptation. The original is what it is, y'know, I don't feel too strongly like it committed any egregious sins against the franchise. Dedede's characterization... I get the need for a Typical Villain and I don't think there were many good characters (then or now) to get for the mix of Comical and Reliable you need for a serialized show (the way Bowser, Eggman, or Team Rocket worked for their series). It's definitely sad to see him have such a wildly different character that weighs him down the way it does, but I can't think of an Easy Fix. And that doesn't even touch on the way Game Dream/Pupupuland and Anime Dream/Pupupuland differ in their setting, or the way any dub would have to find a way to Exist when people are gonna compare it to the 4Kids dub. Love it or hate it, it was Something, and any dub would have to choose if it wanted to take inspiration or go its own way (both with their own risks). And then you contend with the existence of the anime original characters.
Honestly, I'd probably say my ideal pick would be a Remake (I guess in the vein of Adventure/Nightmare in Dreamland or Return To Dreamland/Deluxe type of update?) Keep the basic characters and story roughly the same, probably tweak the setting so it's a bit more game like, and focus on something that feels similar but takes account of the general series progression and works with that (even if not everything in the game gets adapted, at least picking and choosing from what the games offer)
#It's kinda hard to think Abt this just because of like. Idk abt the Kirby animes rep in Japan so I cant really. Say anything Abt that#But 4kids- here and in general- was just such a Cultural... Idk what to call it. It's an Icon but not because it's Good#It's not quite ''so bad it's good'' but it's also deeply flawed on so many levels and ppl get that#But Id confidently say that u can't recapture the absolutely Wild energy they added to things.#Like obv the pokemon anime still went on a got dubbed and was fairly well received. But the way 4kids went about it...#Obviously it would still be popular but. They did Something to the Cultural Reception. And Kirby was Entirely 4Kids#(tho the Kirby 3D thing was post 4kids and captured the energy of the dub bc. It had the actors lol. But also that was a Special Episode#So it's a different ballpark from A New Series)#And also Kirby doesn't have consistent voice acting the way Mario or Sonic does. So for a lot of ppl the 4kids voices are The Voices#And a new series has to chose- do you imitate or even replicated (like with the same VAs if you can get them)? Or do you try to start fresh#Both seem like quite the uphill battle...#And final note I'm only talking a Multi Episode Adaptation as opposed to like. A Movie#Because what the hell would the plot of the movie even be. A serialized adaption can do its own Thing#But Kirby doesn't have the kind of Typical Plot that Mario does. And like IDK what the sonic movies are doing#But from my understanding they don't have the expectation of Eldritch Horror Background that Kirby has. Like#Kirby series you can probably get fans to go ''okay theyre telling their own story'' and throw in subtle hints towards the Lore#Without it being The Plot. Movie you kinda have to commit to ''here is a Singular/Standoit Adventure'' and. Kirby doesn't really#Have an easy one of those. Bc the main villain changes like every damn game. So do you go with Dedede (probably pissing off the fans bc#he isn't even always an Antagonist and you're gonna have to struggle with his Hashtag Character Development)? Do you choose One Game#To adapt and probably cause discourse about whether or not you chose right? Do you make a new villain and make all the fans go#''why not (insert game villain)''? Do you make a few sequels (and then get the same questions about why#Some were picked over the others)? Anyway. Obviously I'm not an expert but I feel like a series has the benefit of not only#Having a less Singular Focus but also being able to fall back on the ''anime is a different universe you figure out how the game lore fits'#Y'know. I don't know where I am anymore but whatever
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jaysbaefie · 1 month ago
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bullshit | sjy
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
synopsis: in which months of mocking jake online comes back to bite you, and he makes sure you regret every single word—on your knees.
genre: idol au
pairing: idol!jake x blogger!reader
warnings: dubcon? bratty!reader, petty!jake, mean!jake, big dick!jake, kidnapping (sort of kind of??), oral (m.rec), cum swallowing, reader grinds down on jake’s shoe, mention of daddy kink (but it’s not used), forced submission, manhandling, titty sucking, marking, begging, degrading. self degradation, rough and unprotected p in v, orgasm denial, overstimulation, light spanking slapping and chocking, creampie, spitting, recording for blackmail purposes. i think that’s it….
wc: 15.1k
a/n: this took a lot more time that i initially thought it would … but it’s here now! this draft has been sitting in my archives for years like literal years. back when i used to write on wattpad for bts i had this plot written for tae but scrapped it because i lacked creativity to make it happen. but here we r ! also side note this is not edited to the best of its abilities so if u c a mistake… im sorry :D hope you enjoy, notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy :)
✎﹏﹏
the dorm door slammed open, the sound of sneakers dragging across the floor echoing behind it. the 7 exhausted boys spilled into the living room, all drained and sweaty from the insane dance practice that had run two hours longer than scheduled. jake collapsed face-first onto the couch, groaning into a throw pillow as he stretches his limbs before he feels a cramp in his leg.
"i think my spine is permanently bent," he mumbled, not moving an inch.
sunghoon flopped onto the floor, using his hoodie as a pillow. "i think i disassociated during 'bite me.'"
"you always disassociate during 'bite me,'" heeseung shot back, tossing a towel at him making sunghoon scowl.
jay, meanwhile, had his phone out, thumb lazily scrolling through twitter as he half-listened to the chaos around him. he was about to put his phone down when a thread caught his eye.
"kpop idols who probably have the smallest dick (a very unserious thread)"
"...oh?" jay blinked, intrigued for all the wrong reasons. a grin formed on his lips as he clicked, the list started off wild.
1. jaehyun nct - idc what y'all say. he screams below average. 2. jeno nct - this is a hater post. cry about it. 3. jake from enhypen - golden retriever energy but gives micro vibes. sorry not sorry.
jay let out a loud, sudden laugh at the description given for jake—catching everyone's attention.
"yo, jake," he wheezed, turning the screen toward him. "look what someone said about you."
jake rolled over lazily, half hazy, "what?"
jay shoved the phone in front of his face. jake read the tweet once, then again. then a third time. his brows furrowed deeper with each pass, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was reading.
"...are you serious right now?"
he sat up, yanking the phone from jay's hand to read it himself. his eyes scanned the username, the post and then the likes. 10k likes for a bullshit post, jake scoffed in disbelief. he scrolled down to read the replies which were full of people either agreeing or arguing like their lives depended on it.
"no because she's right and she should say it louder" one of the comments read, jake furrowed his eyebrows before scowling.
"i love him but... yeah."
"nah he gives big dick energy actually"
"this is so mean LMFAOOO"
jake's mouth opened in shock. "why am i even on this list? what did i do to deserve this? how does someone look at me and go, 'yeah, micro dick.' what the hell?"
jay couldn't stop laughing. "it's so random, too. like. where did they get the data? did they run a poll?"
"this isn't funny!" jake snapped, slapping jay's shoulder with the back of his hand. "i'm being slandered in front of thousands of people. tens of thousands!"
sunoo peeked over jay's shoulder. "ooh. and someone made a follow-up post. wait—found their tumblr. they said he looks like he apologizes after missionary.'" sunoo cackles, "i can totally see that."
jake nearly choked on air, "what?!"
he snatched sunoo's phone this time, heart pounding as he scrolls violently across your twitter page. he followed the breadcrumb trail from twitter to a tumblr blog: @s0ftbrat666.
the header was a blurry photo of a cunty hello kitty, and the bio just said: "unserious about everything but dick size."
"who the hell is this? why do they hate me so bad?"
niki, who had been quietly sipping water from the kitchen, muttered, "maybe they're a fan of yours. like, weirdly obsessed. reverse psychology or something."
"no. this is personal. this feels targeted," jake muttered, already downloading and opening the tumblr app on his phone. "i'm not letting this slide."
he made a new account. he picked the most ironic, absurd username he could think of: @goldenjake420.
because that screams, 'i'm the real jake sim!!'
he messaged you immediately, his hands shaking in rage as he smashes his fingers into the screen.
@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?
"this is so stupid," he muttered, tossing his phone beside him.
jay raised a brow. "you really just dm'd a twitter troll on tumblr?"
"yes. because the truth matters, jay. i do not have a micro dick!" he exclaims, clearly frustrated from his group mates lack of empathy. he looks around the room in hopes of his members reassurance, only to receive looks of disturbance.
"cmon guys, you know i don't have a micro dick.." he trails off when he sees sunoo grimace at his words.
heeseung smirked from the other side of the couch suddenly sitting up right, ignoring his aching body. "you should send a pic to prove it."
jay cackles before agreeing, "yeah, downwards angles always make that shit look like a tower."
"SHUT UP!" jake shouted, face red in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.
the room erupted in laughter as jake sat there fuming, arms crossed, waiting for a response. he had no idea the person he messaged was already rolling their eyes and preparing to block him.
and this was only the beginning.
you were no stranger to the occasional deranged and delusional fan losing their mind over a post. it was social media, not a diplomatic summit. if you said someone's fave had bad fashion sense or gave off weak dick energy, it was bound to stir drama—but you thrived in it.
what you didn't expect, though, was to get a dm from an account called @goldenjake420 claiming to be jake himself. not just a fan defending him. not someone crying in your inbox about how you were "too mean."
no. this person had committed to the bit.
@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?
you blinked at the message, snorted, and sat back in your chair.
"okay..." you muttered under your breath. "we've reached new levels of delusion."
you clicked the profile. no posts. followed no one. default layout. pfp of a blurry golden retriever. and the username?
goldenjake420.
"oh my god," you wheezed. this was peak fandom brainrot.
you stared at the message for a minute, thumbs hovering over your keyboard before you decided, you know what? fine. you wanna play jake sim? let's play.
you typed:
@s0ftbrat666: omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry... i didn't know you had a tumblr account i feel so bad now omg i'll take it down right away thank you for being so mature and respectful about it... ugh i feel terrible lol
you hit send. then burst out laughing, eyes watering as you cackle alone in your room.
and five minutes later, you posted a new post on your blog.
—— post by @s0ftbrat666
just got a dm from someone PRETENDING to be jake sim because they were mad i said he has a micro dick LMAOOO. like babes be serious... jake sim is not on tumblr dot com messaging me with a blurry pic of a golden retriever and the username @/goldenjake420. but since he's here reading my posts, hey jake! if u're mad now wait til u see what i post next
anyway updated my list: "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version" jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes and gifs as evidence. enjoy :] ——
you tagged it: #jake sim #enhypen #pls don't take this seriously #except jake if ur reading this then yeah take it seriously
you sat back and refreshed the notes every few seconds. it was already blowing up. likes, reblogs, someone screaming in the tags: "NOT THE FOOTNOTES."
you were thriving, satisfaction filling you as the comments seemed to hype you up.
unbeknownst to you, somewhere in a dorm across the city, jake was screaming into a pillow.
jake was laying on his stomach, face shoved into a couch cushion, aggressively refreshing your tumblr page like a man on a mission. the first message he sent you hadn't gone exactly how he expected. he thought maybe—maybe—you'd feel a little guilty, take the post down, maybe even apologize. instead, he was met with:
"omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry..."
at first, he blinked. then smiled. you were going to apologize and take it down..great!
okay, he thought, that was easier than expected.
but then he saw the post you had published just a few minute later.
—— "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version." jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes. and gifs. enjoy :] ——
"NO I AM NOT," he yelled into the pillow, voice muffled but full of sheer disbelief.
he rolled over and shot upright, shoving his phone in jay's face. "do you SEE this? i was already called micro dick jake, but now i'm a submissive pillow princess? where is she even getting this from?"
jay looked over the post with a calm expression and said, "well... you did say 'ngl' in a tumblr dm. that's kinda submissive."
"jay."
"i'm just saying."
jake's blood pressure was actively rising. he was pacing the living room now, phone clenched in his fist. "this isn't a joke anymore. she's making footnotes. gifs, bro. there's like a whole academic paper on my dick energy. and worst of all, PEOPLE ARE AGREEING."
sunoo peeked around the corner. "maybe just let it go? like... it's tumblr. no one's gonna remember next week."
"it's twitter too! no. no, she wanted to make it personal. it's personal now."
he went back to tumblr, typing furiously in your dm's.
@goldenjake420: okay first of all?? i was acc being really nice u said some really rude stuff and i still tried to talk to u calmly but now ur doubling down with footnotes?? idk y ur so convinced i'm a submissive pillow princess but ur wrong like so wrong scientifically inaccurate levels of wrong
he hit send. then stared at the screen.
nothing. no response. refresh. refresh.
"error: message could not be delivered."
"...what?" jake frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he desperately tried sending his messages again.
he clicked your profile.
"you've been blocked by this user."
the silence that followed was deafening.
"she blocked me," he whispered, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. "she actually blocked me."
jay cackled from across the room. "maybe now you'll stop fighting the tumblr girl who thinks you're a bottom."
"i'm not a bottom!" jake snapped, defensive. "and i'm definitely not a pillow princess!"
jay peers over jake's shoulder, his face pulls into a grimace as he reads jake's messages. "maybe it's a good thing that those didn't deliver... you're proving her point." jake rolls his eyes in response, not wanting to deal with his friend.
he opened twitter, then paused. was he really about to tweet about this?
he closed the app.
instead, he opened his notes app and started typing:
"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick."
this wasn't over.
if he had to write a dissertation, he would. he was reclaiming his name. one footnote at a time.
you were in bed, face smushed into your pillow, scrolling aimlessly when the tag notification came in. you were about to ignore it—probably another reblog of your cursed "submissive missionary micro dick energy" thread—but the caption caught your eye:
@s0ftbrat666 you need to see this LMAOOO he made a THREAD. a whole thread.
confused but curious, you tapped the post.
and there it was.
a full thread. by a tumblr user named @truthaboutjake, which already gave deranged energy, but it got better.
"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick (a thread)."
you nearly dropped your phone, a giggle leaving you as you excitedly click on the thread.
the first slide was formatted like a presentation. bolded title, bullet points, and an unnecessary amount of spacing like someone had spent way too long formatting it.
—— slide 1: addressing the accusations • the tumblr user @s0ftbrat666 has made multiple posts claiming i am submissive • she has also accused me of having a micro dick • both of these are false, offensive, and based on no real evidence ——
no real evidence, he said. like you were in court.
"what in the deranged.." you muttered to yourself, re-reading the text a second time to make sure you were hallucinating.
you snorted, swiping to the next.
—— slide 2: rebuttal • i've been told i give off dominant energy • no one who owns a denim jacket collection that big can be submissive • as for the size... let's just say i've never received complaints ——
you had to pause there, hand over your mouth, wheezing. "denim jackets radiate peg me," you cackle to yourself.
this wasn't a thread written by a deranged fan. no, this was someone personally offended on a soul level. and the way it was written? the tone? the wording?
it was giving him. it was jake.
no one else would be this pressed.
you laughed so hard you had to sit up.
this man had been so insulted by your dumb, unserious thirst post that he created a whole alternate account, wrote a google-doc-tier thread, and was now trying to clear his name in the notes app format. you were obsessed.
you hit reblog.
—— @s0ftbrat666: i have never in my life witnessed a man fight for his dom rights this hard the denim jacket argument almost had me convinced ngl
jake sim if this is actually you: 1. calm down 2. you're literally proving my point 3. post the evidence since you're so confident ——
the comments came flooding in:
"NOT HIM MAKING A PRESENTATION" "'never received complaints' is CRAZY" "he could've just logged off but now he's in too deep" "@truthaboutjake is shaking"
you weren't done though. oh no.
you clicked the original post again and dm'd @truthaboutjake directly.
@s0ftbrat666: wow a thread? you really sat down and made a powerpoint about your dick this is the best thing that's happened to me all week but you still haven't proven anything so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era i'll wait <33
you hit send with a shit-eating grin.
this was your roman empire now. you were going to be thinking about this thread forever.
jake stared at your message like it physically slapped him.
"so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era"
his jaw dropped.
"e-evidence?!" he sputtered aloud, standing up in the middle of the dorm living room like he'd just been accused of murder.
jay, sitting across the room with earbuds in, pulled one out and glanced up. "what now?"
"she wants evidence."
jay blinked. "like...?"
jake gestured wildly at his phone. "like evidence evidence!"
jay raised both brows before grinning "...so what i said about the downward angle, i'm telling you jake that shit makes it look h—"
"NO!" jake practically yelled. "i'm not sending a picture of my dick to some random troll on tumblr!"
he fumed. typed. deleted. typed again. then, finally, sent:
@truthaboutjake: okay. listen. i'm not sending you a dick pic. i don't care how much you want "evidence" that's weird. this whole thing is weird. i'm literally just trying to correct a false narrative about myself
you saw the message and immediately rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw your brain. you were curled up on your couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, typing with vicious speed.
@s0ftbrat666: omg. are you serious right now?? NO ONE asked for actual dick pics. what the hell is wrong with you. you're literally so deep in this delusion you really think you're jake sim like?? be serious for once you are a grown man on tumblr dot com pretending to be an idol and defending your imaginary dick size this is next level behavior. you need to touch grass and maybe talk to a therapist jake sim would never you are EMBARRASSING yourself rn.
you hit send and sighed, rubbing your temples. it was funny at first but the more you interacted with this person the more brain cells you lost, it shocked you that people would go to such lengths to defend their favs.
this was beyond fandom drama now. this was a case study. and the worst part? you were kind of impressed with how committed he was to the bit. concerned of course, but impressed too.
like... he was spiraling. but passionately.
still. you weren't going to let up. because whoever this man was, he needed to be humbled.
you opened a new post draft and typed:
—— @s0ftbrat666: update: he dm'd me again and accused me of demanding dick pics because i said "evidence"
i rest my case. this is not jake sim. this is some 32-year-old man who unironically uses reddit and thinks being called "submissive" is a slur
log off, drink some water, and go outside before you get a nosebleed from rage
#jake sim #not the real one obviously #this is tumblr not onlyfans relax ——
✎﹏﹏
jake tried to move on.
he really did.
after the dick thread. after being labeled a submissive missionary pillow princess. after the fake fan accusations and being accused of roleplaying as himself—he made the conscious choice to stop checking your blog. he muted your username. closed tumblr for a solid 24 hours. he even turned off his notifs.
he was healing. growing. rebuilding his sanity.
until a member sent him a screenshot.
it was sunghoon.
of course it was sunghoon.
sunghoon: yo y tf she got sm time on her hands icl tho she funny asf
attached was a photo of your newest tumblr post.
jake opened it, eyes squinting. then he saw it.
—— @s0ftbrat666: watched enhypen's most recent stage and i just wanna know WHO chose those pants for jake like bffr. i can see his entire situation
the dick print? front and center. and it's not giving what he thinks it's giving
it's giving: he begged the stylist to let him wear those pants so he could prove me wrong and i'm here to tell you... babe... don't ever do that again.
i'm LAUGHING.
#enhypen #jake sim #pls don't wear tight pants if ur not ready for the scrutiny king #it's not looking good ——
jake froze.
his phone was literally vibrating with how hard he was gripping it.
"she's watching performances now?" he whispered to himself, horrified.
jay looked up from across the room, warily. "...oh god. again?"
"she's analyzing my crotch, jay. she made a post about my dick print."
jay blinked. "that's... new."
"and she said it's 'not giving'!" jake practically screamed, spinning his phone around to show him. "not giving what?! not giving big dick energy?!?!"
jay read it silently, lips twitching. "...it does kind of sound like she thinks you're trying to prove her wrong. which, to be fair, you kinda are." he pauses for a second, "but i thought she deemed you as a deranged fan, does she think that you're actually texting her?"
jake shrugs, "who knows what she's thinking, clearly way to much of this is the shit she posts. also i wasn't even thinking about her when i wore those pants!"
"you literally made a thread defending your dick size last week."
"NOT THE POINT."
jake felt like he was going to combust. it was like every time he clawed his way back to peace, you dropped another post from hell and dragged him back into the pit.
and this time?
this time you targeted his outfit. his styling choices. his crotch visibility. he couldn't even enjoy the stage anymore without wondering if you were out there in a hoodie, behind a screen, zooming in on freeze frames of his pants.
"this is psychological warfare," jake muttered.
sunghoon looked up from his phone, his face annoyed. he was tired of hearing about this, "just block her again."
jake clenched his jaw. "she'll post about it. she'll brag."
he scrolled back up, reading the caption again. and again. his fingers hovered over your username.
he didn't message you. not this time.
instead, he posted on his burner account:
—— @truthaboutjake: some people spend their lives spreading negativity online because they have nothing else going for them. if you spend your free time zooming in on people's bodies just to make fun of them, seek help.
also, the pants looked fire. ——
he hit post. and then, two minutes later he opened the group chat.
jayke: whoever styled me last week. never again. we're going back to loose pants. i'm not doing this with tumblr anymore
✎﹏﹏
jake tried to stay composed. he tried.
but every time he opened tumblr, there you were—lurking in his psyche like a demon with wi-fi.
at first it had been a few jabs, sprinkled here and there between your usual posts about other idols. someone's hair, another's dance move, one guy you kept thirsting over for his "evil smirk" and "long fingers." whatever. jake didn't care.
until suddenly—your entire blog became about him.
not in a cute, stan-like way.
no.
it was relentless.
"jake sim update: still looks like a man who apologizes during sex."
"new era, same micro dick energy."
"his pants looked like they were holding in a lie."
"i know he fumbles the aux every time. just look at him."
your followers ate it up. reblog after reblog. tags like "#he's just so bashable" and "#jake sim slander is self-care" filled the notes.
there were polls. there were graphics.
you made a tier list of idols based on who looked like they cried after sex, and jake was placed right at the top with the caption: "he looks like he'd say 'was that okay?' while tucking his soft dick back in his briefs."
jake was spiraling.
the worst part? you didn't even seem like a hater. you didn't hate him.
you just... targeted him like it was your job. your content was crafted with care. effort. borderline affection.
jay leaned over one afternoon while jake doomscrolled through another one of your polls—this one titled "which idol do you think would last the shortest in bed (no offense)", where jake was winning by 68%.
"you know," jay mused, "i think she actually likes you."
jake looked up, eyes wide with horror as he looks at jay disgusted. "what?"
jay shrugged. "she's obsessed. it's giving weirdly specific attention. enemies-to-lovers coded."
"jay. she made a gifset of my crotch."
"exactly."
jake nearly threw his phone across the room.
it wasn't just slander anymore—it was becoming personal. and the most infuriating part?
you were so sure. so smugly sure.
every post was laced with casual cruelty and the sharp confidence of someone who truly believed they knew him. his vibes. his music taste. his dick size. like you'd studied him and filed a damn report.
and the urge to prove you wrong? it was eating at him.
he'd see one of your posts and get this itch. this slow, simmering burn in his gut. like he had something to prove now. like he wanted to walk up to you and say—
"say that shit again. to my face."
he'd fantasized about it more than once.
cornering you at a fansign, maybe. or catching you backstage if he ever figured out who you were. you with that smug little expression, your arms crossed like you knew everything. and him, leaning in, low and sharp, and making damn sure you knew you were wrong about everything—especially that.
he wasn't even mad anymore. not just mad. he was determined.
this wasn't just tumblr slander. this was a challenge.
and jake sim? he didn't lose.
✎﹏﹏
jake laid in bed, phone hovering above his face, lit only by the blue glow of tumblr's godforsaken app. it was well past 2 a.m., and he'd already scrolled through your entire blog—again.
he told himself it was just to see if you'd posted anything new. which, of course, you had,
but really, he was spiraling.
another post. this one read:
—— @softbrat666: something about jake sim just screams whines when it doesn't slide in all the way like he'd pause mid-thrust to ask if you're okay because he came too fast
he'd definitely say 'but you just feel so good...' as an excuse ——
and the worst part?
jake read every single reply. studied them, even. like they held some kind of twisted insight into how you saw him. how you imagined him. you were building this whole persona of him in your mind and then broadcasting it to thousands of followers like it was gospel. and the most messed up part?
you had just enough accuracy to make it sting.
and yet—you remained anonymous.
faceless. untouchable.
he'd tried to find out who you were. he dug through old posts, clicked your tags, searched your url on twitter and insta.
all he found was:     •    you lived in seoul     •    you were 21     •    you drank too much iced americano     •    and you had audacity in excess
that was it. no selfies. no personal posts. no full name. you were just a sassy username and a collection of jake sim hate posts.
meanwhile, he was a public figure with his whole government face on blast while you dragged him through the mud constantly.
he hated how much he thought about what you looked like.
were you soft and bratty, like your tone suggested? did you smirk when you wrote those captions? were you the type to twirl your hair and say, "what? it's not that deep," while ruining a man's reputation?
he imagined you walking around seoul, laughing with your friends, ordering overpriced coffee with that smug, evil-little-gremlin energy.
he imagined running into you.
he'd play it cool at first—polite, casual, maybe even a little flirty.
watch you ramble. watch you squirm. and when he caught you slipping—maybe when you made some offhand comment about k-pop or tumblr—he'd hit you with it:
"so how's that blog going? still think i'm a submissive pillow princess with a micro dick?"
he rolled onto his side, fuming into his pillow. you lived in his head rent-free and you didn't even know what he looked like at night when he was losing sleep over your bullshit posts.
it was unfair.
you got to stay invisible while he was out here analyzing his own stage outfits to figure out what clip you were gonna slander next.
he scrolled back to that gif set you made of his recent performance. paused on the close-up. the zoom-in.
the goddamn caption: "not jake sim trying to start a dickprint redemption arc. spoiler: it's not working."
his eye twitched.
"this girl is the devil," he muttered.
and yet... he couldn't stop checking. he needed to know what you'd say next.
✎﹏﹏
you wake up to absolute chaos.
your phone is buzzing. not one or two notifications—hundreds. group chats. twitter and tumblr dms. unknown numbers. missed calls. it's like your phone caught fire overnight.
you blink against the morning light, groggy and confused, heart picking up speed. something's wrong. you can feel it. you squint at the screen, drag down your notifications, and the first notification you see makes your stomach drop.
"girl you're trending rn... what did you DO???"
then another.
"is that actually your name???"
your pulse is pounding before you even open twitter. your fingers shake as you type your own @ into the search bar, and the second you hit enter, your breath catches.
it's you.
your name. your photo. your phone number. everything.
someone—no, a group of people—had clearly gone full fbi. they'd taken all your casual, dumb little posts over the years and pieced them together like a fucked-up puzzle.
and now your full name was in a viral thread titled: "this the girl behind the jake sim micro dick blog?"
with a photo of you at a party two months ago, smile beaming.
people were quote-tweeting it with comments like: "she built like someone who'd have beef with jake sim for no reason." "oh she definitely owns a stan twitter burner too." "her blog is my roman empire i need her in therapy immediately."
your blood turned to ice. you were exposed.
fully.
not just as a shitposter but as the jake sim hater. your inbox was flooded—death threats, confessions, apologies, people asking if it was really you. tumblr dms screaming:
"TAKE THE POSTS DOWN BEFORE HE SEES THEM."
too late.
you scrambled to log into tumblr. your hands fumbled across the keys. it took three tries to get your password right.
the second you were in, you did the only thing you could do.
you hit deactivate.
the blog was gone. years of posts. thousands of notes. all of your followers, your drafts, your hate-poll templates.
deleted.
and then the panic really set in.
your hands were trembling. your ears were ringing. and all you could think about was @truthaboutjake, your mind racing. it was him, you realized that it was him.
"he knows. jake sim fucking knows who i am."
and the worst part?
you had no idea what he'd do with it.
✎﹏﹏
jake found out the same way everyone else did—waking up to a string of texts from jay and sunghoon absolutely losing their shit.
jay: bro. check twitter. sunghoon: she got exposed. jay: HER NAME IS OUT LMAOOO jay: bet she's sweating rn sunghoon: she's kinda cute tho
he blinked hard, still groggy, and tapped open the thread that seemed to be trending.
your face stared back at him.
his heart flipped.
you looked... nothing like what he expected. he'd imagined someone smug. cold. maybe with villain bangs and a cigarette habit.
but no—there you were, face flushed in a group photo, laughing mid-sip of iced americano. you looked normal. it almost hurt to admit, but you were pretty.
you looked real.
and now, you were reachable.
he did what anyone would do: searched your name on instagram. he found your linked facebook.
scrolled. scrolled.
paused.
you had your workplace tagged in an old comment.
"juniper bean café - seoul branch."
he stared at it for a long moment. then, very calmly, he stood up, threw on a hoodie, cap, and mask, and left the dorm.
✎﹏﹏
the café was a little tucked away spot with plants hanging from the ceiling and a chalkboard sign outside that said "kiss me, i'm caffeinated."
jake walked in, glancing around. he spotted you immediately, behind the counter, head down as you punched in an order.
he could tell that you had a rough morning, good. your posture was tense. your hair was pulled back messily. your voice was strained. you looked tired, your eyes that seemed so full of life in your leaked photos had disappeared.
he stepped up to the counter. waited. his eyes trailed down your figure, your frame was draped with a loose fitted sweater and some baggy light wash jeans. you wore a black apron, cinching at your waist—allowing his hungry eyes to capture your curves.
you were trying to look invisible. trying not to stand out. but to him—you were glowing with guilt.
he watched you fumble with a stack of napkins, pretending you didn't feel his eyes burning into you. finally you cleared your throat, still not looking up.
"hi, what can i get you?"
he smiled behind his mask, slow and wicked. he pulled it down just enough to speak—voice dripping low, sharp with mocking sweetness.
"you gonna spit in my drink too?" he asked. "or just keep running your mouth somewhere i can't see?"
you froze.
head snapping up. eyes locking with his. and there it was—that flash of horror, recognition, disbelief. it was him.
you had to admit, he was just as if not more handsome in person. your mouth dried up when you watched his lips curl into a smirk and his eye twitch.
your mouth opened. closed. no sound.
"hi," he said, almost sweetly. "miss me?"
you fumbled a reply—something, anything—but he leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter like he had all the time in the world.
"you disappeared fast. what happened? got leaked and lost all your guts or did you burn through all your micro dick material?"
your coworker looked between you both, utterly confused and in awe that jake was standing in front her. you took a breath. straightened your spine. tried to salvage your dignity.
"this is harassment," you muttered.
"this is karma," jake shot back, his smile dark. he twitched in anger, how dare you call this harassment—what about what you had been doing for the last couple of weeks? "i wanted a latte, by the way. no sugar. unless you're finally ready to be sweet to me."
you nearly dropped the milk jug.
he didn't care. he was so amused. you were the girl who wrote entire essays dragging his dickprint and his imagined bedroom habits? you, flushed and stammering behind a café register?
he wanted to laugh. he wanted to lean in closer. he wanted to ruin you back.
and this? this was just the beginning.
your hands were shaking. milk frother sputtering. heart pounding in your chest like it wanted to escape. and he—jake fucking sim—just stood there.
smiling.
smug.
head tilted slightly like he was thrilled by your discomfort. "you gonna make that latte, or you gonna keep fumbling around and glaring at me?" he drawled, voice low and casual.
you gritted your teeth, turned back to the machine, and fumbled through the motions of making the drink. you could feel his eyes on you the entire time—watching, drinking you in like you were the fucking joke.
you finally slid the drink across the counter, trying not to slam it.
"here. now leave."
he didn't move. just sipped slowly, then licked a bit of foam from his lip like it was the most dramatic thing anyone had ever done in a coffee shop.
and then—he leaned forward. elbow on the counter. voice quiet, words slow and deliberate:
"what time do you get off?"
you blinked, "excuse me?"
"your shift. when does it end?"
"why the fuck would i tell you that?"
his smile widened, all teeth now, sharp and smug. "because there's going to be a black car waiting for you outside." he continues, "when you clock out, you're going to get in. and then you're going to follow instructions."
you stared at him, genuinely floored. "are you insane? what the hell are you talking about?"
he tilted his head, mockingly sympathetic. "i get it. you're scared. probably embarrassed." he grins, "but see, that's the thing about defamation—once it's public, i can take legal action. and you've been very public."
your stomach dropped, "you're bluffing."
he shrugged. "wanna bet your savings account on that?"
you opened your mouth. closed it again. because—fuck. he wasn't bluffing. he didn't have to. you'd posted too much. said too much. and now he had your face, your name, your location.
"you can't just—kidnap me," you said, weaker than intended.
he laughed.
"it's not kidnapping if you get in willingly, sweetheart."
then he slid the latte off the counter, turned, and started to walk toward the door. before he left, he glanced back, over his shoulder.
"9 p.m., right?" he called out. "don't be late. i hate being stood up." he grinned, fuck him.
the bell jingled as he left. the door shut behind him.
and you stood there, in your apron and sneakers and sweaty palms, absolutely rattled. what the fuck did you just get yourself into?
✎﹏﹏
9:03 p.m.
you were pacing behind the café. your shift ended three minutes ago, but you hadn't stepped outside yet. you couldn't. your feet felt like bricks. your stomach twisted with anxiety, hands clenched in the pockets of your jeans.
what the fuck am i doing?
you shouldn't go. you know you shouldn't go. this was literally stranger danger 101, except instead of a stranger it was a kpop idol whose dick size you flamed online for weeks.
your brain was screaming at you. your nerves were a warzone. your inner monologue sounded like one long anxiety spiral:
"you're insane." "this is how people get murdered." "he's rich. he could make you disappear and blame it on anxiety meds." "but also... maybe he just wants to talk?" "or maybe he's gonna sue you in person with his scary legal team and laugh while you cry." "or—worse—what if he takes a picture with you and posts it with some shady ass caption like 'finally found her :)' and now you're really cooked?"
your fists clenched tighter.
this was your own fault. you were the one who made that blog. you were the one who said he looked like a pillow princess. you were the one who photoshopped a pacifier into that one fansite photo and captioned it "baby boy can't handle coochie."
and now?
now he knew your name. your face. your shift schedule.
and there it was, waiting on the curb like a horror movie prop—a sleek black car, windows tinted, headlights glowing like eyes.
you stared at it.
and then, finally, took a deep breath and walked towards it.
the back door opened before you could even touch it. you slid inside, hesitating, clutching your bag to your chest like a shield. you looked around the dimly lit interior. leather seats. no jake.
just a stone-faced driver in a black cap.
"um," you said cautiously. "where are we going?"
no response.
you leaned forward slightly. "hello? i just—can you at least tell me if jake is—"
silence.
he kept driving.
great.
you sat back, heart still racing. the lights of the city blurred past the windows. you couldn't even track the direction—you were too jittery to focus. every turn felt like it took you farther from safety.
and god, the silence was suffocating.
you hated it. you hated him.
jake sim and his smug face and his legal threats and the fact that this whole thing was so humiliating.
how the hell did he turn it around on you? curse those people who leaked you.
you were supposed to have the power. the upper hand. you were the one who had thousands of people laughing at his expense. you were the one whose posts got quoted like bible verses on stan twitter.
and now?
now you were alone, in his car, being driven to god knows where because he told you to.
you should've never fucking posted about his dick. you should've stayed anonymous. kept your mouth shut. deleted the pacifier post when it hit 10k notes.
the car slowed. you peeked out the window. it wasn't some mansion, like you feared. wasn't a dungeon either—at least you think so.
it was a private-looking building—modern, sleek, tucked down a quiet alley with a gated entrance. definitely expensive. definitely secluded.
you were dropped off at the curb. the driver didn't say anything—just nodded toward the front door.
you stepped out slowly, phone gripped tight in your hand, ready to fake an emergency call or scream if necessary.
a man, different from the driver, opened the front door. another silent guy in all black gestured for you to follow.
you hesitated, then followed him down a short hallway, up a narrow flight of stairs, until you reached a door with a single number carved into it: 17.
he knocked once, then opened it.
you stepped in—and stopped.
jake was inside.
he was leaning casually against a wall, dressed in all black—hoodie, chain, jeans, hair tousled, like he hadn't even tried and still looked like a good.
he was scrolling on his phone when you entered, then looked up.
and grinned, "hey." he stops, letting his gaze travel down your trembling form, "glad you could make it, hate blogger."
you wanted to punch him. you wanted to turn around and leave. but most of all—you wanted to know what the hell came next.
and by the look on his face?
he was very ready to show you.
room 17 is quiet. too quiet.
you stand near the door, gripping the strap of your bag like it's your last line of defense. jake hasn't moved from his place against the wall, but his eyes haven't left you for a second. he looks too calm. like this is just some casual meetup and not the most batshit confrontation of your entire life.
"you still haven't told me why i'm here," you say finally, voice tight, trying to sound unbothered even though your throat is dry.
he doesn't answer right away. he just studies you, eyes flicking from your clenched fists to your shifting posture to the tiny, almost-invisible tremble in your knees.
then he lets out a soft little chuckle, the kind that feels mean. smug and quiet and condescending.
"you really don't know?" he asks, stepping away from the wall at last. his strides are slow, deliberate, like he knows you won't run—but that you should.
you take a step back automatically, bumping into the door behind you.
"if this is about suing me," you mutter, chin lifting defensively, "you could've just emailed your legal team. this whole drama king act—" "i'm not suing you." he cuts you off, voice calm but sharp. he walks past you and locks the door with a soft click. your stomach flips.
"then what the hell is this?" he turns back to you, expression unreadable, "this is about correction."
you blink, "what?"
"you posted things that were... inaccurate." he steps closer. you press yourself further into the door. "about me. my body. my performance. my preferences." another step. you swear you stop breathing, "so now i'm giving you a chance to see the truth."
you stare up at him, wide-eyed, "you're joking."
"does it look like i'm joking?" he murmurs.
you're momentarily speechless. your brain is whirring, trying to process what's happening. jake sim—international idol, global heartthrob, the man you've memed within an inch of his digital life—has dragged you to a private room to debunk his dick size?
you should laugh, but you can't.
because he's standing too close. because he's looking at you like prey. because his voice is dipped in amusement but his eyes are furious.
"you're out of your mind," you whisper, eyes wide and your jaw slacked.
he shrugs, "maybe."
his hand lifts, knuckles brushing your chin—just enough to make your breath catch.
"but you made this personal. you dragged it out. you turned it into a running gag." he leans down slightly, until your noses are nearly brushing. "and now you're gonna watch what happens when you say shit you can't back up."
your throat works around a swallow. your persona starts to crack.
still—you can't not be a brat.
"so what, you're gonna just pull your dick out like some frat boy in a scandal?" you snort. "you're so mad over a joke, you're—"
"baby," his voice cuts you off again, soft but dangerous.
"a joke is calling me clingy or annoying. a joke is editing me into a pink onesie." he steps even closer, "but accusing me of being a submissive pillow princess with a dick that couldn't break a hymen?" he tilts his head, mocking, "that's slander."
you flush. deeply, "you saw that post?"
"i've seen every post," he says coolly. "and the reblogs. and the tags. and the memes."
you suddenly feel so small. not because he's taller—though he is—but because you'd spent months building this image of jake sim as a joke. a punchline. a target.
and now he's right here. and he's pissed.
"you're really that bothered?" you ask, but your voice is quieter now, unsure. "bothered?" he repeats, almost scoffing. "sweetheart, i was obsessed." his hand lifts again, brushes your hair away from your face, fingers dragging a little too slow behind your ear.
"you don't understand what it's like to be degraded by someone who's too cowardly to even show their face." he pauses, his eyes dropping to your lips, "but i'll show you."
you swallow hard. "so what?" you ask, trying not to waver. "you want me to apologize? to... take it all back? post a formal retraction about your dick?"
he grins. slow and sharp, "nah."
"i want you to see it," he pauses, lets the words sink in. "and then i want to see the look on your face when you realize you were dead fucking wrong."
your mouth opens. no sound comes out. your heart is pounding so fast you think you might throw up. because there's teasing and there's joking and there's flirting with danger—but this? this is crossing the line, and you don't know if you want him to stop.
you laugh, it comes out breathy and nervous and completely unconvincing. "okay," you say, holding your hands up a little, trying to cut the tension with sarcasm, "haha, very funny. you got me. you've officially scared the shit out of me, and if that was your goal, congratulations."
jake just stands there. watching you. expression unreadable, unreadable and dark. you shift on your feet, trying to find a way out of this, trying to reclaim some sense of control.
"look," you continue, "i'll take everything down, okay? every post. every meme. every stupid out-of-pocket caption." you swallow. "i'll issue an apology. hell, i'll write a thread. a whole google doc. whatever you want."
you inch away from the door, toward the side of the room, trying to put some space between you.
"i crossed a line. i get that now." you laugh again, weaker this time. "like—clearly."
jake still doesn't speak, he starts walking.
slow. silent. like a cat with its prey cornered.
your back hits the wall.
"i'll stop posting about you," you rush out, your heart beating frantically when you feel jake's breath fan against your cheek. "seriously. no more degrading content. no more jokes. you win, okay?" his palm hits the wall beside your head with a sharp thud.
you freeze.
he leans in.
"i don't want a fucking apology," he murmurs, voice thick and low, the sound of it making your legs weaken. you try to hold his gaze, but it's hard when he's this close. when you can smell his cologne—clean and warm, like cedar and skin. when you can see the heat in his eyes, the tension in his jaw.
"i want you to look at me," he says, "and admit you were wrong."
"i just did—" "no." his other hand comes up, fingers ghosting your chin, tilting it up. "not because you're scared. not because you think i'm gonna sue your ass. i want you to say it because you know."
you suck in a breath as his fingers graze your throat. not squeezing. not threatening. but claiming, staking a presence.
"you think i'm some submissive little pushover," he whispers, "who just lays there and takes it. soft. boring. harmless."
your heart pounds in your chest so loud you swear it echoes. "you think you own the narrative. that you get to decide who i am, what i'm like in bed, how big my fucking dick is."
you flinch at the way he says it, so vulgar and harsh it shoots straight to your core.
"but the second i show up—" his thumb brushes your bottom lip. "you're quiet. nervous. twitchy. like you already know you were talking out of your ass."
you suck in a shaky breath and try to bite back the heat that's crawling up your neck. "you're insane," you whisper, but there's no bite behind it.
his body is so close now, you can feel the heat radiating off him. he hasn't even touched you properly and you already feel like your knees are going to give.
"what do you want from me?" you ask, voice barely holding together. he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"i want to fuck the lies out of your mouth." his voice is so low, it vibrates down your spine. "i want you to choke on everything you said about me and realize i was never the one being dominated."
you let out a small, shaky sound—and that's when he finally kisses you.
not soft.
not slow.
possessive. like he's claiming what he's owed.
like he's trying to shove every insult back down your throat, one filthy kiss at a time.
your mind blanks the second his mouth claims yours. his tongue pushes past your lips without hesitation, his hand gripping your jaw to keep you right where he wants you, and you feel it deep—too deep. like he's trying to crawl inside your ribcage and brand himself there.
his kiss isn't gentle. it's punishment. all teeth and tongue, your back shoved harder into the wall as he presses against you. his body completely, deliberately dominating yours.
"still think i'm soft?" he growls against your lips when he pulls back, breath ragged, thumb digging into the underside of your chin to keep you looking at him.
you don't answer. you can't.
your mouth is open, panting, lips wet and swollen from how violently he just kissed you. your knees barely hold.
his gaze drops to your mouth. then lower, and lower.
he smirks.
"you look scared," he says, tilting his head slightly. "thought you liked writing filthy shit about me. what happened to all that confidence?"
you swallow hard, still in absolute disbelief, "you're—you're actually insane."
"and you're actually still turned on." his hand drops to your hip, gripping hard, pulling you flush against him—and fuck. he's hard. painfully hard. pressing right against your lower stomach. and he knows you feel it.
your eyes widen. you try to squirm away but there's nowhere to go, your back hits the wall again and his thigh wedges between your legs.
"not so micro now, is it?" he breathes against your neck. you let out a broken sound—half gasp, half groan—and that's when jake loses it.
he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, other hand sliding beneath your shirt, grazing skin and pulling a shocked noise out of you. he doesn't give you room to breathe.
"say it," he growls. "say you were wrong."
you shake your head. still stubborn. still you.
"no?" he scoffs. "fine." his thigh presses harder between your legs, rocking up once. your clit throbbed pathetically at the feeling, it was just enough friction to make your eyes roll back. you try to keep your composure, but he watches your face change—watches your pride falter.
"don't lie to me, baby." his voice drops lower—hungrier. "you're dripping. over the same guy you dragged for months."
you gasp, trying to turn your face away from him, but he leans in again, his nose brushing your cheek.
"you gonna blog about this too?" he whispers. "tell your little followers how jake sim manhandled you and made you eat your words with his cock halfway down your throat?"
you whimper and it disgusts you how fast your body betrays you. how wet you already are. how much you want him to ruin you just to prove you were wrong.
and he can tell.
he sees the shift in your expression. how your resistance is slowly, deliciously, falling apart.
your wrists are still pinned, your breathing uneven, chest rising and falling fast as jake leans in like he owns the air around you.
"i'm done hearing you talk," he mutters, dragging his mouth along your jaw. "i think it's time you showed me just how sorry you really are."
he releases your hands and steps back. you don't move. your legs are trembling, your pride hanging on by a thread.
"on your knees," he says simply.
you scoff, arms folding defensively across your chest, "you can't be serious—"
he tilts his head, "i'm not asking again."
there's no loud threat. no yelling. just the terrifying calm of someone who already knows he's won. you hold your ground—barely. but something about the way he looks down at you, already palming the bulge in his jeans, makes your body respond before your mind does.
you sink, slowly. knees hitting the floor like it's a confession. he watches you with quiet satisfaction, like he's waited for this exact moment.
he had been dreaming about the moment he would get you to himself, on your knees—right where he wanted you.
"look at me," he says, and you do—eyes meeting his as he unzips, the sound ridiculously loud in the silence.
he's already thick in his hand when he pulls it out, and your mouth goes dry. you don't want to admit it, but fuck. it's big. way bigger than you ever gave him credit for. your throat tightens at the sheer weight of it, thick and flushed and veined.
his smirk deepens when he sees the way your eyes drop.
"what was that again?" he mocks, giving himself a slow stroke. "micro?"
you glare up at him, heat crawling up your neck. "i was clearly misinformed."
"say it properly."
you hesitate, his free hand tangles in your hair—firm, but not painful. just enough to tilt your face up toward him.
"say. it."
you grit your teeth, "i was wrong."
"about what?"
you groan. "about your dick. okay? you don't have a micro dick."
he raises an eyebrow, "that all?"
"it's big," you mutter, cheeks burning. "you made your point." he laughs—low and satisfied—and guides your face closer, "not yet."
you gasp when you feel his tip touch your cheek, he grins at your expression—feeling satisfied with your shock. he does a few experimental taps, dragging his length over your lips. you hold in a whine when he smears his pre cum over your bottom lip, almost as if he was applying lipgloss on you.
and then he pushes in.
there's no easing into it—he gives you the thick weight of his cock all at once, making you choke. your hands scrambling to grip his thighs as he holds you there, watching with dark, satisfied eyes.
"look at that," he murmurs. "mouth so full of me you can't even talk shit now." you gag again, but his grip stays steady, fingers flexing against the back of your head as he rocks his hips in slow, controlled thrusts. just enough to make you feel how deep he is and prove how wrong you were.
he could feel how warm your mouth was around him, basking in the feeling of not only pleasure but the satisfaction of shutting you up.
"this what you wanted?" he groans. "to see what i've been hiding in those pants you loved to degrade?"
you can't respond. not when he's using your mouth like a cock sleeve, fucking every insult out of you with a punishing rhythm. spit drips from out of your mouth and onto your chin. tears prick at your eyes and yet—somewhere deep in your gut—you like it.
jake's grip on your hair gets stronger, the pain causing your jaw to slack as you continue to take his brutal pace. you could feel the head of his cock  rub against the back of your throat, the force not strong enough to make you gag but enough to cause a stream of tears to run down your face.
your nose touched his pelvis with every thrust, indicating how deep he was going. "fuck. look at you, __. who knew cock being in your mouth is the only way to shut you up."
you whine at his words, looking up at him with pleading eyes—yet you didn't know what exacting you were begging for. you rub your thighs together in hopes for some temporary relief, the scene so lewd that you could feel yourself gush in your panties—holding in the urge to let your hands wander down to touch yourself.
jake looked down at you with hungry eyes, his lip twitching as his grip in your hair grew tighter with each thrust. he let low moans slip from his mouth every time his dick grazed the back of your throat.
"aren't you a dirty little whore.." jake drawls out, his chest heaving with pleasure when he notices how tightly you have your thighs clenched. "getting all worked up for someone you've publicly shat on for having the least sex appeal."
you moaned around him when suddenly he pushed your thighs apart with his foot, wedging his sneaker between your legs—giving you something to ease up the tension in your core.
you mewl when he pushed against your clit, almost urging you to grind down against him while he used your mouth to his hearts content. slowly, but surely—you allowed yourself to ground yourself against him. it sickened you how desperate you had become in just a span of a few minutes.
jake almost cums when he sees you move your hips, desperate for any kind of friction to relieve you from your throbbing clit.
the familiar feeling in his stomach begins to tighten, his grip on you becoming unforgiving as he loses self control and allows himself to push himself into your mouth as much as he could. his tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly now, a mixture of his cum and your spit dribbling out of your mouth.
"f-fuck," he groans. "m'gonna cum.. you're gonna take it? yeah? take it in that bratty mouth, hm?" jake murmurs to what seems himself just before he combusts in your mouth. you swallowed a chocked moan when you feel his warm cum coat your mouth, gagging around him as he twitches.
jake felt as if he was on cloud 9, his head lulling to the side as he keeps your head planted where it is—ensuring that you swallow what he gave you fully.
when he finally pulls back, cock glistening with your spit and his cum, your jaw aches as you swallow the salty yet sweet taste of his release.  your chest heaving like you've just survived something.
"mouth open and tongue out," he demands. you hesitantly open your mouth, your tongue out as you show him that you swallowed everything.
you whine out desperately when he slides his foot away, leaving you aching again. jake tsk's, "desperate slut."
he crouches down to your level, thumb wiping the corner of your mouth.
"still think i'm a pillow princess?" his voice is a little breathless now. dark and smug. "or you finally ready to admit you don't know shit about me?"
your throat still burns. your lips are swollen, coated in spit and shame, and jake's leaning over you like he's just getting started.
"on your feet."
you hesitate, still panting, still dazed from the way he fucked your mouth like it was owed to him. but something in his voice—firm, expectant—makes you move. your knees tremble as you rise.
jake doesn't give you time to adjust. the second you're upright, he steps in close, hands on your waist, guiding you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.
you're pressed back against the mattress, thighs parted under his hands, still catching your breath from how rough he'd just been with your mouth. but instead of backing down, you do what you do best—deflect.
"look—how about this," you say, voice shaking but holding onto some scrap of cocky defiance. "i'll just say the blog was satire. irony. you know, performance art or something. no one has to know i meant any of it."
jake's expression doesn't change.
"or better yet—i'll make a new post trashing someone else. redirect the attention. easy." you flash a grin that's all teeth. "maybe i'll even throw in a little praise for you. balance it out."
he just blinks at you. slowly.
"you think you're negotiating right now?" his voice is calm, but the grip on your thighs tightens.
you blink. "i mean, i'm trying to be reasonable—"
"reasonable?" he laughs, but there's no humor in it. "you publicly dragged me for weeks. humiliated me. and now that you're caught, you want to rewrite the narrative?"
"i'm offering solutions—" "you're offering bullshit," he snaps, and in a second he's climbing over you, his body slotting between your legs like it was made to be there. "and you think you still have leverage? cute."
your breath hitches. your hands push at his chest, but he grabs your wrists and pins them down again, harder this time—your body arching into him involuntarily.
"here's what's really gonna happen," he says, leaning in, nose brushing yours. "you're gonna try to flip this. act like you're still in control. try to turn the tables on me."
your throat tightens.
"but you won't. because the second you try, i'll remind you who made you beg. who had you gagging on the dick you said didn't exist." his voice drops lower, dangerous. "and then i'll ruin you all over again."
you glare up at him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and defiance."you know what? fine." your voice is sharp, shaky. "you wanna play games? i'll play. let's see how fast you fold when i turn this around."
he raises an eyebrow. "is that right?" you reach down between your bodies—slow, deliberate—wrapping your hand around him. he's still hard. unfairly so. hot and heavy in your palm.
"maybe i was wrong about the size," you murmur, stroking him slow, his breath hitching. "but maybe you really are just a pillow princess. maybe you like being praised more than you like fucking."
his jaw ticks.
you press a kiss to his neck, voice a taunt against his skin. "what happens if i ride you instead? if i make you cum all over yourself."
he freezes.
"what if i write about that next?" you sit up dragging your tongue along the edge of his jaw. "'jake sim—big dick, zero stamina.' think the internet'll love that?"
you think you've got him.
until suddenly—he flips you.
you yelp, back hitting the mattress again as he rips your hand away from his cock and shoves your thighs up around his waist. the shift is fast, dominant, practiced.
"you really thought that'd work?" he's laughing now—mean, breathless, hungry. "thought you'd rile me up and get the upper hand? you forget who tracked you down and got you here in this room." his voice is pure venom now, thick with want. "who had you gagging and drooling on your knees while you fucked yourself on my shoes not even 5 minutes ago?"
his hands expertly yank off your jeans, his thumb hooked around the waistband of your baby pink cotton panties—teasing you. you writhe beneath him, but he doesn't budge—he presses into you, cock sliding between your clothed folds just to tease, just to show you what you don't get to control.
"you wanna test stamina?" he growls. "i'll fuck you 'til that smug little attitude disappears. 'til you're begging me to stop. 'til you're crying and calling me daddy."
you gasp—rage, arousal, panic blending in your gut—but you can't deny the throb between your legs. the way your body betrays your pride.
he feels it too.
his free hand runs up your sweater, your breath shaking as you feel him run his fingers up your stomach and make themselves comfortable on your tits. letting your hands go momentarily, he's yanking your sweater off and throwing it across the room.
"didn't know bratty girls like you wore baby pink. ruffles, lace trim—bows?" he grins, his hands playing with the frills of your bra as you twitch beneath him.
"fuck you," you spat out, voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. jake only smirks, his hand reaching up to pull the straps of your bra down—letting your tits fall out. "oh i will," and with that he's taking one of your nipples hostage in his mouth. his grip on your wrists stays planted, not allowing you to move or struggle against him when he nips at the sensitive skin of your breasts.
he switches from left to right for a few minutes, basking in your whimpers and mewls before he kisses down your stomach. pulling away he's back to being face to face with you, a smug look on his face before he plants a kiss to your jaw. the kiss turns into bites, nipping at your neck and chest as he leaves behind purple splotches.
"maybe you can post the marks i left and then bash me," jake grins against your skin. you roll your eyes in response only for jake to shoot you a look that says: behave.
he moves your underwear to the side, exposing your cunt to his hungry eyes. he runs his thumb through your slit, gathering your slick.
"so wet," he mutters, dragging the head of his cock against your slit. "guess your body knows who's in charge, even if your mouth doesn't." he slams into you—deep, all at once—and you scream.
no teasing now. no easing in. no prepping.
just punishment. just proof. just him, ruining you from the inside out like it's the only way to shut you up.
"gonna make you forget every insult," he grits, hips snapping into yours over and over. "gonna fuck the hate right outta you."
he could feel your velvet walls convulse, sucking him in like a vacuum as he thrusts into you. you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders, back arching, mind blurring. you hate how good it feels. how right.
"gonna ruin you," he whispers, lips at your neck. "and you're gonna thank me for it." his mouth traveling down to your tit to engulf one of your nipples once again.
your body jolts with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping and moans filling the room as you struggle to adjust to his girth.
you're still trembling when jake lifts your chin. his touch is deceptively gentle, but there's nothing soft in his expression. smug. commanding. dangerously patient.
"you still think you were right?" he asks lowly, voice scraping down your spine like velvet over steel. you blink up at him, lips parted, but your throat is dry. no sass now. not with the way your body's still recovering, knees weak, throat raw from every choked sound he pulled from you.
when you don't respond jake stops his movement, his hips go still as he simply stares down at you with a dark look in his eyes.
you were falling apart.
his cock was deep inside you, filling you so completely you couldn't even think straight— but jake wasn't moving. he just held you there, pinned beneath him, wrists trapped against the mattress, his hips grinding slow and mean against yours.
you whimpered, hips twitching up against him helplessly, desperate for more. he smirked down at you, cruel and smug, loving the way your body shook, the way your face twisted in frustration.
"what's wrong?" he murmured mockingly, leaning in so close his lips brushed your ear. "thought you'd be tougher than this."
you rationed with yourself for a moment, were you really going to beg? yes.
you tried to twist your wrists free but his grip only tightened. "please," you gasped out, tears welling in your eyes from how badly you needed to cum. "please, jake, i need it—"
he laughed, low and sharp, and snapped his hips forward once—deep and brutal—making you cry out. but then he stilled again, ignoring your desperate whines.
"you need it?" he repeated, pretending to think. "need my cock? need me to make you cum like the stupid little whore you are?"
your cheeks burned, shame rolling through you, but you nodded frantically.
"say it," he ordered, voice dropping, rough. you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliated, but the words still poured out.
"i need your cock," you sobbed. "please jake, please—i'll do anything, i'll be good, just let me cum—"
he laughed again, so fucking satisfied with himself.
"should've thought about being good before you started running your mouth online," he muttered, dragging his cock slow and deep inside you, making you arch and cry out.
you were shaking now—your whole body burning, every nerve stretched tight and ready to snap.
"you want it that bad?" he asked casually, grinding his hips just enough to make you sob.
"yes," you choked out. "please, jake—please, i need to cum, i can't—"
he grinned wickedly and finally, finally started fucking into you hard—deep, punishing thrusts that made you see stars. your walls clung onto how dick like a suction in attempt to milk him dry.
your moans spilled out loud and wrecked, your whole body bowing off the bed.
"good girl," he murmured darkly, "you're gonna cum when i say. not a second before." you nodded frantically, not trusting yourself to speak without crying. and when he finally, finally leaned down and growled, "cum for me, slut,"
you shattered.
you came so hard you were sobbing, spasming around him, your body giving out completely under his.
jake fucked you through it, laughing under his breath, dragging every last bit of pleasure and humiliation out of you until you were left shaking and gasping for air.
and even then, he wasn't done with you yet. he hadn't cum yet, and at the end of the day that's what you were here for—to be his little cum slut.  you barely had time to breathe—your body still spasming from the orgasm he tore out of you before jake grabbed your hips and pulled you back down onto him, grinding even deeper.
you yelped, broken noises spilling out of your mouth, trying to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.
"no," he snapped, voice sharp and final, one hand locking tight around your waist to keep you from moving. "you don't get to run."
your head lolled back, tears slipping down your cheeks, your body a twitching mess.
"too much," you sobbed, trembling violently.
he laughed—laughed—at your misery.
"too bad," he muttered against your ear. "you're not done." he set a brutal rhythm, fucking into you hard, fast, merciless. your thighs shook, your nails dug into the sheets, your mouth fell open in helpless, gasping cries. you could feel yourself spiraling again—pain and pleasure tangled together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
"you think you're in control?" he grunted, slamming into you harder, making you scream. "you think you can say whatever you want about me and not pay for it?"
your whole body jolted with every thrust, the humiliation making your head spin.
"say it," he growled. "say you were wrong."
you whimpered, stubborn even now, biting down hard on your lip. he slowed down, grinding his cock against your sensitive walls in deep, deliberate circles that made you keen helplessly.
"say it," he repeated, cruel and low, "or i'll edge you until you're fucking crying."
your pride crumbled fast.
"i was wrong," you gasped out, voice cracking. he smirked, hips snapping forward again. "about what?"
you squeezed your eyes shut, shame flooding you. "about—about your dick," you choked out. "i lied, you're big—you're fucking huge—"
he chuckled darkly, like he already knew. "good girl," he breathed, voice dripping with mockery. "what else?"
you shook your head frantically, body jerking with overstimulation. he pulled almost all the way out—your cunt squeezing around nothing— before slamming back in so brutally you cried out.
"what else?" he hissed against your throat.
"i—i'm just a stupid bitch who doesn't know what she's talking about," you sobbed, face burning hot.
he laughed again, so fucking satisfied, so cruel.
"that's right," he murmured. "a stupid little whore who can't stop begging for the cock she said was too small."
you whimpered, broken, humiliated beyond repair. and still—your body clung to him, desperate for more. you realized with a sick twist in your gut that you would do anything—say anything—just to have him fuck you harder.
and jake knew it too.
he leaned down close, mouth brushing yours cruelly.
"beg," he whispered. "beg me to ruin you."
you could barely think. your body was burning, trembling, stretched tight around him— your mind a broken mess of shame and need. and still jake kept fucking you deep, rough, relentless.
his hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, your throat, your jaw—manhandling you like you were nothing more than a toy for him to use.
you whimpered when he grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him.
"beg," he ordered again, voice dark, breathless with lust. "beg me to ruin you, slut."
you shook your head at first, a broken little sob tearing from your throat. he growled low, slammed into you even harder—your back arching, a scream ripping from your lips.
"you don't get to say no," he hissed. "you wanted this." tears streamed down your cheeks, your body trembling violently.
"please," you gasped out, the word slipping before you could even think. "please jake..ruin me, use me. fuck me however you want—"
he laughed, so fucking smug, dragging his cock out slow just to make you whine. "good fucking girl," he murmured. "finally learning your place."
you babbled desperate nonsense, sobbing into the sheets, your pride shattered into dust.and jake fucked you through it all—using you like a fleshlight, pounding into you until your legs gave out, until your voice was wrecked and broken.
"this what you wanted, huh?" he sneered, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a sting. "to get fucked dumb? to get put in your place like the stupid little whore you are?"
you nodded frantically, gasping, sobbing, brain completely mush. "can't even speak anymore," he muttered, mocking. "just a cockdrunk mess." your nails clawed helplessly at the sheets, your cunt squeezing him so tight he groaned.
you felt another orgasm building—sharp, unbearable—but you were too gone to even ask permission. you just sobbed and gasped and let him take everything from you.
"yeah, that's right," he growled, voice thick with pleasure. "cum all over my cock, slut. make a fucking mess."
you shattered, your whole body convulsing around him, screaming his name like a prayer, a curse, a broken confession. and jake fucked you through it, dragging every last bit of your pride and resistance out of you, until there was nothing left but a crying, ruined mess on his cock.
you were shaking. your body was limp, wrecked, trembling under the weight of everything he made you feel.
and jake still wasn't satisfied.
he kept moving, grinding his cock deep inside your overstimulated cunt—mocking every broken sob that fell from your lips.
"what's wrong?" he said, voice dripping with fake sweetness. "too much?"
you could only whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. he grabbed your face again, rough, forcing your glassy eyes to meet his.
"you wanted to run your mouth so bad," he sneered. "now you can fucking thank me." your brain barely processed the words, too fogged with shame and pleasure. he slapped your cheek lightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back.
"say it," he barked. "say thank you."
you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks.
"th-thank you," you stammered, voice barely a whisper.
he smirked, cruel and satisfied.
"louder," he ordered, snapping his hips forward viciously, making you cry out. "thank you!" you sobbed, your voice hoarse and broken.
he chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down your throat, pressing lightly just enough to make your head spin.
"thank me for ruining you," he muttered, rolling his hips slow and deep, dragging another helpless moan from your lips.
your pride was turned into ash, your mind gone.
"thank you for ruining me," you gasped out, shaking uncontrollably, completely destroyed. he groaned, clearly getting off on how ruined you were—your body slack, twitching, drooling, your cunt spasming weakly around him.
"pathetic," he muttered against your ear. "look at you." you could feel how wet and messy everything was—your thighs sticky, the sheets underneath you soaked.
and still—still—he wasn't finished.
"gonna fill you up," he rasped, voice rough with the effort of holding back. "gonna fuck you so full you'll be leaking for days."
you sobbed, the humiliation sinking deeper into your bones.
"please," you whispered, because you didn't know what else to say anymore. he grunted low in his chest, thrusting faster, chasing his release. he could feel that familiar tinge in his stomach, he was close.
"such a good little cumdump," he growled. "just a hole for me to use." you broke again, another weak orgasm rolling through your abused body.
and jake finally spilled inside you—deep, hot, filling you up exactly like he promised.
he didn't pull out immediately. he stayed pressed deep, making sure you felt every drop. when he finally did pull out, you collapsed completely, a ruined, twitching, crying mess.
and jake just chuckled, so fucking smug. running his fingers down your slit before plugging your fluttering hole, making sure that his cum stays in you for as long as it could.
"maybe next time you'll think twice before running your mouth about me," he said, releasing your wrists before he gets off the bed. he left you there, spread open, dripping, humiliated beyond repair.
and you realized with a sick twist of your gut— you liked it.
you fucking loved every humiliating second of it.
✎﹏﹏
your body aches.
not in the romantic, soft-lit, post-orgasm kind of way.
no. it's raw. it's degrading. it's embarrassing.
your legs are trembling so badly you have to lean on the sink just to stay upright. your thighs sticky, sore. your throat dry and stretched thin from the pathetic, wrecked sounds he pulled out of you.
you yank your clothes back on as fast as your shaking hands allow, muttering curses under your breath. you can't even look at yourself in the mirror. because you know what you'll see: the ruined, wrecked version of yourself jake created.
and you hate him.
you hate how smug he looks when you finally stumble back into the room—hair mussed, shirt untucked, standing like he didn't just break you open with nothing but his cock and his fucking mouth. you hate how he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a look that says he's already won.
you hate that he was right.
and you really, really hate that you liked it.
you roll your shoulders back, force yourself to stand straight even if your body is begging you to drop.
"that what you wanted?" you rasp out, voice wrecked and scratchy. "you win. congrats. want a trophy or something?"
jake doesn't say a word. he just watches. calm. amused. smug.
and it pisses you off. burns you alive from the inside.
"you got what you wanted. you ruined my pride," you snarl, stepping closer even though your knees are ready to give. "so what now? supposed to kneel and thank you? beg you to keep ruining me?"
he cocks his head slightly, lips twitching.
you hate how unbothered he looks. you hate it so much it makes you reckless.
"you don't actually believe i meant all that, right?" you spit. "you really think i meant it when i said you're big? when i cried about how good you fucked me?"
you scoff, shaking your head with a cold, sharp laugh.
"you're pathetic. you got played because i moaned a little."
and that's when everything shifts.
because jake steps forward—smooth, controlled—grabbing your jaw so hard you gasp, slamming your back against the wall without even looking like he's trying. his face is inches from yours, breath warm, eyes dark and furious.
"still lying?" he murmurs.
your heart pounds wildly. you try to twist away but his grip on your jaw tightens, bruising.
"you begged for my cock," he hisses, thumb dragging across your trembling bottom lip. "you fucking cried for it. and you're gonna stand there and lie to my face?"
you choke on your words, humiliation pouring down your spine in cold waves.
he laughs bitterly, the sound vibrating low in his chest. "guess you really are as dumb as you look."
you flinch.
and jake leans in closer, voice dropping lower, meaner. "you wanna pretend you're still in control?" he taunts, dragging his fingers down your throat slow, almost tender. "you wanna act like you didn't cum so fucking hard you couldn't even say my name?"
you tremble.
but you don't back down—not yet. pride and fear tangled up, keeping you frozen.
he chuckles darkly.
"fine," he says, voice a low threat. "i'll remind you."
his hand snakes between your thighs, shoving your jeans down again, your underwear dragging with it, baring you completely in seconds. you gasp, struggling—but he's too strong, too fast. he grabs you by the hips, throws you onto the bed like you're weightless.
and then he's on you.
he presses your wrists to the mattress with one hand again, his weight pinning you down, his other hand roughly forcing your legs apart.
you barely have time to gasp before he's inside you again—deep, brutal, fucking the defiance out of you one savage thrust at a time.
you cry out, throat raw. he fucks you like he's furious, every slam of his hips meant to punish. "not so fucking smug now, huh?" he pants against your ear.
you whimper, broken sounds spilling out without permission.
"what happened to all that fake confidence, princess?" he mocks, rolling his hips harder, forcing your body to take every inch. "thought you said you could handle it."
you sob, writhing under him, but he doesn't let up. he leans down, dragging his teeth across your jaw, making you shudder helplessly.
"gonna make you beg again," he growls. "gonna make you say it like you fucking mean it."
you try to shake your head—but you're drowning. he's everywhere. he's everything. and no matter how much you try to cling to your pride, it crumbles between your shaking hands.
you're crying now—humiliated tears streaking down your flushed face—as he pounds into you mercilessly.
"please," you choke out, voice cracking.
he chuckles, cruel and satisfied.
"please what, baby?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to a deep, punishing grind that makes your whole body twitch and seize.
"please," you sob again, shame burning you alive. "please let me cum."
he leans back slightly to look at you—hair a mess, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.
"you don't deserve to cum," he says, voice mocking. "whores who lie don't get rewards."
you whimper, hips stuttering against his, desperate, broken.
"but," he adds slowly, almost lazily, "if you beg real nice... maybe i'll consider it."
you sob harder, pride shattered into dust. and then—you beg.
you beg like a good little whore.
"please, jake," you cry, voice wrecked and hoarse. "i need it—i need to cum—please, please—"
he grins, dark and cruel, and finally—finally—lets you fall apart again, your body convulsing, cunt clenching around him helplessly as he fucks you through the brutal, soul-crushing orgasm. and you barely have a second to breathe before he's moving again—pulling out, grabbing your face in both hands, forcing your mouth open.
"open wide," he orders.
you're so wrecked you don't even think to disobey. you just open—lips trembling, eyes wide and glassy.
and jake leans over—spits straight into your mouth, thick and wet and humiliating.
you gag slightly, tears burning your eyes.
"swallow," he commands sharply.
you do.
you obey without even thinking.
and he smirks—grabbing his phone, flipping open the recording he just made of your pathetic begging, letting you hear it on loop while you lie there ruined, body trembling, throat raw.
he tucks his phone into his pocket, grabs your chin again, forcing you to look up at him. "remember this next time you wanna talk shit," he says, voice low and smug.
he kisses you—mocking and possessive—and leaves you there: used, wrecked, humiliated, and so thoroughly owned that you can't even pretend anymore.
jake sim ruined you and there's no taking it back.
— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!
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apatheticsunday · 3 months ago
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Graveyard Favors
AKA "The Lazarus Pit doesn't exist and Jason Todd crawls out of his grave. Only for a huge, red-eyed dog to escort him to the Ghost King, who apologies for making him a zombie. But, uh, I can kill your murderer for you?" prompt!
(Also known as Grimm!Cujo plays fetch with a Zombie Robin and Danny's just trying to undo a really, really bad clerical error.)
I like the idea of Cujo playing as a sort of Church Grimm, Charon (Ferryman of the Styx River in the Underworld), and Cerberus. He protects graves, guides the dead, and is Danny's personal guard dog to the entrance of the Infinite Realms. There are portals in every graveyard across the Realms because ghosts typically haunt where their bodies are. The King's servants collect the ghosts from Earth graves and safely into the Ghost Zone.
But what happens when a ghost re-enters its original dead body?? Do the servants just... shrug it off, say it's an Earth problem? Or do they do the workplace equivalent of going to the manager? I like the idea that it's actually Danny's fault and he's scrambling to keep it under wraps, to not do any worse of a job than he already is (he's still young for a Ghost King, he's going to make a lot of mistakes early on, right?).
Maybe Danny wasn't paying attention to his paperwork, had been stamping documents with his Royal Seal without really reading it, and Clockwork slipped in an Undead Appeal form in Danny's pile to teach him a lesson. The Appeal is for one Jason Todd-Wayne, located in a small plot in Gotham City.
So, Danny does what any person trying to undo a really bad mistake does. He says, "Don't worry about it, I'm taking care of it!" Except it's literally a human being he reanimated after being dead for several months. He's utterly terrified he's created the first of an unstoppable zombie plague or he's going to Ghost Jail for unknowingly violating the Geneva Convention of the Ghost Zone. Either way, Danny knows he has to handle this himself.
And there's Jason, leaning against a wolf-sized Cujo, at the foot of his grave. He looks... lost. Exhausted, alone. And Danny's like, oh, Hells, I did that. That's my fault. Cujo snuffles worriedly against Jason's face.
"Jason? Jason Todd?" Danny calls out. He wonders belatedly if he should've worn his High King of Infinite Realms attire, but he's still in Tucker's ratty Amity-Uni sweater and ripped jeans. Jason looks up at him from where he's now slouched against Cujo, slowly inching his way closer to the ground.
"I-my name's Danny. I'm-"
"Hospital," Jason rasps, nearly fully on the ground now. And oh, yeah, being freshly undead probably isn't as easy as switching between human and Ghost. Hells, what was he thinking? So, Danny finds himself in the Gotham Hospital waiting room as Jason's being treated and he's sitting there thinking about how to reintroduce himself. He can't be a stuttering, unsure mess when he's admitting to a grave error. Would Jason even believe him? Probably not, right?
That's how Jason Todd wakes up to the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead next to his beside.
Danny admits his mistake, apologizes, and offers a Royal Boon in the form of an unbreakable vow. Anything his zombie needs or wants, the High King will provide. He probably should've expected it when Jason immediately says he wants to murder the Joker, brutally, painfully. Personally.
It's surprisingly easy to sign a Death Warrant.
(Later, after the Joker's prolonged and agonizing death is reported by the Gotham News, Jason asks Danny for money. Danny's like?? I already helped you avenge your murder?? And Jason just guilt-trips the ever-loving shit out of him. You brought me back from the dead a penniless and homeless zombie, you even said you'd provide for me, but now you're takin' it back?? Are you a fuckin' liar?? Danny's like, no, you're right, I'm so, so, so sorry, here's like 20k in Ancient Gold. Cue side-story of Danny unintentionally becoming Jason "Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss" Todd's sugar daddy.)
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raywhitfield92 · 5 months ago
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I might get a lot of hate for this, but I want Helluva Boss to explore the myriad of reasons cis women get abortions. I want it to be explored in a healthy way
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Because I feel in the current climate (especially politically) people don't want to ever think of the possibility that a woman won't want children. Millie isn't happy about this news.
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And I'd absolutely love for Millie to not tell Moxxie she had an abortion, I want her to feel guilty about it and talk to Blitzø about it, worrying that if Moxxie knew he'd hate her.
And I want Blitzø to convince her that because he loves her he would support her no matter what. And when she tells Moxxie he just says "it's your body so it's your choice, but next time let me know so I can help you through this."
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Not all cis women want nor can physically have children. We need to talk about abortion in a much healthier way than the current climate allows.
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Edit to add this:
Okay so while replying to someone it made me think, what if they tied this in to Stella's backstory? Very early on we see that Stella seems kind of distant towards Octavia.
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If Stella is a woman who was forced to have a child when she didn't want one, her personality towards Stolas and Octavia becomes more apparent.
She spends more time with her brother than with Octavia.
she even calls her "an egg"
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and "his daughter" instead of ever calling her Octavia or even her own daughter.
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This could be a good way to explore how a person who was forced into a mothering role could act, and explains her distaste for Stolas' strength of actually doing something against the Ars Goetias authority.
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Stella in this moment sees Octavia crying, but if we look at her eyes closely she isn't watching the television, she's looking at Octavia and smiling at the fact she's in pain.
Stella thinks she's proven here that it's impossible/was impossible to ever go against the status quo, that her wishes of ever disobeying the Goetia is futile and she's proven to Stolas and Octavia that it was always impossible.
I think a plot like this could really help the audience understand childfree people from a different perspective, and what  could happen if you force a person who wishes to be childfree to have a child.
She could even have been mentally unwell/unstable after/before giving birth, which effects how she reacts towards people.
We as a society need to stop pressuring people into doing things our grandparents did just because it's what is expected of you.
This whole show is about generational trauma and breaking free from it, so I can see the show going this direction if it chooses to.
What do you think of this idea, and of it tying into a possible Stella backstory?
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