#because that is a VERY REAL fear he holds and he even expresses it verbally

[scramblecat]

okay scramble’s gonna get a lil unhinged with this one. But I already wrote it out for a server and all I gotta do is copy and paste SO:

About the Narrator and his Fears

[Putting it under a cut because it is. REALLY long as in like 700+ words long]

The Narrator is usually really good at keeping his composure when it comes to negative emotions, I feel like. He expresses happiness and excitement often enough, but the only times he cries (as in, voice audibly breaking) are the Zending and the Real Person ending.

So he’s shown to be distraught before. But panic? Full-on panic? There’s also only two instances where this happens, and that’s in the Skip Button Ending, and interestingly, the second time you go to the expo.

Now, the skip button ending is completely understandable. He’s being faced with the idea of being completely and utterly isolated for the foreseeable future, over and over and over again, getting longer and longer each time. Anyone would be afraid if they were in that position. At its surface, it’s a completely rational fear from the get-go.

But the expo? It’s… odd. He goes into the achievement room prepared to pop off with his whole ‘it doesn’t work YET’ thing, and then it does.

In the expo, it’s different. It’s not a high stakes situation, not by any means. But when the achievement machine works against all of the Narrator’s expectations, he panics. But not just in like an ‘ah uhm this is definitely what I meant to happen aha!’ way.

It takes him a moment to realize, but he verbalizes his train of thought, so we know exactly when he does.

The machine didn’t work before —> the Narrator didn’t do anything to it to fix it (implying that he didn’t have any sort of solution for it yet) —> it’s fixed anyways and he doesn’t know how —> someone else might have that knowledge —> there’s someone else here.

And that is the moment where he starts to panic. He sounds almost faint when he talks next, and he has to verbally tell himself to keep his composure— something we’ve never, ever heard him do before.

His breathing gets audibly strangled as he tries to finish his whole pitch, telling Stanley that everything is working as intended to cover up the anxiety he’s feeling. But he stumbles through it, and he finishes it with telling himself to breathe, to regulate the panic.

He straight up has like. A whole anxiety attack in front of us. It’s so UNLIKE him to be that afraid, and that REALLY makes it a moment that stands out.

There IS something that links the Skip Button and the Achievement Machine together— and that is CONTROL. Or, rather, lack thereof.

In the Skip Button Ending, yes, he’s scared of being alone. He makes many discoveries about his thought processes and how he works in that solitude, and realizes that talking isn’t his main purpose— it’s telling a story. Telling a story TO someone. He doesn’t feel like he has a purpose otherwise. And that’s the big root of the isolation part.

But otherwise? He spends the first few skips desperately looking for a way out. He panics when he can’t touch the room around him, when he realizes he’s trapped, and that he can’t do anything about it. He’s lost his control.

And it’s the same thing with the achievement machine. He THINKS he has complete control over the Parable and its contents. He really does. And then, something— or someone— fixes the machine for him. And all at once, his perception of what he can control comes absolutely crashing down on him. In that moment, he’s having a LOT of huge realizations:

He doesn’t have the control he thinks he does

He doesn’t know how much control he actually HAS, and it could be NONE

He and Stanley are not alone in the Parable, and are being watched

Whatever being is watching them has more power than he does, and could very well strip all of his control away from him

These realizations— that last one especially— are fucking terrifying to him!

The Narrator is obsessive about maintaining control over the events that transpire in HIS PARABLE, and the only times he shows negative emotions are when he cannot control a situation. It most often presents itself in annoyance at the very least, or a complete breakdown at its worst. And it’s all because he needs that control. He’s fearful of the idea that he can’t control a situation, because it makes him feel helpless and weak. He’s USED to having control, and when it’s taken away from him, he has no idea what to do.

He’s desperately trying to keep up this facade of ‘this is all fine and working as intended’ in front of Stanley after Stanley gets the achievement, even though it’s clear that he’s barely holding it together. His entire perception of his own control has collapsed in on itself, and has given in to one of his worst fears. And he’s really, really shaken up by it.

The Narrator’s greatest fear has been shown to be a lack of control. It’s quickly followed by the fear of isolation, obviously, but the fear of helplessness/weakness is present all through the games.

And THAT, folks, is why the Narrator freaks out in one (1) ending that nobody ever talks about!

[magicaldragons]

order in the court!

a ryu si-o analysis

in view of the upcoming episode today, we're going to do a mini-deep-dive on ryu si-o, so grab a snack, a glass of water, get comfortable, and buckle in:

now, we'll be looking at his psychology based on what we know about him for sure + byeon woo seok's portreyal of the character

1. emotions

we can see throughout the whole series that ryu si-o is someone who 'talks' through his body and actions. his words are too straightforward and candid. he keeps his sentences to the point and includes many quotes from his childhood, which implies that he doesn't plan his words or think too much about subtext or manipulation through speaking, his words are just a means of communication to him. his real mode of expression is through his body language.

obviously, since his childhood, any expression of emotion which didn't show authority, or control would cause more harm than anything – meaning that anger is probably the only emotion he would never have had to hide, and he would've actively practiced seeming confident in all situations. We see his body language in public always coming off as very condescending: his stance, his posture, etc. and we know it's a practiced behaviour, because he sheds all these actions when he's by himself at home.

Publically, we see si-o mostly express anger/disapproval + his classic, almost devious smile he has around most strangers.

the only other emotion we've seen him express publically is: his fondness for nam-soon.

his only experience of friendship was through this boy, binbin, who made sacrifices for him and was probably present during his darkest times, including when they decided to runaway.

receiving that type of love, as a child, especially from someone he would have considered an equal, would have definitely impacted his views on allowing himself to receive love and knowing what it feels like. he clearly doesn't shy away from the vulnerability of the emotion, or the warmth of it, because i don't think he's ever personally seen it as a weakness. rather, he's seen it as something that gave him strength in a place that held him down.

and because he knows what it feels like to receive that sort of warmth, he definitely had no problem giving it to nam-soon.

we know that his feelings for her have developed from viewing her as the 'perfect weapon', and wanting to use her because it's so clear that, while he seems persistent in trying to keep nam-soon on his side, he wants her to choose him for exactly who he. he would truly tell/give her anything she asked for, even at cost to himself.

a man who saw her as a 'means to a goal' would have no trouble using force at any point, or treating her recklessly, but you see the care he holds for her and his instinct to protect her, even from himself.

at the same time though, because of his training, and maybe because of an experience we might find out about later, he knows logically, that relationships are pressure points that can be targeted. so it's definitely something he consciously chooses to display, and nam-soon's strength probably helped him be less hesitant in making his feelings for her obvious.

again, his expression of his affection is mostly proved through his body language, in his gaze, and how badly he wants to be relied upon to provide for her, because it's the only type of love that he knows: to need someone. Or rather, to be needed. verbally, he's very direct in his statement of emotions, as if he loses nothing to reveal them, and this shows that he does not associate expressing emotions like affection, interest, or even rejection with embarassment, which makes sense considering: nothing is truly embarrassing when you’ve spent almost every day of your life trying to be useful enough to be kept alive, which leads us to our final emotion:

fear, the one he holds the closest to himself.

it transforms him instantly, and brings back the ten year old version of himself.

we see his hands almost shaking when he goes to take a call from his contact in the mafia, and it means so much that he has such a tight lid on the rest of his emotions but cannot control this specific visceral fear he feels.

simultaneously, he views them as a type of parental figure, regardless of the damage they've done, and thinks of going against them as "rebelling" rather than escaping, which i also think has something to do with the outcome of his escape attempt in childhood.

fear is also the emotion he keeps the most guarded, because to reveal it, means death, quite literally.

he's very careful to put his mask back in place, everytime, and it's very clear if you look closely that the emotion fueling all his acts of violence comes directly from a place of fear.

the one time we've seen him show that side of himself, is to nam-soon unsurprisingly.

it proves how intuitively he had come to trust her, almost as if she were loyal to only him, and part of his mini-mafia – which is definitely a type of "with me or against me" mindset that's developed within him throughout all his years in the mafia.

[why-are-you-still-awake]

Irrational fear | Sasuke x reader

CW: Emetophobia

no use of y/n

Anyone else have a fear of throwing up? …………………………………………………

You had gone out with friends and ate something bad because suddenly saliva was collecting in your mouth like you were going to throw up and this immediately freaked you out. You swallowed several times to try and prevent the inevitable but it was no use. You suddenly stood up and dashed to the bathroom not even bothering to tell your boyfriend, Sasuke where you were going.

“Hey!” He said standing up and following you. “Are you okay?” You didn’t acknowledge him before rushing into the bathroom and kneeling down over the toilet, tears staining your face. Puking always made you panic, the feeling, the taste, it was all very overwhelming. Sasuke stood in the doorway before fully coming into the bathroom with you.

He knelt down beside you. “Hey…..what’s wrong?” He sounded slightly concerned which was out of character for your boyfriend.

“I-“ you managed to stutter out before gripping the side of the toilet, fearing the worst, even if it was irrational it always felt very real in the moment. Almost like you were going to die. “I- I feel like I’m going to throw up….” You mutter out, tears dripping down your cheeks.

Sasuke sighs, gently pulling your hair out of your face out having been through this routine with you before. Something happens that makes you feel sick, you start panicking about the possibility of throwing up and inevitably puking your guts out and being fine.

“Try to breathe.” He said with a neutral expression with a glint of concern in his eyes “Even if it’s slow.”

“It’s better to get it out of your body.”

“I-I know but…” you say quietly, saliva dripping from your mouth. You cut yourself off, attempting to take a deep breath only to make yourself gag. You knew it was going to happen but you still tried to avoid it, you put your hand over your mouth even if it was futile. Sasuke gently but firmly grabs your wrist and takes it away from your mouth.

“You know you have to, it’s the only way to feel better.” Sasuke stated calmly.

You nod concededly , resting your head on the edge of the toilet before throwing up violently with Sasuke holding your hair out of the way. When you’re finished puking, Sasuke wipes your face with a paper towel before looking at your with those dark eyes of his asking if you’re okay without verbalizing it.

You nod weakly, finally letting out a sigh of relief that it’s over. You sit on the floor suddenly remembering your surroundings feeling absolutely horrified that you just left your friends without explanation. Sasuke can sense your turmoil and uses his fingers to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It’s alright, you don’t need to explain yourself to anyone.”

He stands up and offers his hand to help you up as well, you take it and readjust your clothes feeling embarrassed for what happened.

“I’m sorry…” you say quietly, Sasuke waves the apology off dismissively

“Don’t be.”

“But-“

“I already said don’t be.”

You nod and smile, both of you walking back out into the restaurant and sitting back down at the table with your friends.

“Are you okay, dattebayo? Naruto asked, concern lacing his tone

“Yeah, I’m fine, just something I ate.” You nod reassuringly

The rest of your friends drop the topic before going back to eating.

“See?” Sasuke whispered to you

“I guess you’re right.”

“I’ll help you fight this fear….” Sasuke muttered, so you could just barely hear him

“What?”

“Nothing.” He said with a small smile, resting his hand on yours

Maybe you could get over this phobia

………………………………… A/n: i didn’t put this through grammarly or had it proofread so it could possibly entirely suck. But I hoped you enjoyed it.

Love, Rei <3

Do not repost

[sinisterexaggerator]

I haven't asked you some Jango stuff yet and idk why. But I know you can do him so good because of the many plots/thots/thoughts we've talked about everywhere, so if you can...

Say Jango and Bane got into a real nasty argument which included guns be pointed at each other but ended up walking away to cool off. Who makes the first move? And how will it pan out?

Warning: NSFW. Smut talk.

Oh, good question. This requires me explaining their dynamic a bit as far as ideas for my fic.

Jango would be Bane’s mentor as was canon. Nothing else is known about them working together or even associating with each other except at some point Bane says “he owed Jango a few favors” regarding Boba, and Hondo mentions in “Secrets of the Bounty Hunters” that he had many adventures with Jango Fett and Cad Bane, among others.

Thinking about their place on the GFFA timeline, they most likely interacted BEFORE Jango created his clone army, and even sometime afterward before the Clone Wars as it was mentioned Boba KNEW who Cad Bane was and desired to work with him on a job in the comics.

To that end, both were near the same age, though if my calculations are correct, Jango is older. Considering how hotheaded Cad Bane is, I assume that in his youth he was even worse.

I see Bane picking fights after one too many drinks, letting the insults fly, and drawing his weapon for no reason other than to intimidate someone. I see others coaxing him to stand down, either verbally or by force, or perhaps Jango has a secret weapon or two up his sleeve that is noted to work nearly every time.

I imagine Bane to be a bit of a brat in this era. Hard to train, hard to control, but also capable of holding his own. Jango saw potential. It may have been he took him under his wing once they worked together, or perhaps they were in direct competition with one another and Fett decided that instead of being enemies, he wanted a partner, or an equal, as what he saw in Bane was the equivalent of the “mentee” being able to one day surpass the “master.”

At this point, Jango didn’t have a son. We know he has that gene, the one that desperately needs and wants to be a father, apparently. He may have used this drive to mentor Cad, but of course there are definitely times they do not get along.

For one thing, I don’t see it working out in the end between them, one of the MANY REASONS BEING THEY ARE TOO MUCH ALIKE.

Both are sort of stoic by nature, have a hot temper, will do anything the job takes, and have few scruples when it comes to what they will or will not do for credits. We might say Jango is more driven by his hatred for the Jedi, but as a Jedi hunter, Bane has inherited some of this disdain.

Anyway, I digress. The point is they are both stubborn. They both rarely talk about their feelings. They both march to the beat of their own drum, and they both are excellent at what they do.

My interpretation of their relationship would dictate Jango being the one to make the first move after having a terrible argument. Maybe Bane wasn’t sure Jango wouldn’t shoot him, and that made him feel things. I’m writing him as being a bit sensitive overall, but also so obstinate he would sulk and keep his head down after being scolded well enough that he decides to mope off by his lonesome. Of course, this is outwardly expressed as anger though deep down he is hurt.

His person yelled at him. Not only that, Jango at this point in time, is a better bounty hunter than Bane, although one day he may surpass him as I mentioned, and technically he does as he goes up against many Jedi and doesn’t get his head cut off. ;D But, in this instance, he may very well be cautious of him. I wouldn’t say afraid, though there are times he feels fear in the moment, but he also holds a kind of love in his heart for the “old man” though it may never be expressed verbally and instead shown through actions.

I imagine Jango would sit alone, contemplate, and sigh. After some time has passed and he’s cooled off, he would go to Bane knowing the boy rather die than come crawling back. Bane would make it a point to avoid him or stay out of his way until he made it clear he wanted to speak to him again, or make up. In the end, Bane didn’t want to fight him. He wanted them to reconcile as much as Jango did.

I see Jango taking the lead, maybe stroking the side of his face with the back of his hand. Maybe he tips his hat up by the edge to better see his eyes. Bane would stay solemn and wait.

“Cad. Look at me.”

And he would. When in the mood, Bane would do anything that Jango asked of him. This is after he’s attached and before their falling out ( >D ).

Maybe Bane nuzzles his cheek into the man’s hand, or shows some other sort of affection once Jango shows him it's all right, either by a look, or by lifting his chin up or some other small gesture. I assume his eyes are full of apprehension and he remains on guard just in case.

Jango says a few words about how he was wrong, or that he’s sorry he got carried away. Bane believes him, though this may have happened many, many times. He’s receptive to whatever Jango offers him – a kiss, a stroke to his wrist, a pat on the belly, or sharing a drink. In the end they probably fuck nasty to make up, and Bane’s the catcher while biting into the pillow at Fett’s mercy. That, or he rides him while Jango watches the way his fangs gnaw into his lip, or the way he stares ruthlessly into his eyes without once breaking eye contact.

“That’s a good boy, you do know how to listen. If only you were always so well behaved.”

Bane definitely bites back what he wants to say as he’s too busy trying not to cum, drunk off Jango’s dick as he drives it home doggy style nice and slow, let's say.

If he did manage a word or two it’s probably: “Fuck off, Fett.”

Most likely Jango just smiles, not bothering to address him any further. He's content to watch, or to run his hand down the length of Bane's back and the curve of his waist as he brings him to a peak.

[oc-poll-times]

🌼🌵🌟☁️ Kisaragi! 🍂🍃 Miranda! 🌱💐⚡💧 Velvet! 🍂🌼🌸🌈 Emmit and Ismit 🥺

Answer or skip whichever you like! (and i vanish under the cover of night)

Hi I took screenshots of the other 3 and I'm gonna give them their own posts!!!! I like talking about these guys a lot, so I don't want this one to get too long c:

ALSO YIPPEE CONTESTANTS THAT ARE STILL ALIVE LETS GOOO Kisaragi first!

🌼- What's your favorite thing about this oc?

Real quick can i just say I love how often people have been asking this one 🥺 I have so much love in my heart

I love how wholeheartedly genuine they are!! If they love you they will do everything in their power to show it. If they don't like you they will do whatever they can to keep you away from the people they love if they fear you are a danger to them. They WILL not hesitate to kill, but 99% of the time they're so kind that it doesn't usually get to that point. There's a lot of people defending them out there :)

🌵- How does this oc feel about physical affection?

It's the best!!! Something about a good hug, holding hands, a hand on a shoulder, sitting together, it's all so so lovely to be so close to someone and know they want you around! Kisaragi is INCREDIBLY physically affectionate! They will refrain if they can tell their affections are not something the other person is comfortable with, but they Will be bouncing around to resist the temptation

🌟- Is this oc good at expressing themself through words or do they have to use other means?

This one's a little tricky! Most people would assume through their experiences with the conductor that they're exceptionally skilled at both physical and verbal expression, but that's because they and their brother share a body when the train is in motion. Their brother, Trax, is the more verbally refined one, and often pushes himself to the front when he can tell that Kisaragi is having trouble figuring out what to say. When it comes to encouragements, though, it's the other way around! Trax has a hard time thinking of ways to compliment and encourage people that isn't just the same phrase over and over, while Kisaragi could talk about anyone for hours. They work together!

If neither of them can find the words, it's usually Kisaragi that shows expression through action :)

☁️- What is this oc's clothing style like?

Kisaragi LOVES their conductors uniform, even if it isn't a real one. Because Trax is a Guardian Spirit and the two merge when the train is active, Kisaragi also gained a few of Trax's powers, and that included the ability to change their appearance! They designed their conductors uniform themself :) they're very proud of it :) I think they'd also like skirts! Anything long and swooshy <3

[cockatrice-writers-guild]

LOVESTORY - Chp 4

why don’t you pick on someone your own…never mind

warnings: swearing, harsh language, it’s a bullying scene so yeah

Thaddeus actually kept his word about seeing me the next day. And not just during class. He sat with me at lunch again. And he did so the day after that. And the day after that. And the day af- you get the idea. The first few times he ate with me, he asked if I wanted him to leave and I always said (shook my head) no. He stopped asking after a while.

By the end of the first week, Thaddeus figured out I responded better to Yes or No questions than ones that required verbal responses. By the end of the fifth, he’d managed to loosely interpret my nods, head shakes, expressions and gestures and we’d hold conversations that, to the other students, probably made Thaddeus look…kinda weird, to say the least. I felt bad for putting him through all that but he didn’t seem to mind.

The only real problem with this system was that there was just no way to answer some questions nonverbally. Thaddeus could ask me what my favourite colour was (turquoise) and then list them until he got it right and then I’d cock my head to the side or point at him to ask him what his was (black) but he couldn’t ask me anything really specific. I also couldn’t ask him my own questions like, the most prominent one in my mind, if we were friends or not. Sure, he willingly ate with me every day (which I was really grateful for) and seemed to actually like hanging out with me for some reason but after not having friends in so long, I grew pretty cynical almost in self-defence.  

Yet every day, he continued to sit with me and when he left, he always reassured me that he’d see me later. At one point, I even started to wonder if he had some kind of ulterior motive but ultimately wrote off that theory after I genuinely couldn’t think of a single thing someone could get out of sitting with me (maybe brownie points but other people would actually have to care about me for that to work).

Sometimes he’d talk about himself or tell stories. Sometimes he’s ask me things. Sometimes he’d rant. Sometimes we’d eat in silence and that was fine too. I got more and more used to him with each passing day. I enjoyed his company. He was fun to be around. He listened to me (to the best of his abilities) and never forced me to say anything. A few days ago, I even managed to smile at him, a genuine one too. He looked ecstatic.

I’d eavesdropped on some people talking right in front of me (being the Quiet Kid had some perks) and found out that not many people seemed to like Thaddeus. I think this was because Thaddeus liked to mess with people, including me sometimes. It was never harmful or mean spirited, though occasionally he pulled off a large-scale prank just for kicks. In spite of all that, Thaddeus was actually a pretty nice person once you got to know him and I did since, thanks to the circumstances, he did most (all) of the talking.

He didn’t seem to care about his reputation all that much either. My case for this is 1, his clothes and 2, the fact that he ate with me every day. One time, he caught some of the other students staring and flipped them off. Just straight up showed them the bird. Like dang, dude. It worked, though. The stares reduced after that. My fear of velkis reduced over time too (from running away from them to being as scared of them as I was of people my size. Progress!) thanks to Thaddeus and the constant exposure to other velkis.

I’d been attending this school for about 3 months now. School work had gotten pretty manageable after I got used to the way my new teachers taught. I’d even managed to talk to Mrs. Bennett earlier today to tell her about my condition. Though by ‘talk’ I mean ‘write’. Still, it was a step in the right direction and Mrs. Bennett had been very understanding.

All in all, things were going surprisingly well for me. Or at least that’s what I would have told you if you’d asked me like 10 minutes ago. Now though, as I sat on the floor watching two of my human classmates shake the contents out of my bag and laugh, I would have said otherwise.  

See, the meeting with Mrs. Bennett had gone on much longer than either of us had anticipated and the hallways were mostly empty by the time I finally left. I had been on my way home, blissfully optimistic for once, when I was stopped by Tweedledee and Tweedledum, also known as Tobias and Damien. We shared one class but had never even looked at each other before this. They’d approached me, tried to goad me into saying something, called me names, and when that didn’t work, they pushed me to the ground. My face had reflexively tensed up with the stress as it always did in situations like this and now they were just seeing how far they could go before I said something or even reacted. Weirdly enough, Tobias didn’t even seem to be that into it. He wasn’t smiling like Damian was. And he kept looking at me.

I was starting to wonder if they were prepared to commit theft just to see if I would react when I felt faint tremors approaching. Velki steps. In the past few weeks, I’d grown more or less accustomed to the literal earthquakes velkis unknowingly caused so at least I had that going for me, I guess. The boys looked up from their assault on my bag and a few seconds later, a velki turned the corner and started walking our way. I, like the young fool I was, found myself thinking that the cavalry was here. Surely this man wouldn’t let such an outrage go unresolved. Surely there was still some justice left in this world.

He walked up to us, spared us a passing glance and kept walking.

Dude.

The Wonder Twins went back to shaking my bag and I went back to watching one of my pens roll across the floor while screaming internally. At least things couldn’t get any worse.

And that’s when I felt the tears coming on.

No. No no no. I was not going to cry in front of these people. That would be giving them what they wanted. I had to hold it in. I…felt the tears start forming and looked up to prevent them from falling. It was only a temporary solution though. And the hopelessness of the situation made the tears form faster. I wanted to run but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t wipe the tears either. That would draw T&D’s attention to me. So I just sat there. They’d get bored eventually, right?

I felt the tremors of another approaching velki but didn’t even bother getting my hopes up this time. Help wasn’t coming. I had to get through this on my own.

I was still trying to hold my tears in using gravity as the next velki walked towards us. Which is why I made direct eye contact with Thaddeus as he came to a stop behind me.

We stared at each other for a few seconds. Then he crouched down. By this point, the boys had stopped torturing my bag and were now looking up at Thaddeus with a mixture of shock and outrage painted in varying degrees on each of their faces.

“Damian,” Thaddeus said. There was a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Damian didn’t share the sentiment. His voice was flat when he spoke. “What do you want, Kayne?”

These two knew each other?

“Who’s the new guy?” Thaddeus asked, looking curiously at Tobias.

Thaddeus knew Damian but not Tobias? How? They were always together.

“None of your business,” Damien hissed. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Thaddeus looked like he was thinking about it. Then he just shrugged. “Nope.”

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“Isn’t it enough to just want to check up on my bestest pal from time to time?”

Damien narrowed his eyes. “We are not friends.”

The tension in the air was palpable but I had no idea what was happening.

Then Thaddeus turned to me.

“Sy!” he exclaimed excitedly, as if he’d only noticed me now. I turned to him and Thaddeus stared intently at me for several seconds. I’m…pretty sure he was trying to tell me something with his eyes. More staring. One of his eyebrows twitched. Yup, that’s definitely what was happening here. I tried to give him a meaningful look back, one that meant ‘I have no idea what you just said’ and he gave me a small nod. The only thing I got out of that entire conversation was that neither of us could read eyes.

Then he reached for me with his hand. Oh. Before I even knew what was happening, his fingers wrapped around me with a surprising amount of gentleness and the ground fell away.

Thaddeus was carrying me. With his hand. He was lifting me off the ground. Effortlessly. With his hand. This was the first time I’d even been picked up by a velki in my entire life and the warmth and the slight twitching of his fingers and the fact that he could effortlessly kill me if he wanted to was just a tad bit overwhelming. I buried the thoughts as best as I could and tried to calm my racing heart. This was Thaddeus. He wouldn’t do that.

I was lifted higher and higher until I found myself staring right into one of Thaddeus’ eyes. I gulped. Sure, I was used to velkis by now but there were some things I still wasn’t quite prepared for yet, like being held so close to a velki’s eye that I could see my own reflection in it while also being suspended millions of feet in the air. Thaddeus gave me a onceover and I tried not to think about how pathetic I looked. He then raised an eyebrow, probably an ‘Are you ok?’. Almost to answer his question, now that gravity wasn’t aiding me anymore, my tears spilled over and ran down the sides of my face. Great.

Thaddeus’ eye widened at this and he moved me downward once again. Except instead of putting me back on the ground like I’d expected, my feet touched down on a much more…unstable surface. The massive fingers unwrapped and I stumbled. My arms instinctively flailed out to catch my fall and they latched onto Thaddeus’ thumb for support. GREAT.

After trying unsuccessfully to stand for several seconds, I just gave up and sat down. Heat radiated from under me and I looked down. I was sitting in Thaddeus’ open palm. …huh. If you’d told me 3 months ago that I would be sitting in the palm of a velki, I would have burst out laughing. Oh, how times have changed.

Thaddeus withdrew his other hand and moved me to his chest, something I knew because his shirt pressed against the side of his palm. Now that Tool 1 and Tool 2 couldn’t see me, I used the temporary shelter to wipe away my tears. Better.  

From the ground (WAIT HOW HIGH OFF THE GROUND WAS I?), I faintly heard Damien’s voice. “You’re just here for her?” He sounded…kind of disappointed? “What do you want with that freak anyway?”

Freak. Really?

Thaddeus spoke again and his chest and the air and everything rumbled with his words. “I think the real question here is what you guys were doing with Syren.” His voice was much louder at this proximity. Nothing I couldn’t handle but still.

He paused. “Also fuck you,” he added.

Silence.

I crawled over to the edge of Thaddeus’ hand to watch and felt the ground under me move slightly. It took me a few seconds to realize that Thaddeus had curved his hand, probably to prevent me from…falling to my…death. Hmm. HOW DID THADDEUS DEAL WITH THIS ON A DAILY BASIS?

Anyway, I looked down. My bag’s guts were spewn all over the floor. Ugh. I was going to have to clean that up later. And standing among the carnage were Tobias and Damian; Tobias looking like he wanted to be literally anywhere else and Damien…Damien didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. I had a bad feeling about this.

Damien shook his head. “Really, Kayne? You’re trying to intimidate us? You of all people should know that won’t work.” He glanced at Tobias. “Well, it won’t work on me anyway. I mean, c’mon, really?” He gestured vaguely at Thaddeus. “You’re a joke, Kayne. A fucking joke.”

…what?

“Oh, I get it. You stop taking orders from me, get a new haircut and suddenly you think you’re better than me.”

I felt the muscles under me twitch. “I don’t think I’m better than-”

Damian cut him off. “Don’t give me that shit. You wanted to jump in and be the hero.” He looked right at me and I flinched. “You’d probably like that, right?”

I said nothing.

“I didn’t do it to-”

Damien ignored him. He was still addressing me. “You still think he’s a good guy, right? Well, what if I told you that not even a year ago, your knight in shining armor was the one helping me do this!”

WAIT WHAT? REALLY? I looked up at Thaddeus for answers but he just stared back with his lips pursed. His gaze was hard and I was pretty sure he was trying to convey something with his eyes again. I just shrugged this time and he mouthed the word ‘later’.

He turned back to Damien. “I’ve changed.” He didn’t sound so sure.

“Please. People don’t change, Kayne. You’re still the same loser who would do anything to be accepted.” He looked at me again. “Even hang out with a mute bitch.”

Really? Really. Low blow, man.

I waited for Thaddeus to say something. He had to defend himself. Surely he had something, right? This was Thaddeus we were talking about. But the silence stretched on and on and my heart sunk.

For the first time since I’d met him, Thaddeus said nothing.

Damien kept going. “What’s the matter, Kayne? No snappy comeback this time?”

“She’s not mute,” Thaddeus mumbled. I’d never heard him mumble before. Also, why was he defending me right now? He was the one being slandered. “And she’s not a bitch.”

Damian cupped his hand over his ear. “I’m sorry, what? I couldn’t quite catch that.”

An unbearably tense silence followed.

Then Thaddeus’ fingers wrapped around me again. He carried me upwards, bringing me higher and higher until I was right next to his face. He set me down on his shoulder and I immediately sat down, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt for purchase. The shoulder had more than enough room to prevent me from falling but still. Can’t be too careful.

Thaddeus’ shoulder started moving back and forth and when I finally gathered the courage to look down, I saw, to my shock, that Thaddeus had carefully started to pick up my stuff and put it back in my bag for me. Tobias moved out of his way, eyes wide. Damien didn’t. Thaddeus had to reach around him to get my stuff and it was…hard to watch. And that’s all I could do. Watch.

I felt horrible. I mean, I didn’t know the history between these two but l did know that none of this would have happened if I’d just said something. Thaddeus was humiliating himself for me. And I couldn’t even thank him. Or apologize. Why was he even doing this? Why did he care about me so much?

I felt more and more reckless with each passing second. There had to be something I could do, right? But what? Let’s see…well, thanks to Damian’s little speech, Thaddeus probably thought I hated him right now. So maybe I could find a way to reassure him of the contrary. But how? From up here, I could…pat his shoulder? But that would be lame. And I wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to feel that unless I basically hit him. Which would probably just make him feel worse. Nope. Maybe a hug. Hugs were nice. But there wasn’t really anything to hug up here. Just Thaddeus’ neck to my right and more shoulder and open air to my left and…wait. Thaddeus’ neck. I could…hug his neck? He’d…definitely feel that.

Well, I couldn’t think of anything else so after some mental preparation, I let go of his shirt and slowly scooted over. When I was close enough, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his neck, I turned towards it, spread both arms and…hesitated. Was this weird? Was this even a good idea? Eh, things literally couldn’t get any worse.

I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his neck as best as I could.

And Thaddeus literally froze. Like his shoulder and his neck tensed up and everything. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe I should stop. Maybe it would be better if I just dropped out of school and went to work at a gas station convenience store in the middle of nowhere, where I could never hurt anybody ever again. Maybe-  

Something brushed against my back and caused me to be violently ejected from my thoughts. WHAT WAS THAT? Then something (presumably the same thing) pressed lightly against my entire body. I was on the verge of panicking before seeing Thaddeus’ arm out of the corner of my eye. Oh. He was pressing me into his neck with his hand. Was he…hugging me back?  

His hand pulled away after a few seconds so I pulled away too. Wordlessly, he went back to packing my bag. What was that all about? Did I even help him?

When Thaddeus finished packing, he picked up my bag and set it down in his open palm. Then he reached for me again, picking me up gently and setting me down next to my bag. I looked up at him and saw that he was smiling at me. I could have sworn there was a certain…fondness to it that hadn’t been there before. I was probably just imagining things.

He turned to address the boys. “We'll be taking our leave. Unless you have anything to add?”

Tobias shook his head but Damian took the opportunity anyway. “Just because someone else is feeding your validation complex doesn’t mean you’ve changed. You’re still the scared little bitch you always were.”

Thaddeus started to stand. “That’s nice, dear.”

Damian wasn’t done. “You think just because some…some whore supports you-,”

Thaddeus paused and crouched down again. Then his hand shot out and grabbed Damien, lifting him off the floor and up to his face. Damian looked…shocked. Maybe even a little scared. It was almost enough to make me feel bad for him. Almost. Still, I was worried Thaddeus was going to take things too far.

“Word of advice,” Thaddeus said, his voice dangerously calm, “You can insult me all you want. I don’t care anymore. But if you hurt my friend (!) ever again,” he smiled, “There will be hell to pay.”

“You’re all talk,” Damian said, though he looked unsure. “What’re you gonna do? Prank me to death?”

Thaddeus just continued smiling. “I’ll let you figure that out.”

Then he turned to Tobias. “What’s your name?”

Tobias flinched but recovered quickly. “It’s, uh, Tobias.”

“Can I call you Toby?”

“…sure?”

“So, Toby, if I’m being honest with you, I think you should ditch this guy. Just get as far away from him as possible. And get some help if you can. I did and look where it got me.”

“Hated by everyone?” Damian called before Thaddeus covered his mouth with his thumb.

“How long have you been friends?” Thaddeus asked.

Tobias shuffled his feet. “…a few weeks, I guess.”

“Ah, the honeymoon phase.” He turned to Damian. “I take it you’re still being nice to him?”

Damien growled angrily.

He turned back to Tobias. “Yeah, that’s not going to last. He gets worse as time goes by.”

“How do you know that?”

“I used to be his friend.”

Oh.

Tobias looked down. “But…he’s the only one who-”

“I know. But I can promise you from experience that its not like that.” There was a pause. “…someone will see the good in you eventually. You just…have to be willing to take the first step.”

Tobias blinked.

Thaddeus shrugged. “I don’t know, man. See a counsellor. They’re better with this stuff than I am.”

Tobias just stared at Thaddeus for several seconds. Then he looked at Damian. Then Thaddeus again. He took a step back. Then another. Then he turned and ran.

…was that supposed to happen?

Thaddeus just watched him go. When Tobias rounded the corner, Thaddeus turned to Damien.

“You’re a piece of shit,” he informed him. “But the same goes for you. You need help.”

He waited for a few moments (probably to give Tobias some more headway) before depositing Damian on the ground and standing again. Now we were high up. I scrambled away from the edge of Thaddeus’ hand, heart pounding. I wouldn’t have fallen but still, you could warn a girl next time. The whole world shifted as Thaddeus turned and started walking away. His hand jolted slightly with every step he took and when I looked up, I saw Thaddeus looking back down at me, something I couldn’t quite place in his eyes. He smiled sadly and I felt something…unfamiliar, to say the least. Something warm and fuzzy that passed just as quickly.

Weird.

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[unovasrose]

L U C K Y R O S E for the Valentine's Day alphabet meme. :3c

 valentine’s day alphabet / accepting!

LOVE. who does your muse love?

    Hmm... I wonder who that could be? :3c

UNREQUITED. has your muse had their heart broken?

    She sure has ; you can blame Hale Foster for her first heartbreak. Nothing like finding out everything about your relationship with your first boyfriend was all a lie AND that he was using you to complete his INTERPOL work... She will probably never forgive him for that, not that Hale cares. Something about her disdain fuels him.

CHOCOLATE. does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

    Like most people, Rosa enjoys chocolate. Her favorites tend to be ones with fruit pieces or spicy ingredients like ginger or cayenne pepper in them. She also really likes Sweet Hearts.

KISS. is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

    Rosa is a pretty decent kisser but that’s just something that has come with experience. She’s very receptive to her partner’s body language and overall mood ( it helps that she’s very empathetic ) and tends to ease into things. She’s also pretty responsive, so her partner can more easily key into whether she enjoys something or not. Finally, it also helps that her lips are soft~

YOURS. does your muse get protective easily?

    Very. From the moment she begins to care about someone, she becomes fiercely protective of them. One of her main drives for becoming a powerful trainer is to be able to protect those she cares about and make up for those she couldn’t protect in the past. It’s a bit funny because you’d never expect someone so small and delicate-looking to be so fierce but it also teaches others not to judge this book by its cover.

ROMANCE. is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

    Hmm... she’s a romantic that got turned into a cynic. After her experiences with Hale and another less-talked-about ex-boyfriend, she became a bit disillusioned. That’s part of why she refuses to believe someone cares about her in a romantic sense at first, even if she can still see actual signs in front of her. She’s not OBLIVIOUS like someone else we all know and love, just hurt... 

ODE. does your muse have a way with words?

    One would think that she would, considering that she’s a talented actress. However, she struggles a bit when it comes to verbally expressing her affection in real life, partly because of fear of rejection. That’s why she prefers to show her affections with actions... 

SWEETHEART. did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

    She did not! Most of her childhood was spent around very busy, very serious adults. The first people around her age that she got to actually meet were Hugh and Nate when she was a teenager.

EMBRACE. does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

    Rosa adores hugs ; it’s the ultimate comfort. She’s small so she doesn’t have much reach but she enjoys wrapping her arms around the other person ( chest or waist, depending on what her height is with respect to them ) and holding onto them tightly. Depending on how close she is to the other person, she might rest her head on their chest, shoulder, or crook of their neck.

[squeet-smooch]

Tak. Mitten is making me write this version of this note.

I have been feeling incredibly unwell about a lot lately, and over time it has not improved much if at all. I cannot tell what's real, and i don't know if i can even believe what I'm experiencing is a trauma response or a valid observation of my environment.

I just want you to know how much i appreciate everything you've done for me and my system. You've genuinely brought me to such a beautiful, safe, and exciting new environment that i do believe is going to hold incredible opportunities and provide plenty of room to heal.

Unfortunately i am sick, there was never a time where i wasn't. I do not know how to accept kindness or ask for help or even how to verbalize what's going on. I know any message i send is going to leave out major information and i tend to hyperfoxus on the wrong stuff.

But to the best of my ability i do want to talk about and express it, and heal. I want to have a back and forth where we can both be honest and feel better together after, regardless of initial discomfort. Things always feel better after hard talks.

Getting directly into it, i genuinely hold the belief that you're tired of me, regretting everything we've had or agreed to, and do not want me around anymore. I firmly feel like you want nothing to do with me, and have withdrawn mostly purposefully and wish to be more away from me.

I believe I've done nothing but hurt you again and again since we met, and that I'm not the person you thought i was when you spoke about wanting to marry a while back. You did say you wanted to move slow after my February visit, and I'm more than thrilled to gently move forward in an easy, soft relationship where both of us are unsure and loving.

I am getting more and more scared though, that i am right. That now that I'm here, you realize somehow I'm not right for you, and that you would rather break it off or have me take a lot of space from you. I've pulled back significantly, not because i don't want you, or to be close with you, but because i believe it's what is going to help you. I miss you intensively, but the thought of approaching you with it makes me feel like I'm pushing you, like I'm being awful. I feel like i am encroaching on all, every single one of your boundaries and proving to be a terrible roommate, just as i feared before moving.

I worry about tossing and turning every night, keeping you both awake, so i come to the bed very late after I've exhausted myself so i know i won't move so much, or after I'm sure you guys must be in deeper sleep. Or i don't come in at all. Because i am not accustomed to sleeping with anyone, certainly not since kaleb and even further back to when i was very small, where i was ridiculed for essentially sleep fighting.

I cannot rest. Although it is all i have time to do anymore. I feel as if I'm losing resource after resource, and I'm terrified yet i cannot ask to fix it.

The pool is closed, probably will be til next year. My heart breaks over it but what kind of immature person would i be if i didn't cope? I've been out of deodorant for a while now, and i would be okay just to borrow Tailgate's that he said i could use, that he left here, until i could buy my own, but it's low too. I'm low on shampoo, and also conditioner but obviously that one is not near as important as soap and i have replacements for that if i really need it. I lost my ID, which i desperately need for literally everything. I lost use of my sunflower debit card because of a simple mistake that was very avoidable. Things like this keep happening and i am extremely triggered by it all the time.

I feel constantly triggered like that. Like somehow I'm still not safe, like nothing i own is safe and no matter how hard i try i cannot protect my things or the people i love.

I also truly believe that any mention of any of my issues is not only irrelevant, but inappropriate. Regardless of what it is or reason for sharing, and while i did say something triggering over message and you did use a gentle tone indicator, it feels to me like proof of a bigger issue.

Too much of what makes me, me is something that triggers you terribly. My identity itself is just something that doesn't line up with your lifestyle and i don't know how to find compromise, i do not know how to keep both of us safe. I want to make you happy and i am sick to my stomach thinking that i cannot. Despite anything.

I don't even know if you'll see these words, i don't know if we'll be able to talk, or when. I don't know if i have the strength to tell you anything. I have been trying to get a chance to talk for weeks now and things just get harder.

I want us to be close again. I don't want to come off as jealous or needy but i want to be physical and affectionate and cuddle, hold hands, kiss, anything at all again. I feel like I've already lost you and everything wrong right now is all my fault. But again, i can't even tell if it's real. It feels entirely real to me. I cannot see past my own nose and the pain that burns my organs out, but it very well could be the cortisol my body has come to rely on. The trauma response that kept me around for 22 years. Everything is too big and i cannot carry it, I've always carried it alone and had to make it through. I know im not supposed to believe that's how it is now, but i still do. I don't know how to see recovery anymore, and I'm scared you're going to see me as anti-recovery and toxic if i give in. I never just give up on my healing, that's a code of honor I've pledged with Mitten time and time again, and we dont betray each other. But i do feel stagnant, and that I'm backpedaling into some really dark territory. I don't want to backpedal, i don't want to possibly relapse into my darker mindsets and coping mechanisms, but i cannot turn it off. I cannot ease it and nothing has been helping.

Words of reassurance from everyone around, all the time, including you a lot, but i don't feel like you guys actually believe in me. And you're waiting to be proven right about quiet thoughts you carry.

I'm irresponsible. I'm mean. I'm selfish and needy and ignorant. I'm careless. I make everything about myself regardless of anything. I feel like no one truly respects me or ever could. And i just don't know what to do or think or say.

I've written again and again to try to verbalize things, I've tried to gently start conversations or ask if i could help in some way, how to improve whats so unwell right now, but nothing is coming out correctly and it just feels worse than it has this whole time.

I'm very sorry for every way I've possibly hurt you, and I'm sorry if what I've said is ever unwarranted or wrong. I love you with my whole heart and i hope that things can improve soon, and quickly. You deserve better than this. (And Mitten insists that i do too but i can't help but struggle to believe that)

[workofheart]

extra help | gojo satoru

what’s a teacher to do when his student is building up so much cursed energy? help her get it under control, of course.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

wc: 4.7k

warnings: smut, 18+ (minors dni), teacher/student relations (reader is of age), fingering, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, sir kink, unprotected sex (do not do this), lowkey corruption, squirting, exhibitionism (?), creampie, gojo refers to himself as “teacher” because i said so

note: barely edited, something to ease the brainrot. gojo satoru hollow me challenge. 

“Can you maybe, I don’t know, shut the fuck up?”

The jab spews out of your mouth before you can stop it. Your filter is long gone, the thoughts that pop into your head forming into verbal words without the chance to even process them. Once you hear it, you mentally slap yourself. Now you just look like an asshole.

“Jeez, no need to be a bitch about it,” mutters Nobara. She rests on the concrete steps on her elbows, appearing utterly disinterested with her head tossed back and eyes closed, soaking in the fresh air.

“I’m not being a bitch.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not!”

“You kind of are,” Megumi says quietly, shrugging slightly when your incredulous expression finds his to be stoic and unmoving. He leans down to scratch behind one of his dog’s ears. His nonchalance boils your blood even further, effectively working you up past your melting point. A bitter laugh leaves your mouth.

“...You motherfucker-”

“Good morning, everybody!”

You sigh, lips hanging open with the rest of your insult frozen where it was interrupted. From over the small hill behind you, Gojo Satoru greets everyone with a bright energy you aren’t capable of returning this early in the day. 

You try your best to shake it off. The other students wave back happily as you sulk, aimlessly stretching your arms over your head in an attempt to push out the thousand things running through your mind, not one of which you’re capable of dealing with.

And maybe it is a good morning - the sun is out, the air is cool, there’s not a breeze passing by to mess up your hair. It’s a lovely day to be training. Megumi has been walking his dogs around the field, Yuuji has been racing himself from one end to the other, meanwhile the others take turns sparring. The springtime weather is rewarding, which is why it’s such a shame you can’t enjoy it.

Gojo reaches up a hand to lift one side of his blindfold. Though he’s standing all the way over on the steps, you can see his eyes clearly, crystalline blue and staring with scrutiny. The man leans forward into his gaze, and the way he’s inspecting you soon irritates you further.

“What’s with all the cursed energy?” he asks, letting his blindfold fall over his eye again. 

Yuuji perks up at the comment from where he’s been sitting after his run, pulling out blades of grass between his fingertips. “So it’s not just me?” he pipes up, pushing himself up to his feet. He seems relieved, turning his attention to you. “I thought maybe you just had a bad day but it seems like it’s seeping off you all the time now.”

Your lips press into a thin line as your eyelids droop in annoyance, trying to think up a reasonable answer quick. Unfortunately, you don’t get the time to do so.

“I don’t need to see it to feel it,” Maki adds. She finishes tying up her laces, objectivity unmoving with the deadpan spreading across your features. Your jaw tenses. “Didn’t want to say anything in case it would make you angrier.”

“Too late!” you snap, huffing as you place your arms over your chest. The number of eyes on you has your cheeks burning, and paired with your current vexation, makes you feel even worse.

“Well, what are you angry about?” Yuuji asks. 

“I’m not angry about anything.”

“That sounds a little defensive,” Gojo comments.

“You seem frustrated, that’s all.” Yuuji looks at you with a genuine curiosity that makes it hard to be mad at him. His doe eyes couldn’t possibly imagine what the real issue at hand is.

“Yeah, she’s frustrated all right,”  Nobara juts in. Her tone is whiney and annoyed, and you hope the glare you send her will shut her up, but she acts as if she doesn’t see it, only looking down at her nails in distaste. Then comes the zinger. “It’s because she hasn’t gotten laid in months.”

“That is not true!” you yell, but the obvious rage bubbling out of you gives it away. 

“Cursed energy can build from that?”

“It would explain a lot.”

“That sounds definitely defensive.”

“Shut up!” you shout, throwing your hands over your face to hide your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Then you’re sitting back on the field, hanging your head low over your knees. Quietly, you mutter, “You promised you wouldn’t say anything.”

☆☆☆

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

The walk here had been nerve wracking enough. Your heart had been stuck in your throat since the track this morning, if not from the sheer embarrassment of Nobara telling everyone you were sexually frustrated, then surely from the way Gojo had asked you to meet with him later in an old classroom rather seriously before walking off.

It scared you half to death upon hearing it, and just thinking about it scared the other half, so you’re hanging on by the thinnest of threads. The others comments hadn’t helped either, teasing about the frightening methods he’d use to dispel the energy, or how he’d berate you for being so stupid, or whatever else the maniac of a man had to offer.

Gojo leans back lazily in his chair, long legs thrown over the desk for his comfort and leisure. He stretches, letting out a satisfied groan with his arms straightened behind his head as you close the door behind you. 

“About time you got here. Been waiting forever.”

The lights are off, but evening sun pours in through the wall of windows that look out over the courtyard to brighten the room. He tosses a small apple plush above him with a smooth flick of his wrist, catching it on its down arc with ease. It looks like a marble with how it sits in his massive palms.

“Well, this wing is on the other side of campus,” you swallow, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. That reminds you...“Why are we this far, anyway?”

He sighs, placing the toy back down at the top of his desk and resting his chin on his palm. You can feel his eyes on you through his blindfold. “To solve your problem, of course.”

“My… my problem? No, I don’t have any problems,” you say with a shake of your head as genuine as you can muster, a nervous smile flashing across your expression as he stands. His hand trails along the desk as he moves around it. When you get the feeling he doesn’t believe you, you start again, “If it’s about what Nobara said, it’s really no big deal-” 

“While you’re a talented sorcerer, you’re not a very good liar.” He comes to a stop in front of you, towering over your small frame. His head is turned down toward you but you refrain from making eye contact. Trying to maintain your composure, you look straight into his chest and then avert your eyes to the sid, looking anywhere else in the room but him - the chalkboard, the windows, the posters on the wall - that is, until he takes your chin in his hand and tugs your face up to look at him directly.

He’s taken off his blindfold, the black cloth crumpled in his palm and already tossed to the floor.

The way you’re staring at him, that desire that lies just below the fear, has his dick tenting in his pants. When he focuses, he can see the cursed energy radiating from your body, dark and cloudy as it surrounds you. “Yuuji’s right, it’s practically seeping from you,” he coos, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

He drinks in your apprehension with a sadistic sort of delight, and you don’t miss the feel of his eyes as they trace down your body. “My student is struggling,” he says tenderly, tapping his index finger along your cheek lightly. “What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t help?” 

He eats up the way you look at him, swept away and hazy, your brain turning to mush at the sound of his voice. Heat pools in your panties, and the subtle manner in which your thighs shift against each other is not lost on him.

The tension in the air is electrifying. Leaning down to your ear, he says what’s been on his mind for weeks. “Don’t think I can’t hear you at night, touching yourself, trying so hard to make it go away on your own.”

His words leave your throat dry and stomach churning. Your face burns, thinking of him listening to your pitiful attempts to get off. Clearly, the sleepless nights of trying to cum, letting slip the small whimpers you couldn’t care to hold back, hands buried in your panties and writhing in your bed sheets, were no secret to anyone but you.

You’re almost mortified. You would be, if it wasn’t for your hot teacher standing in front of you, smiling as he remembers how pretty you sounded, offering to fuck the shit out of you to sate your frustration.

And god, just how pretty you sound. He’d never admit it sober, but the times he’s taken “random” late night walks around the buildings that have ended up at the outside of your bedroom door are far too many to count. Palming himself through his trousers, panting as he pictures you just through the slab of wood exactly how he plans on having you now.

“I...I don’t know if we should be doing this,” you mumble in a moment of clarity, gaze flickering to the window in the door that lets you see into the empty hallway just outside. Swallowing hard, scenarios of your classmates walking by, peering through, clouds your head. “What if someone…”

“They’re on the other side of campus, remember?” he teases. His fingers slide back along your jaw, brushing your hair from your forehead before settling to cup the side of your face. “You can make all the noise you want out here.”

Heat spreads through your core and inner thighs accompanied by a visible shiver, a pleased grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. The proximity alone is making you wet. His presence is overwhelming with the unimaginable power he holds over you.

His neck tilts down to reach you, hovering with his lips not a breath away from yours. Gojo waits. Tentative, you press your mouth to his and your eyes flutter shut, feeling him smile as his hands make contact with your hips. He’s gentle and slow, his lips pillowy and soft against yours, moving carefully as if not to scare you away.

He muffles a timid whimper with his mouth and takes the lead, kissing you harder and pulling you into a firm lip lock before spinning you around and walking you backwards toward the desk. Hesitant hands reach up to his shoulders, something Gojo senses immediately, shy hands working up the confidence to splay over his broad shoulders. He knows you so well by now - there’s a reason you’re his favorite student.

“Let me help, princess,” he insists, breaking away to quell your uncertainty. “You know I’m the only one who can.” Gojo’s voice is hypnotizing, his promises filling your head with a desiring haze.

Your tiny, timid fingers hanging around his neck, crawling up his nape as if searching for safety, have him reeling. He might just devour you, so cute and innocent and willing in front of him.

You’re melting into his touch as his hands squeeze your hips, rubbing up your sides until they lay a firm grasp on your hips, sitting you fully on the desk. His touch is teasing and featherlight as he drags it up your calves, hiking up your skirt to get where he wants to be, situated right between your thighs.

“None of the other guys fuck you the way you need to be fucked, right?”

He may be cocky, but it’s for good reason.

Gojo Satoru is older, he’s experienced, he knows what he’s doing. He knows you, in fact, more than you think. Don’t be fooled - he sees you sneaking off campus, sees the texts you send to the boys in the nearest town, overhears how you talk to them over the phone when you think no one is listening. He also sees how disappointed you look every time you return from one of your escapades. 

You’re mature for your age, but no one is willing to fuck you like it. Except him, of course.

A large hand cradles the back of your head to keep kissing you. His mouth is ravishing, absolutely eating up the feeble mewls that escape you. Deft fingers unbutton your uniform with ease and slip it down your shoulders to reveal your chest as if he’s done it a thousand times.

He moves to unclasp your bra, but is surprised to meet your bare skin. He pulls back from your mouth to meet your eyes, and you already know what he’s thinking with the way he looks down at you, head tilted back with a dark mirth.

“No bra?” he inquires, rolling your perky buds between his fingers, and your lack of verbal response, that guilt in the slight raise of your eyebrows, tells him everything he needs to know. “Naughty girl. Makes me think you were expecting this.” He makes you purr like a kitten, free hand kneading at your chest, coaxing out sweet little noises that make his dick throb in his pants. 

You inhale sharply at a particular tweak of your nipple that has your body tingling, arching into him. “Sir, I-” 

His mouth is on your neck, sucking on that sensitive spot below your ear, just next to your jaw. The feel of his teeth gently scraping down sends chills through your shoulders and down your back, subconsciously tilting your head to the side and exposing more to him, inviting him to your body even further.

“It’s okay, you can tell me how bad you need my cock,” he says against your skin.

Your body flushes hot beneath him. A hand cups your clothed core. The friction has your hips lifting in desperate motions for more, pushing against his fingers for some kind of relief.

“Poor thing, too horny for your own good,” he says, peering down at you. He tugs at the tiny, delicate bow sewn into the lace band of your panties, a smug expression passing over his features. “But don’t worry, teacher’s here to make you feel better.”

He hooks his pointer finger underneath the center of your panties and pulls it up, forcing the fabric taught against your slit between your folds, urging a cry to fall from your lips. You’re absolutely aching for more, pussy desperate for contact as your hips buck. His opposite thumb goes straight to your swollen clit where it bulges through the thin cotton, reducing you to whines as he applies light pressure. 

“So sensitive,” he says with a teasing lilt in his tone, caught between looking at your pussy and your dazed expression. “You want my fingers?”

He knows he’s supposed to be helping you, but he can’t stop himself with how cute you look like this. He’s already thinking of just how far he can push you, just what he can get you to admit to him.

“Yes, please,” you’re begging, pulling your lips under your teeth, and how can he say no? He has no other choice but to indulge you.

He pulls your panties to the side and finally, his long, thick fingers sink inside you without warning, pushing a lewd moan from your throat.

He groans at the way you pulse around his digits. Your walls suck him right in. “Fuck, look at your pretty little cunt. Feels good, huh?”

Your mouth falls open as you nod, staring at him through half-mast, glassy eyes. Light amusement covers his face as he works your walls diligently, curling up and massaging that spongy spot he knows you like from the sounds you’re making.

“Yeah, I know it does. Need it so bad, don’t you?”

“Yes, ah, need it so much,” you whine. At this point, you’d follow his every command, answer his every question, if it means he’ll keep doing what he’s doing. He connects his lips to yours again, swallowing up the noises that leave your throat, before moving down. He trails his mouth over your sensitive, flushed skin, burning to the touch as he leaves harsh, bruising marks behind. He’s kneeling down and throwing your legs over his shoulders without hesitation.

He has you desperate and shameless with how he’s making you feel. It doesn’t matter that he’s your teacher, it doesn’t matter that you’ll have to face him in class after the fact, all that matters is how hot and aching your core is, how bad you need him there to fix it. “More, sir, p-please.”

He groans at the name you’ve given him, that you’re addressing him by so earnestly. He never even asked you to, so when it spills out of your mouth so submissively, he can’t help the way it goes straight to his cock. “So polite, aren’t you? Let me hear you, be specific.” 

His fingers leave you clenching around nothing as he pulls them out of you, watching the string of slick stretch until it breaks. He slips them right into his mouth, licking your arousal off of his fingers, humming in delight. 

You’re fixated on his glossy, wet lips, entranced by the slight smile to his words. “Please, your mouth,” you plead breathlessly through a gulp. 

He presses a chaste kiss to the plush of your thigh, eyes flicking up to meet yours. His lips ghost over the tops of your knee socks and nip at the slight pudge that squeezes out.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he murmurs. Then, he’s diving in, latching his warm, wet mouth onto your pussy. You feel yourself gush under his lips as his tongue laves harsh strokes against your entrance. He has you quivering, your hips moving on their own accord over his face.

You squirm under his relentless tongue, swiping through your slick and spreading it all over your inner thighs. He laps at your fluttering hole before suckling your clit into his mouth, hot tongue flicking over it before releasing with a playful pop.

He thrives off of the whimpers leaving your mouth. A loud moan tears from you as his fingers plunge into you again, hands shooting to his snowy locks to ground yourself. You’re throwing your head back, keening in the firm grip he has pushing back your leg, his tongue swiping at you expertly while the pads of his fingers curl up into the spot you need him at, keeping his head pressed tight to your drooling cunt.

Pointed flicks of his tongue target your clit, puffy and sensitive, and you can’t help the way your hips buck up for more, babbling nonsense. His firm muscle prods at your hole before flattening and licking wide and short strokes up your folds.

“Aw, you wanna cum, don’t you? Gonna cum for me like a good girl?”

You only have the strength to nod, eyes squeezing shut and your lips parted in choked breaths.

“Look at me,” he commands sternly, and your lids are prying open immediately, struggling to keep your gaze on him with the pleasure he’s relentlessly forcing on your body. His plump lips are lustrous with your arousal. “Go ahead. Cum.”

His eyes bore into you as your face contorts, body tensing all over as you tip over the edge. That coil in your stomach which Gojo has so masterfully built snaps like a rubber band, shattering your mind as pleasure ripples through your body. You’re still as your release surges through you, making him moan against your pussy.

“That’s it, there you go,” he says with a growl as you take your first breath after the inhibiting pleasure fades, eyes darkening as he watches you, keeping pressure on your nub with his thumb, smooth strokes working you through your high. 

He carefully helps you drop to your feet, rubbing soothing circles into your hips, planting kisses to your temples before spinning you around to face the desk. You’re wobbly, but it’s nothing he can’t compensate for with his natural strength.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he mumbles, large hands exploring the expanse of your back. He pushes you down, gentle fingers trailing up your spine until they find their hold on your hips like they were meant to be, loving how pliant you are beneath him.

The anticipation has you dripping, heart pounding as he flips up your skirt again, pussy aching to be filled. You hear the tugging of his trousers down to the floor, and a hefty exhale as he gives himself a few strokes in his palm.

His cock, hot and heavy and hard, presses into you slowly. You feel his girth immediately, cunt stretching deliciously to accommodate his size. It’s instant relief, finally the pleasure you’ve been desperate for, a drug you have to be careful of or you might just get addicted.

“Fuck,” he groans lowly, “So fuckin’ tight for me.”

You’re stuffed to the brim, focusing on how full you are, his fingers massaging the flesh of your ass as he gives you a moment to adjust. He feels his self-restraint thinning as you squeeze him. He’s gonna make you drool for him, make his cute innocent student into his little whore, make sure teacher’s the only one who touches you like this.

At first, his pace is slow and steady, sensual pumps that expertly drag against your gummy walls. You can feel his tip spreading you open, every burning curve and vein and ridge of his head as your pussy molds to him. But once your legs start shifting back for more, he speeds up the rocking of his hips, fucking you brainless on his cock. 

“How we feeling, princess?” he pants. He’s the only thing you can think about, mind scrambled from the white hot feel of being fucked so well.

He doesn’t have to ask to know - the string of heedless whimpers that you make are evidence enough, on top of the obscene squelches that echo every time he pounds into your sopping cunt. He pulls your wrists back from where they cling to the desk, white knuckled, to your sides. A strong arm snakes around your front, pinning your arms and waist close to his chest, caging you in while the other seeks purchase on your breast.

“F-Fuck, I- ah - so good, sir,” you sob, feeling your brain blank with the way his grip moves up to your neck, expertly pushing into the sides to cut off your blood flow. It’s dizzying, your pussy tightening around him for more.

And then he stops.

You’re about to whine, your walls fluttering around him, begging him to move, when his hand reaches to cover your mouth. He shushes you gently, snapping quietly towards the door. 

Someone is calling your name outside. “Hellooo? Hey Y/N, you over here?” It’s Yuuji, pacing the upper floor, walking straight down the hall and soon to pass the very door.

Your heart jolts in panic - why would he come looking for you? Why would anyone? The whole point of being out here was so that no one would come, right?

“Sorry to go back on my word, princess,” Gojo whispers. A wave of his hand creates a small masking barrier in front of the window, but it does nothing to hide the sound. “Gonna have to keep quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nod your head, wiggling back against his hips pressed hard and unmoving to your ass. He pulls out slow and thrusts back, mindful of the noise of contact. It takes all your focus to bite back your moans.

“Don’t want your classmates seeing how slutty you are for a good fuck, do you? What if they walked in, saw you like this on your teacher’s cock?”

The thought has your hole constricting his length. You can already envision Yuuji’s shocked expression as he stares you down, his respected senior, nothing more than a babbling mess as Gojo Satoru fucks you raw in an empty classroom. The man behind you holds back a laugh.

The footsteps pass without the hint of something much filthier than extra help transpiring beyond the thin walls. You think you might have even seen a tuft of pink hair whizz by in the corner of your vision - whatever the matter, he’s gone, and you can finally catch your breath.

“Dirty girl,” Gojo rasps from behind you, slamming into you roughly, a sinister smile tugging at the corners of his lips while his fingers force themselves into your mouth, “you - hah - you fucking love it.” 

That spring in the base of your tummy starts to coil taut, rising faster than ever. “Love it,” you choke, stimulated tears forming at your lash line, “love it so much!”

His pace is relentless, your slick gushing all around him. He’s building you up just to break you down, the only one who can help you take the edge off.

“Tell me what you want,” he says through gritted teeth, “I’ll give it to you.”

Holding you tight to his chest with locked arms, he completely covers your body with his tall stature, inescapable and confining.

“Fuck, wanna - wanna cum so bad, so bad, sir.”

His large hand trails its way over your waist, soft fingers moving down, down, until they slip right over that little sensitive bundle at your front, cool and wet, that has your breath catching audibly in your throat. 

Gojo places his mouth just behind your ear, tone soft and sultry. The pad of his index finger rubs firm circles over your swollen, aching clit. It elicits a filthy sound from you that makes his cock twitch inside you. “Right there, huh?” He feels you clench as your legs tremble beneath him.

Your climax crashes over you in hot, unforgiving waves, tightening your walls and creaming all over every inch of his length. “Come on, give it all to teacher,” he encourages through heavy pants, making your skin prickle, and it’s just what you need. A chorus of loud, high pitched, breathless moans tumbles from your mouth as you ride it out. 

You’re drenching his fingers, making a mess as your squirt drips down and coats his cock, making him growl into your hair. He coaches you through it, stringing out his praises, “Just like that, mhm, good girl.”

His eyes fall shut as your cunt suffocates his cock, feeling his hips stutter as you suck him in. With a guttural, hungry groan, he’s burying his load in your waiting hole. He snaps against you once, twice more, hard and quick as he starts to come down.

A moment passes to catch your breaths, heartbeats beginning to slow in tandem. Gojo nuzzles his face into the back of your neck and sighs before placing an affectionate kiss there. 

Your legs are jelly beneath you so he’s careful when he releases his grasp, slowly turning you around to face him and sit back on the desk. 

“You alright?” he asks, wiping away the wetness under your eyes.

It’s safe to say that you’re relieved, in more ways than one. Your shoulders feel lighter and as does your chest, like everything you’ve been shackled to has been lifted off with a good fuck.

“Yeah, much better.” There’s a tired grin to your words.

He wipes away the sheen of sweat that has collected on his hairline and reaches over you to grab a few tissues off the desk. He’s gentle as he cleans you up, dabbing up sweat and cum from where it drips down your thighs. 

“You should get some rest. I’ll get you out of class tomorrow morning if you need it. Make up an excuse or something.” He pulls up his own trousers and helps you button up your top again, then lowering you back to the floor so you can be on your way.

“Let me know if you ever need any more assistance,” he winks, patting the top of your head. He smooths down a few stray hairs, putting you back together in at least a somewhat presentable way. “My help is always available to students that need it.”

Because while all that cursed energy may be under control, your relations are far from over. 

[aggravatetheaxe]

Hey! Saw your post and saw you said you were upsettie spaghetti so I wanted to cheer you up!

Slashers who stop everything they’re doing because their “My S/O needs me” senses are tingling and go to their rescue to comfort their angry s/o?

I was hoping to come up with A way for you to get your emotions out through your writing- 😅

Hope you feel better! 🖤

I've never done a post in this style before so hopefully I do okay! I think I covered pretty much all the slashers I write for so far (I didn't do Billy Lenz because I still need to read the novelization). I may have gone way overboard, so if I do these in the future, I'll probably just pick a few instead of doing the whole roster 😅 (or you can pick for me). But doing this much work did distract me!

Above the cut:

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Included below the cut:

Michael Myers (OG)

Jason Voorhees

Leslie Vernon

Thomas Hewitt

Bubba Sawyer

Brahms Heelshire

Erik ("The Phantom")

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC slasher)

Kathleen Montgomery (OC slasher)

Masterlist

***

Bo Sinclair

Despite being autistic, Bo is very in tune with peoples auras and body language. He has to be to manipulate and deceive people with any modicum of success. He's trained himself when it comes to these things; even besides masking or manipulation, he needed to be keenly aware of when his parents were in Bad Moods so he could either avoid them or prepare himself.

The mood he's probably best at when it comes to this, for those reasons, is anger. He can smell anger a mile away. So if you're fuming, you better believe he notices.

At first he's annoyed and will demand to know what your problem is. He's not a very tolerant person, and he can be a bit of a hypocrite. He's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but when it comes to others having big, messy feelings ... he's not so comfortable with that. He gets overwhelmed.

Once he realizes that this is more than an attitude problem, he'll take it much more seriously. And assuming you're not mad at him, he'll want the rundown on the whole situation from beginning to end. He wants all the dirt.

He'll let you rant, and honestly, he'd think you being this angry (when it's not directed at him, but even still sometimes) is kind of sexy. And don't expect him to shut his mouth, either; he'll be ranting right along with you, affirming you and insulting whomever/whatever you're angry about.

He doesn't wanna cuddle. He genuinely thinks you can't cuddle anger away. He'll put on some loud-ass music and let you vent your frustration however you prefer. Maybe suggest a long drive down to the lake or into town or just ... picking a direction and going. He has fantasies of running away from his anger sometimes. He knows how it is.

Depending on what you're angry about, it could definitely get to the point where he's angrier about the situation than you are. And if it really hurt you, he will not let it go as long as he lives. The best he will ever do is maintain a grudging neutrality or distance from the person/situation that made you angry.

He's very protective. If you're angry at someone you need to maintain a relationship with, you're going to have to keep an eye on Bo to make sure he doesn't deliver revenge for you behind your back. If it's something he can solve, he'll do it, so if you don't want him running his mouth, watch him.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent is in the same boat as Bo when it comes to sensing auras, though his handle on body language and facial expressions is not as keenly honed. While Vincent was not physically abused as brutally or as often as Bo, this wasn't because of some sterling quality he had that Bo lacked. He was always The Good One because he saw what his parents did to The Bad One and knew he needed to protect himself. He tried not to do anything that might provoke his parents.

You can feel anger before a fight like you smell ozone before a storm. Vincent is attuned to the feeling not just because of his parents but because of Bo's temper, too. Because of this, like Bo, he can very accurately sense anger in particular.

His initial reaction is to observe you, gauging if you need time to cool off. If you need space, Vincent is the Sinclair for you. He's used to being quiet and deflecting and riding out anger.

However, once he realizes that your anger is not directed at him or isn't explosive enough to become a problem for him, he's concerned. Rather than asking what happened, he will ask if you're okay, and leave it up to you whether you'll tell him about it or not.

If you vent, he'll sit and listen patiently, maybe even thoughtfully working on a sculpture while you rant. He's not judgemental and he can be very emotional himself, so you could say the most ridiculous, dramatic things and he wouldn't even bat an eye. Let out all your messy, destructive thoughts and feelings. Just try not to throw or punch anything; that's when he shuts down.

If you decide you just want comfort, or decide you need comfort after ranting, art is his first suggestion. It may seem cold to you at first, that his instinct isn't to hold you or kiss you but rather to redirect you to a project - once you got to know him, however, you'd know that's his most genuine way to show he cares. Redirecting to something creative calms him down more than platitudes ever could, and he wants that for you. He's nonjudgmental about the art you create as well, even if it's objectively terrible. It's not about the quality.

He won't turn you down if you need physical affection, however. His twin is extremely tactile, so it wouldn't be the first time he held someone after a breakdown. He prefers to do this if he's certain you won't lash out physically, but if you were in a really bad way and needed to be touched, he'd do it regardless.

Lester Sinclair

Lester witnessed his parents' anger, but it was usually indirectly; if Bo was the Bad One and Vincent was the Good One, he was the Overlooked One. He's not a perfect person, probably not even a good person, but of the three brothers, he's the most normally socialized. He isn't trained to be tuned into everyone's every shifting mood in order to survive.

It takes Lester a little longer to pick up on your anger than his brothers, but not too much longer. It takes him a couple tries at trying to talk to you or get your attention before he realizes something is really wrong.

His first reaction is to get upset. He soaks up emotions like a little sponge, so he's suddenly cranky, too. He also jumps to conclusions and assumes that you're angry with him, and he does not take rejection well. He might be bitter and passive aggressive. You being angry just makes him want to go in another room and not be around you, and yet at the same time, he wants your reassurances. It's messy and sad.

Once he realizes - either through observing you or through you communicating with him - that you're mad at another person or situation, then he'll feel comfortable enough to approach you and ask you about it. You'll definitely need to reassure him that you're not mad at him though.

If you wanna rant, he'll take you on a long drive and let you vent your heart out to him. He won't be quite as aggressive as Bo, but he'll be on your side, frowning with disapproval, telling you "Ya can't fix stupid." If you want only comfort or need comfort after venting, he feels much more equipped for that. He'll put something relaxing in the VHS or let you play his old Super Nintendo, get you a beer, just let you chill out. And he'll let you win at Doctor Mario.

If the situation is something really serious, you best believe he'll be talking to his brothers about it the second he gets a chance. He may be a sweet guy, but he can be real nasty, and he doesn't fuck around when it comes to you. You might have to keep an eye out to make sure he doesn't tell someone off or punch out someone's lights.

Michael Myers (OG)

In 1978, Michael is not very in tune with any emotions besides fear, and even then he only really understands it in an abstract way, as his condition and upbringing haven't really been conducive to him learning about emotions. Unless you're screaming in terror, have tears running down your face, or are shouting angrily, he really can't read your moods. Without any obvious change to how you normally act or look, there's a huge chance he might just not notice if you're angry. He spends a lot of time in his own little world.

In 2018, even though he's spent over 50 years institutionalized, Michael has had time to take in the world, and he's seen a lot more. He understands fear much more than he did when he was 21, but what he understands most of all is anger. His anger fuels him. He would pick up on yours right away and be curious, though he wouldn't verbalize it.

If you tell him how you feel, he'll take note of it. If he witnesses you doing something destructive because of your anger, he'll simply observe. He would be fascinated with this thing you're doing, because it's not something you normally do, and though he might not notice emotions, he certainly notices routine and pattern. Either way, you'll have to tell him how you feel, because he'll simply watch you otherwise.

One thing that can be said for Michael is that he's a good listener. He may not internalize everything you say, but he will remember what he thinks is important. You may be surprised; he may remember tiny little details that seem inconsequential to you but loom large in his mind.

Unless you were caused serious physical or mental harm, he would not be angry on your behalf. He would, however, do nothing to assuage your anger. He thinks it would be kinda neat and interesting to see you snap. He's not 100% sure why you don't just do it.

In 1978, he won't be much help beyond listening to you, but he would be curious to see what you do to vent your anger. You may find him by your side more often, observing you. He may also want to find and observe the object of your anger, especially if it's a person. In 2018, he would, in his own way, suggest you solve the problem by murdering someone/something. He's insatiable, but killing is the closest he's ever come to satisfaction. You should try it.

Jason Voorhees

Out of all of the slashers, Jason is the most likely to actually literally sense your anger, especially if you're psychically sensitive/powerful like Tina Shepard. I'm talkin'—assuming you have a pre-established relationship—he'll be doing something else and just get this itch that tells him you're out there somewhere, pissed off.

Obviously this is untenable. As long as he's not super busy or Pamela has other plans, Jason will stomp his way through the woods to get back to you, regardless of the urgency of your anger. If Pamela doesn't approve, well, he'll let a little anger go and assume you're okay. If he suspects you may be in danger, though, he's sprinting regardless of what Mom says. There's time for both things, Ma!

The first thing he'll do when he returns to you is scan your dwelling, then you, making sure nothing is broken. At that point, you'd probably be able to sense his confusion even without him signing. Jason doesn't experience emotions quite like a human anymore, and he's quite tactile besides, so a lack of tangible or visible clues as to why you're upset would trip him up for a second.

He doesn't want to comfort you at first, he wants to know what's wrong. He'll listen to you vent only long enough to understand the situation and identify his target. His immediate next move would be to eliminate the problem. You'll definitely have to hold him back, and it may take a bit of convincing. Earthly consequences don't really apply to him.

Before comfort comes blowing off steam, for you and for him. His first choices would be mangling some trees (you can pretend it's for firewood) or skipping/throwing stones into the lake. You're welcome to join him if those things calm you down; watching him get his stone to skip like 11 times on Crystal Lake may make you feel better, at least.

You might hang out there for hours before he suddenly decides it's time to go home. He'll do what he can to make your comfortable or stay out of your way while you make yourself comfortable, then comfort you as you please. His go-to choice is always foot or hand massages.

Leslie Vernon

Leslie is extremely observant and surprisingly analytical given how silly he is in the day to day. His intuition makes it pretty easy for him to read people, but especially you, since you two are so close. Especially-especially if you're his Survivor Girl (gender neutral term of course). You two are in sync, so he knows if something's up. Maybe even before you fully figure it out.

God, you're so hot when you're angry, you really are. He almost wants to let you scream and holler and go nuts. But he prefers you only get angry like that at him, especially if you're his Survivor Girl, so his first move is to comfort you or talk you down to a place where you can be comforted. He'll speak to you calmly and rationally, reassuring you and touching you if you wanna be touched—on your upper arms or shoulders or face, or with one arm around your back.

He doesn't just want to comfort you, though, he wants to calm you down enough that you can tell him what happened. Even if you claim you don't want to talk about it, he will coax it out of you eventually. He's gotta know what got you so upset. It's his business to know everything about you!

Assuming you're angry at someone/something that isn't him, he'll talk it through with you. If you're upset about an argument with someone, he has the capacity to see it from the other side, but ultimately, he's there for you. He'll let you bitch as much as you want, still touching you, and he'll be disgusted and/or disappointed with the situation.

Above all, though, what he wants is to see you smile again. The only worries on your mind should be the ones he comes up with, and man, he's not even halfway done grooming the next batch of unlucky teenagers. He'd pat your face or touch your hair and tell you to cheer up, and probably defuse the situation with a stupid quip or joke. Take you out somewhere fun, maybe.

Once you were cheered up, he'd humbly suggest you solve your problem with a little murder. "I mean, I know killing's not really your thing—you're really good at it, though, a talent! You know that..." Pause, considering you. "You want me to do it? 'Cause I can clear my schedule for the rest of the night." If you decline, he'd be like "Suit yourself" but may or may not still murder whoever upset you. If you agree, he'd be super excited to make a romantic night of it. His mind would be going a million miles an hour planning everything out.

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy knows anger when he sees it. Not only does he have loads of internalized anger, he's been on the receiving end of it plenty. He's far too large to be scared of anyone in a physical sense anymore, but he's been shouted at countless times. To know when to shut up and do as he's told versus arguing back, he's learned to gauge intensity and direction of anger, and he well knows that anger can be redirected to him.

So, he instantly recognizes your mood, but it might be a while before he approaches you. When he does approach, he'll let you decide what to do, whether that's throwing your arms around him or banging your fists on his chest to vent your anger. You won't hurt him.

Eventually, once you're all hugged or cried or screamed out, he'll wrap his arms around you and give you a reassuring squeeze. There's no need to tell Tommy what's wrong—he won't ask unless you're obviously in serious distress or injured—but if you decide to speak, he'll listen, brows drawn tightly the whole time. He's thoughtful about the situation.

If you're mad at someone in his family, there isn't much he can do for you besides comfort you and assure you that whoever upset you—Hoyt, probably—didn't mean what they said. If you were hurt physically, it would be another story, but his family gets in shouting matches all the time.

Rather than offering help, he'd wait for you to request it of him. Whatever you ask, shy of hurting his family, he will do. Murder someone? No problem. Make you some food? You got it. Bring you a blanket? Sure. Give you some quiet alone time? That's fine, too.

If you need to vent, he's got plenty of ways to get out your frustration. Plenty of farm work to do, or you could work on something around the house with him. He might suggest knitting or sewing or some other handicraft you enjoy. It always makes him feel better to buckle down and use his hands for something.

If you're still preoccupied/upset by the time you two bed down, or heaven forbid the next morning, then he starts taking it more seriously. Something that disturbs you for that long is bad news. He'll watch you carefully the next couple days to see how you're doing, waiting for you to need him for something.

Bubba Sawyer

Like Tommy, Bubba has been on the receiving end of anger many, many times, so he's familiar with what it looks and feels like. Despite his size, he's still susceptible to physical violence at the hands of his loved ones, so he's very wary of anger.

However, he doesn't have a female presence in his life like Luda Mae, who expresses her anger through passive aggression—so, he's more used to shouting and screaming. If you aren't prone to screaming and shouting, it might take a little bit for him to realize you're not just sad or upset, you're angry.

Bubba will be over you. He'd give anyone else their space because he'd be afraid of retaliation, but you're his special person, and he's pretty sure you're not going to hurt him. He'll touch your hair, your arms, your wrists; he'll babble as he tries to figure out what's wrong. He just wants to comfort you and let you know everything is all right.

If it's too much or you're overwhelmed and you snap at him, he'll ease back. He'll blubber like a kicked puppy, but he won't give up. He'll still try to comfort you, just in other ways, such as getting you a comfort item or article of clothing, or maybe some food. And boy will he helicopter.

There's no need to tell Bubba what's wrong. In fact, it might be better if you didn't; if it's something he can't fix, it would do nothing but majorly stress him out. If it was one of his family members who upset you, as with Tommy, he wouldn't be able to do much. Even if you were hurt, he's just not in a position to stand up for you. That fact would absolutely kill him, though. He'd end up getting even more upset than you.

He doesn't know what help to offer you beyond comfort, but like Tommy, if you requested something specific, he'd try to carry out your wishes. He'll also try to cheer you up with some music and dancing, or just being silly like you like.

Need to blow off steam? He's got plenty of coping mechanisms! Bubba's idea of a perfect de-stress session is turning up the radio and getting lost in crafts. He's got lots of supplies, mostly to create clothing and accessories, and you're special, so you can have your pick. A drive and the radio might be nice, too. If neither of those appeal to you, he'll try cooking or baking with you. He loves sharing the kitchen with someone.

If none of that works and you're still upset, be prepared, because he's gonna be an anxious mess until you're better.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is somewhat familiar with other people's anger. He certainly has a whole fountain of internalized anger brewing just beneath the surface, but that's different. He knows that when Mummy is angry, she yells and cries, and when Daddy is angry, he seethes and stews. The former would be obvious to him, but the latter would take him a few minutes to be quite sure about. You're not acting how you usually do. Are you being stern or are you angry? Are you cross with him?

He does not have a lot of empathy for other people, so if your anger gets in the way of his routine or the attention he wants, he'll be irked, cranky, sad. Not necessarily at you—though that is possible—but the situation in which you find yourselves.

Much like Bo, he's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but it makes him uncomfortable and scared when other people have those feelings. He might even hide from you for a while, especially if you screamed and cried.

Once he realizes something is really wrong and you're not mad at him, however, he'll start thinking of ways to cheer you up so things can go back to normal. He hates having his routine interrupted; he's very particular. And he cares for you, so seeing you in distress is very scary and uncomfortable for him.

He'll start by fetching you something you like—something manageable for him like your favorite juice or a sandwich, or if you have a special item or article of clothing, that. He's quite shy, though, and like I said, he'll probably be hiding, so he'll leave it somewhere he knows you'll find it (on the bed, outside your door, on your desk, etc.)

If that doesn't calm you down and your anger is really getting in the way of his routine, or otherwise making him uncomfortable, he'll finally make an appearance. Very bashful and timid at first, using his little boy voice. "What's wrong, Y/N? Did something bad happen?"

If it's something that can't be helped, he'll suggest you do something together to take your mind off it (most likely something he likes to do). He may even be coaxed into taking a walk around the grounds, though he doesn't like to leave the manor at all, so you'd have to convince him. He prefers quiet playtime, maybe some coloring books or loud music to vent your emotions. It would intrigue him to see someone else use his toys to calm down. As long as you recognized he was being very nice, sharing them.

If it was an argument you had with someone, he would want more information. Are they likely to leave you alone, or will they come to the manor? Will he have to deal with them? Because it's scary, but he'll do it for you.

If, for some reason, none of those things work, he may cry or throw a fit. Either way, he'll be frustrated. Adult Brahms may make an appearance and try to help you in more Adult ways.

Erik

Though he lives five cellars beneath an opera house now, Erik hasn't always been entirely reclusive. Even these days, when he can stomach it, he sometimes goes out to see the world. As a younger man, he observed people's lives and moods with a hungry fascination (that has now mostly been replaced by melancholy and longing and bitter anger). Like several of the other slashers here, he's had to train himself to sense fury to protect himself. He's also incredibly wrathful, so you could call him an expert!

He has a very keenly honed sense when it comes to you specifically, since he's watched you so much. He notices the change in your demeanor immediately.

If you know him as the "Angel of Music," his voice will appear to you once you're alone, asking you what's wrong and assuring you you can confide in him—he will insist you tell him, though. "There are to be no secrets between us, Y/N." He will listen without interjection as you vent your heart out, and when you're done, soothe you. Don't let his calming voice deceive you, though; behind that mirror, he's seething, planning to take matters into his own hands.

If you know him as Erik, he will go to you the second he recognizes the shift in your mood and take you from what you're doing, regardless of your wishes. He'll sit you down, kneeling before you with your hands in his, and gaze into your eyes, imploring you to tell him what's wrong. He'll absolutely allow you physical comfort, but he will also absolutely insist you tell. He'll need reassurance that you're not angry at him, because that thought would break his heart.

He will let you vent however you wish. You could have the most dramatic breakdown ever—throwing things, beating your fists on his chest, wailing—and he wouldn't judge you. He would be awfully concerned, though.

Will be 110% on your side. You are his poor little meow meow. "My poor love, my poor Y/N!" He is beside himself with sympathy for you and you only, and is very offended on your behalf.

He will always suggest music as an outlet for your anger, but he will have taken note of your other hobbies and interests as well. He'll fetch your things for you without being asked, as long as it won't separate him from you for very long. If you'd rather just have comfort, that's fine, too. He could hold your hand and caress your face for hours on end under normal circumstances, so no problem there. He may also suggest a little time on the surface, if you normally live in his home. Fresh air will do you both good, he reasons, and he enjoys spending time with you where others can witness it. It fills him with pride and love.

Otherwise, he's at your service for any other soothing activities you need. A calming bath, some sweets, shopping, anything. Perhaps avoid asking for any sexual contact, however. First of all, being asked directly makes him very skittish and nervous; second of all, his method of love-making (when you can coax him) is very intimate and tender, which may be tedious if you're in an angry mood.

Unless the situation is extremely serious or dire, his first priority is making sure you're soothed. Once that duty is fulfilled, however, he is absolutely angrier about it than you are. If it's not that serious, he won't skip straight to killing, if only because he knows it upsets you. He will definitely be writing an extremely strongly worded letter, however. If someone slighted you seriously, they're getting threatened. If someone hurt you physically, they're meeting the Punjab lasso.

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Deacon definitely knows when people are angry. His step-mom was a passive-aggressive laundry-folder and his dad was a storming out of the house kinda guy; when the two of them were together, they were all hushed but heated arguments at night when they thought he couldn't hear them, or else extremely embarrassing passive-aggressive arguments in public. Growing up, he found himself around a lot of angry people. And there's no shortage of anger in him, either.

So yeah, Deacon knows when people are pissed, and he knows when people are pissed at him. The thing is, he just thinks it's fucking hilarious. He was that kid that would goad peers and teachers just to be an asshole and had virtually no friends as a result. He's a menace on the internet, too: a horrible troll for no reason, stirring the pot even when he doesn't have a stake in the argument. He's trained himself to find people's weak spots so he can strike at them. He does it to make himself feel more in control of his life and his own anger.

So when you're ticked off, he's gonna notice the change immediately. If you made a vent post on social media, he probably knows you're angry before you even see him. He follows all your social media (even if you don't realize it) and checks it constantly. He'd call you out of curiosity to ask what happened. He's open about his stalking tendencies: "I saw your post, babe, who do I need to stab?"

If you otherwise come home angry, he'll be up on his feet, following you around the house and pestering you, trying to get you to tell him what's wrong. If you try to hug him, he won't push you away, but he'll be distracted, trying to needle answers out of you the whole time.

There's no question in his mind as to whether or not you're angry at him. He just assumes you're not; he has a pretty good handle on how you act when you're angry at him specifically.

He'll let you rant all day if you want. You could talk about the shit that's pissed you off for hours and he'd still listen. Outwardly, he might poke you a bit and play devil's advocate for the other side of the argument, if there is one. This is purely for the purposes of being a little shit.

Internally, he's already going down his pre-murder checklist. If it was someone at work, they're dead. Someone in the neighborhood, dead. Online? It'll take a couple days, but they're dead. Even if you're not angry at anyone in particular, just a situation, he'll find someone to menace. He'd walk through fire for your approval.

He's not good with soft, emotional comfort, so instead he'll try to think of something to help you let off steam. His go-to is something competitive, especially if it involves you chasing each other. A Nerf or water gun war, a PVP game with you on opposite sides. He'll put up a good fight, but you always kick his ass.

Once the immediate situation is addressed and you've ranted your heart out to him, he can't keep his hands off you. "Seeing you all pissed off drives me crazyyyyyy." He's grinning, brown eyes sparkling. "Come onnnnn ... I'll get it off your mind!"

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC)

Courtney is a hunter of all manner of game, so he's used to interpreting non-verbal cues and body language—when an animal is in distress, when an animal is about to attack, etc. His grandfather was a very angry man, as well, in a simmering sort of way. He would seethe about something before suddenly delivering one decisive strike. Courtney himself is not a particularly angry man, unless some prey is really giving him a hard time, but he can read your body.

If you come home angry, he'll stop in the middle of what he's doing and watch you, still and quiet, just confirming his suspicions. If you leave the room he's in to go collapse on the sofa or something, he'll follow you, looming over you and waiting for you to tell him what's wrong. He's patient.

If you want to vent, he'll sit and listen thoughtfully, doing something with his hands while you speak—probably cleaning his gun or some other weapon. He doesn't look at you. He wouldn't demand greater context to the situation but he would ask "Why?" and "Who?" until he understood Enough.

If you want comfort, he'll sprawl on the couch and let you lay on top of him. He'll probably pull a blanket on top of you to try and encourage a nap. If the nap doesn't make you feel better, he's feeding you protein. Do you like homemade jerky?

Sex is also on the table (not literally ... unless). He's found it's a great way to blow off steam, and he's more than happy to make all worries, troubles, and other thoughts go away for a little bit. Expect that to be the rest of your night, though, because he doesn't do quickies.

Generally, he trusts you to handle your own shit, so he would be more focused on you than whatever made you feel the way you do. However, if days passed and you were still angry/upset/sad, or if it plunged you into a breakdown or was an otherwise extremely serious situation ... just give him a target. It's up to you, but if you tell him to take the shot, it'll be quick and clean. If you're unable to make the decision, he'll decide for you without hesitation.

Kathleen Montgomery (OC)

I'm still developing her so this one won't be as in-depth and is subject to change.

Kath makes it her business to know everything about you. Chances are she's seen you explode screaming while stalking you ... chances are, if you've been in a relationship for a while, she's made you explode screaming. She knows what you look like when you're angry. Besides, she's strong for her size, but she often has to take down people who are much bigger and stronger than her; she uses manipulation and trickery to help ease that divide, so she's good at reading people.

Like Deacon, she also monitors all your social media, so if you made a vent post, she already knows you're in a shitty mood before you come home. Unlike Deacon, she doesn't tell you how she knows, so you're left to assume she's just all knowing. Considering her god complex, that works for her.

She'd probably text you to come home, and she expects you to answer. If you're unable to come home, she'll call you to ask what's wrong.

Once you're together, she wants to know everything about the situation. Even as you're speaking, she's already on her phone or laptop, looking up the people involved. Instead of getting mad on your behalf, she laughs. She's a fan of emphasizing how pathetic or weak the opposition is.

She takes your feelings on the subject seriously, but everyone else in the situation? Insects. Not even worthy of your time or concern, let alone hers. You're obviously in the right here (even if you're not). She'll tell you as much, and say some pretty intense, over-the-line things about whomever/whatever you're angry at.

Overall, however, she's calm and collected about the situation. Your bout of anger is a chance to get you to be reckless with her. She'll do your hair and makeup and dress you up nice, then take you out. Fast driving, drinking, baiting people at bars, menacing neighborhoods ... maybe a little killing, if you'd like.

***

Masterlist

[aerosiderwrites]

Archery Practice ... Yandere Childe x Harbinger!Reader

warnings for genre typical portrayals of unhealthy relationships... ngl childe is kinda tame in this one tho

Word Count: 2k

Mid-evening tended to be an unpopular time to train. Most were having dinner, finishing their work day, and getting ready for as restful night as possible in the frigid climate of Snezhnaya. You typically would as well, but with a lot to reflect on and frustrated energy, you brushed off the snow on your person as you entered a Fatui training facility. You gave a quiet greeting to the guards who manned the building, who stood at attention at your arrival. You paid them no second thought as you began to navigate the pristine building.

You followed a path down the corridors you knew by heart, as even years before your ascension to being a Harbinger you found yourself here more than at home whenever your weren’t on assignment. Most windows into the various gyms were dark, and the ones with people in them had young recruits of little consequence to you.

You turned a corner when you heard someone calling for you. You processed the distinct voice as Childe, the most recent addition to the Harbingers. You ignored him, hoping that your increase in pace would not catch his attention. You mentally pleaded that he would avoid the archery range in favor of the other combat gyms.

He didn’t stop, as he never did, as his voice continued to come your way. You closed your eyes in weak attempt to hide your wince as he addressed you by name, by your real name, not your Harbinger title as the other nine would.

You stopped dead and turned to where he was trailing behind you and gave him your attention, unfortunately rewarding his bad behavior, “Titles only, Childe.”

“I wasn’t sure you could hear me” Childe responded, now standing tall right in front of you, his smile still the same, ignoring or otherwise completely unbothered by the standoffishness on your end. “I wanted to see if you wanted to spar while you’re here.”

Like clockwork. Every damn time you came in here and he was here too he’d ask. Each time you’d say no. Each time he’d hover around you until one of you had to leave. It had worked for the other Harbingers, as he now paid them no mind but for whatever reason, he still engaged with you. Tonight, you hoped your verifiable excuse and unfriendly aura would be the last straw for him.

“I’m just going to be doing target practice today,” you said, hoping to deter him. “I don’t want to do anything too strenuous today.”

“Oh you are? Do you mind if I join you?”

You blinked, “I didn’t know you knew how to use a bow,” you verbally dug your heels into the ground, even though you knew he could just walk into the range and practice along side you if he so wanted. There were no restrictions to who could use what when, but you desperately wished he would take a hint and leave you alone.

“I’ve been practicing on my own more recently, actually,” explained Childe, “And considering you’re the best archer among us, I can’t imagine having a better training partner.”

You narrowed your eyes at his compliment, while delivered earnestly, you couldn’t help but interpret his words as being subtly facetious. Since Childe sidestepped your frustrated hint with ease, you relented with a sigh, “Do as you please.”

The two of you headed to an archery range, Childe walking along side you, while you stewed in silent annoyance. So much for introspection time.

No one quite knew how to pester quite like Tartaglia. It was the popular opinion among the other Harbingers that the 11th was obnoxious. While you and your contemporaries preferred to work in the shadows and keep the often extreme extents of your servitude to your Archon hush-hush, Tartaglia, or Childe, as he preferred, ended up with a style that was far more akin to a performance. However, unlike most performers, he would make sure that his performance would be the last his audience would ever see.

You stopped in front of a door to the small range, opening it up unceremoniously, and Childe followed close behind. The room lit up, and illuminating the long room with three suspended targets, at three distances. Even with the unwanted company, you stretched and warmed up on autopilot, the silence between you and Childe surprisingly comfortable.

You glanced over, Childe having gone through his warm up routine faster than you. He had called his bow already, and you found yourself gawking at the absolutely abysmal posture he held as he aimed at the closest target, the one on the far left.

His shoulders were hunched and his bow hand gripped the bow in such a way that seemed entirely unsustainable. The arrow sat flimsy in his drawing hand, the only saving grace of the shot being the strength with Childe drew, which was borderline disturbing. You weren’t sure if he was showing off, or if he genuinely didn’t know to hold back.

You held your tongue as you watched him fire the shot, your eyes barely able to follow as the arrow swiftly embedded itself deep into the target, although the hit was only one by the smallest of margins

You watched him fire two more arrows, the second being a ring outside of the bullseye, and the third a near miss from the top. Both would be a challenge to pull from the targets as the fletching of the arrows were barely all that stuck out.

“See, I have a problem with being consistent in the hits I land,” Childe sighed, aware that you were observing, “What would you recommend?”

You took a deep inhale, “I think most children who pick up bows for the first time don’t have posture as bad as you.”

Childe flinched, his body language exaggerated, a pout resembling a kicked puppy having formed on his face, “Cut me some slack, I’m self taught!”

You remained unrelenting in your onslaught, “That’s obvious,” you scoffed, “You put way to much strength into the draw, especially when you can barely hold the bow itself. I’m amazed you hit the target at all.”

As as satisfying as it was to drag his form through the mud, Childe’s hurt expression only seemed to deepen, and you let yourself be worn down. “Draw the empty string, I’ll tell you what you need to fix.”

He did as you asked, and you rationalized to yourself that you were ultimately helping the Tsaritsa if you assisted Childe here. If he were ever stuck in a situation where he could only use a bow, you didn’t want him to be caught with his pants down. As invasive as he was, you didn’t want him to die or anything.

You lightly tapped his upper back, “Don’t hunch.” He fixed himself quickly. You moved his elbow up on his drawing arm, and went around to bend his elbow on his bow arm, going in quickly, and touching his as little as possible. You gave explanations for why each mistake would be detrimental for any kind of combat, and how to develop instinctive shooting, while making him maintain proper posture.

You were surprised how well he seemed to internalize what you explained, and you didn’t stop yourself from going into more detail than was feasibly retainable, but he stayed attentive, and showed a passion you weren’t expecting. You eased into a comfortable rhythm, and with rudimentary fixes, Childe was able to improve.

Time passed quickly, your engagement far more than either of you had expected. Childe had been trying to gauge you for a long time, but your persistence into giving him as little as possible became entertaining in and of itself. He enjoyed the open resentment of the other Harbingers, and before you had let your shell crack, he had enjoyed yours just as much.

Your patience with any mistakes was unexpected, your exasperation and irritation with his presence having dissipated entirely as you focused on helping him despite yourself. It was endearing seeing this side of you, a side that showed itself with surprisingly little prodding or string-pulling. It felt… natural, and unfortunately for you, it was also very endearing.

“Hey, [Y/N],” he started, interrupting a demonstration you had started about sights, earning a surprised look from you as he got your attention.

It took a split second, but you noticed he used your name instead of your title, your guard went back up, and you narrowed your eyes at him, “Don’t speak informally with me, use my title, Tartaglia.” You hissed out, using his official title instead of his preferred to emphasize your distance.

“Why? You can call me Ajax,” he offered, testing the barrier you set up. He hid his surprise when you hesitated, pursing your lips. He saw through how you tried to treat him apathetically, and forced yourself to be unkind to him. You were so much softer than you wanted anyone else to be privy to, and Childe was excited to exploit it.

In your own head, you had reached a conclusion that you weren’t sure he had reached, or if he even noticed in himself. You could have been way off, but as someone so at odds with his peers, seen as a tool by his superior, and feared by enemies and underlings alike, the pieces fit in your head and spelled out the fact that Childe was probably lonely.

Realizations clicked together quickly upon this conclusion, but you kept them to yourself.

“I won’t,” you maintained, refusing to let up. You couldn’t stop sympathy and understanding from now changing the tint of your interactions or how you viewed them, but you didn’t have to let him know any of that. Childe wasn’t your business, no matter how much he wanted to be.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Childe cooed, holding back a patronizing urge to pinch your angry cheeks, “I just wanted to ask why you’re helping me, since you seem to dislike me so much.”

You shifted your weight where you stood, “I don’t think you’d leave me alone either way.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from ignoring me before.”

Resentment bubbled in your chest, “So you are aware that you’re a pest.”

“Only because I like you.”

You were baffled that he could just say something that familiar, and you hoped any warmth that showed itself on you wouldn’t be interpreted as anything other than embarrassment on his behalf. “Well, stop.”

Childe seemed more amused than anything at your words, it only feeding into his idea that you’re just playing hard to get, “Am I really so unlikable?”

“You have no idea.” Any understanding you gained during your interactions being emotionally tossed to the wayside as your couldn’t bring yourself to care about someone with such a deliberate lack of regard for boundaries.

You disarmed yourself and made way to the door, pulling it open only for it to shut fast before you could blink. Your eyes followed the gloved hand that slammed it shut, Childe now far closer than you have ever let him get before.

You didn't want to turn around, and when you did you found yourself regretting it. His eyes were cold, completely unamused at your intent to leave while he was enjoying your company so much. He didn't mind a chase, but he needed you to realize that he was serious, and very difficult to deter.

If being pleasant and fun wouldn't get you to loosen up, he could change his approach until you changed your mind.

It had been a very long time since you felt this small. You’ve always been aware of Childe’s strength, but at the end of the day, despite his irritating nature, he was an ally. Or was. In that moment you looked up to see his lighthearted facade disappear so completely, you understood that regardless of your allegiance to your Archon, he was a threat.

“Don’t go, I still have so much I’d like to learn from you, [Y/N].”

[mikeyinnit]

tale as old as time

Pairing: Technoblade x GN!Reader

Summary: You’ve always wanted adventure, so you left your home. One day you meet the infamous Blood God and think that he might be what you’ve been waiting for.

Word Count: 1.2k words

Notes: Way less Beauty and the Beast inspired than initially planned, so I’m definitely willing to revisit this idea and make one that’s closer if people are interested in that! I just really wanted to make sure I get something out for you guys today <3

Tagging: @angstyx

Villages were usually thought of to be close knit communities, people living and working together and starting families. It was bullshit. At least, that’s true for yours. Your village didn’t love you, it was obvious to everyone around. You weren’t like them, the librarian liked you because you checked out books often but those books being your preferred company made you sort of an outcast among them. Honestly? You didn’t really care. This place wasn’t where you were planning to spend the rest of your days, you were going to leave one day and have the exact adventures you’ve read about. Farming and starting a family with someone you didn’t love sounded awful.

Once you collected enough money from different jobs around town, you were ready to go. The librarian let you keep a book as a parting gift, you chose the worn out copy of Greek myths you’ve read time and time again. With that, you said goodbye to the only home you ever knew and set off for your own great adventure.  

While you traveled, you heard other tales, legends of a man called the ‘Blood God’ and the terror he inflicted on people. You weren’t even sure they were true, it sounded like something from a story that was made to keep children from misbehaving. But there were enough villages that spoke of him that you were beginning to think there may have been something to the tale. It wasn’t long before you met the man yourself.

It had been some time now since you’ve come across another village, and your horse was growing tired, so you swung your leg over to get off and found a tree to have some shelter for the night. While your life hasn’t necessarily been as exciting as the books you loved so much, it was better than being stagnant in a place that didn’t want you there.  

Unfortunately, your wish for a good night’s rest couldn’t be fulfilled, as a large group of zombies found you. You had some experience defending yourself against one or two of the monsters but you didn’t have enough weapons or skill for a whole horde of the undead. On the other hand, you were fortunate, because a stranger with long pink hair seemingly appeared from the shadows and gave you a hand with the zombies. And by a hand, you mean he completely slaughtered them in no time. Needless to say, you were impressed.  

“Thank you, you really saved my life.”  

The man seemed almost uncomfortable with the gratitude, or maybe he was uncomfortable with speaking to strangers, as he just looked at you and nodded in response. But it didn’t deter you in the slightest as you held out your hand with a large grin, almost as if you hadn’t just been nearly killed moments ago. “My name is Y/N.”

This time, the savior at least gave a verbal response, “Technoblade.”

There was something about that name that seemed familiar, you certainly haven’t met him before, but you still couldn’t shake that feeling. Seeing that he won’t return the hand, you let it fall by your side silently. “What are you doing here? Most people would be inside their homes at this time of the night.” Granted, you weren’t, but you also didn’t have a home currently so you had an excuse.

“I had things to do.”

And with that, the tall man moved to leave. His work here was done, he wasn’t even planning on stopping but he wasn’t going to ignore a zombie horde in his path. You just happened to be there and couldn’t take them all on your own. Before you could even say a goodbye, the stranger was gone and you were alone with your horse once more.  

But shortly after he left, you noticed something on the ground where Technoblade stood minutes before. It was a book, one similar to your own, full of tales of Greek Heroes. You knew you wouldn’t want to lose your book forever, so you tried to follow him. You saw the direction he left in and figured he couldn’t have been too far ahead, continuing to follow the path straightforward until you came across a large castle. Dark and towering with seemingly no light inside, it was one that could be considered terrifying to most, especially at night, but to you it just looked beautiful. The building was like a present waiting to be opened, you weren’t sure what was inside or even if the man you were following was here, but you didn’t feel any fear as you pushed the door open. The creak was loud and surely would have caught the attention of anyone, or anything, inside.  

Luckily, it did.  

Unluckily, this attention was the man who had saved your life earlier tonight holding a crossbow aimed straight at you.  

“Why did you follow me?”

For the first time tonight, you figured out why that name was familiar. Technoblade, otherwise known as the Blood God. This was the man that had countless stories told about him, all full of the pain he’s brought and people he’s killed. But he also saved you for no real reason and carried around a book of Greek Heroes. Even with this new knowledge that he will not hesitate to pull that trigger, you still weren’t afraid of him. You couldn’t really say why when you had every reason to fear him, there was just something about this man that was just like the castle the two of you were in. Most people would say it looks scary and wouldn’t want to be near it but you felt the opposite. Soon you finally snapped yourself out of your thoughts and spoke, your gaze trained on him the entire time, “You dropped your book. Yours looks more worn out that mine so I figured you wouldn’t want to miss it.”

The crossbow stayed on you for a few moments while Technoblade considered your words, it helped that you had the book in your hand to confirm your story. Finally, he lowers the weapon and just murmurs a simple thanks as he takes the worn leather book from your hands.

“Which one is your favorite?”  

The question made him pause, and you took that pause to continue speaking. “Or at least a favorite. I know it’s hard to have just one, I usually go with Pandora’s Box but I love Orpheus and Eurydice too.”

There was an expression on Technoblade’s face and you couldn’t figure out what it was. He wasn’t used to people casually talking to him and while it was more of their preference than his own, he didn’t mind the solitude. Not only did you follow him just to return his book, you were staying to ask questions even after he nearly killed you. None of this was normal. But something about him didn’t hate it, so he indulged you for the night. You two spoke all night, sharing your favorite Greek myths and discussing the different versions you’ve found.

Before you even realized, it was daytime. You had spent the entire night talking with a near stranger who had a very dangerous reputation. And it was the best night of your life. You were getting ready to leave, feeling like you overstayed your welcome and that Technoblade would probably want to get back to whatever he was going to do before you showed up. Before you could open the door, his hand grabbed your arm.

“You don’t have to go yet , Y/N.”

And you didn’t hesitate to step away from the door. One more day with the Blood God couldn’t hurt, in fact, one could even consider it an adventure.  

[notsoheadless]

Remember Longcat, Jane? I remember Longcat. Fuck the picture on this page, I want to talk about Longcat. Memes were simpler back then, in 2006. They stood for something. And that something was nothing. Memes just were. “Longcat is long.” An undeniably true, self-reflexive statement. Water is wet, fire is hot, Longcat is long. Memes were floating signifiers without signifieds, meaningful in their meaninglessness. Nobody made memes, they just arose through spontaneous generation; Athena being birthed, fully formed, from her own skull.     You could talk about them around the proverbial water cooler, taking comfort in their absurdity. “Hey, Johnston, have you seen the picture of that cat? They call it Longcat because it’s long!” “Ha ha, sounds like good fun, Stevenson! That reminds me, I need to show you this webpage I found the other day; it contains numerous animated dancing hamsters. It’s called — you’ll never believe this — hamsterdance!” And then Johnston and Stevenson went on to have a wonderful friendship based on the comfortable banality of self-evident digitized animals.     But then 2007 came, and along with it came I Can Has, and everything was forever ruined. It was hubris, Jane. We did it to ourselves. The minute we added written language beyond the reflexive, it all went to shit. Suddenly memes had an excess of information to be parsed. It wasn’t just a picture of a cat, perhaps with a simple description appended to it; now the cat spoke to us via a written caption on the picture itself. It referred to an item of food that existed in our world but not in the world of the meme, rupturing the boundary between the two. The cat wanted something. Which forced us to recognize that what it wanted was us, was our attention. WE are the cheezburger, Jane, and we always were. But by the time we realized this, it was too late. We were slaves to the very memes that we had created. We toiled to earn the privilege of being distracted by them. They fiddled while Rome burned, and we threw ourselves into the fire so that we might listen to the music. The memes had us. Or, rather, they could has us.     And it just got worse from there. Soon the cats had invisible bicycles and played keyboards. They gained complex identities, and so we hollowed out our own identities to accommodate them. We prayed to return to the simple days when we would admire a cat for its exceptional length alone, the days when the cat itself was the meme and not merely a vehicle for the complex memetic text. And the fact that this text was so sparse, informal, and broken ironically made it even more demanding. The intentional grammatical and syntactical flaws drew attention to themselves, making the meme even more about the captioning words and less about the pictures. Words, words, words. Wurds werds wordz. Stumbling through a crooked, dead-end hallway of a mangled clause describing a simple feline sentiment was a torture that we inflicted on ourselves daily. Let’s not forget where the word “caption” itself comes from: capio, Latin for both “I understand” and “I capture.” We thought that by captioning the memes, we were understanding them. Instead, our captions allowed them to capture us. The memes that had once been a cure for our cultural ills were now the illness itself.     It goes right back to the Phaedrus, really. Think about it. Back in the innocent days of 2006, we naïvely thought that the grapheme had subjugated the phoneme, that the belief in the primacy of the spoken word was an ancient and backwards folly on par with burning witches or practicing phrenology or thinking that Smash Mouth was good. Fucking Smash Mouth. But we were wrong. About the phoneme, I mean. Theuth came to us again, this time in the guise of a grinning grey cat. The cat hungered, and so did Theuth. He offered us an updated choice, and we greedily took it, oblivious to the consequences. To borrow the parlance of a contemporary meme, he baked us a pharmakon, and we eated it.     Pharmakon, φάρμακον, the Greek word that means both “poison” and “cure,” but, because of the

limitations of the English language, can only be translated one way or the other depending on the context and the translator’s whims. No possible translation can capture the full implications of a Greek text including this word. In the Phaedrus, writing is the pharmakon that the trickster god Theuth offers, the toxin and remedy in one. With writing, man will no longer forget; but he will also no longer think. A double-edged (s)word, if you will. But the new iteration of the pharmakon is the meme. Specifically, the post-I-Can-Has memescape of 2007 onward. And it was the language that did it, Jane. The addition of written language twisted the remedy into a poison, flipped the pharmakon on its invisible axis.     In retrospect, it was in front of our eyes all along. Meme. The noxious word was given to us by who else but those wily ancient Greeks themselves. μίμημα, or mīmēma. Defined as an imitation, a copy. The exact thing Plato warned us against in the Republic. Remember? The simulacrum that is two steps removed from the perfection of the original by the process of — note the root of the word — mimesis. The Platonic ideal of an object is the source: the father, the sun, the ghostly whole. The corporeal manifestation of the object is one step removed from perfection. The image of the object (be it in letters or in pigments) is two steps removed. The author is inferior to the craftsman is inferior to God.     Fuck, out of space. Okay, the illustration on page 46 is fucking useless; I’ll see you there. (21) But we’ll go farther than Plato. Longcat, a photograph, is a textbook example of a second-degree mimesis. (We might promote it to the third degree since the image on the internet is a digital copy of the original photograph of the physical cat which is itself a copy of Platonic ideal of a cat (the Godcat, if you will); but this line of thought doesn’t change anything in the argument.) The text-supplemented meme, on the other hand, the captioned cat, is at an infinite remove from the Godcat, the ultimate mimesis, copying the copy of itself eternally, the written language and the image echoing off each other, until it finally loops back around to the truth by virtue of being so far from it. It becomes its own truth, the fidelity of the eternal copy. It becomes a God.     Writing itself is the archetypical pharmakon and the archetypical copy, if you’ll come back with me to the Phaedrus (if we ever really left it). Speech is the real deal, Socrates says, with a smug little wink to his (written) dialogic buddy. Speech is alive, it can defend itself, it can adapt and change. Writing is its bastard son, the mimic, the dead, rigid simulacrum. Writing is a copy, a mīmēma, of truth in speech. To return to our analogous issue: the image of the cheezburger cat, the copy of the picture-copy-copy, is so much closer to the original Platonic ideal than the written language that accompanies it. (“Pharmakon” can also mean “paint.” Think about it, Jane. Just think about it.) The image is still fake, but it’s the caption on the cat that is the downfall of the republic, the real fakeness, which is both realer and faker than whatever original it is that it represents.    Men and gods abhor the lie, Plato says in sections 382 a and b of the Republic. οὐκ οἶσθα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι τό γε ὡς ἀληθῶς ψεῦδος, εἰ οἷόν τε τοῦτο εἰπεῖν, πάντες θεοί τε καὶ ἄνθρωποι μισοῦσιν; πῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις; οὕτως, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι τῷ κυριωτάτῳ που ἑαυτῶν ψεύδεσθαι καὶ περὶ τὰ κυριώτατα οὐδεὶς ἑκὼν ἐθέλει, ἀλλὰ πάντων μάλιστα φοβεῖται ἐκεῖ αὐτὸ κεκτῆσθαι. “Don’t you know,” said I, “that the veritable lie, if the expression is permissible, is a thing that all gods and men abhor?” “What do you     mean?” he said. “This,” said I, “that falsehood in the most vital part of themselves, and about their most vital concerns, is something that no one willingly accepts, but it is there above all that everyone fears it.” Man’s worst fear is that he will hold existential falsehood within himself. And the verbal lies that he tells are a copy of this feared dishonesty in the soul.

Plato goes on to elaborate: “the falsehood in words is a copy of the affection in the soul, an after-rising image of it and not an altogether unmixed falsehood.” A copy of man’s false internal copy of truth. And what word does Plato use for “copy” in this sentence? That’s fucking right, μίμημα. Mīmēma. Mimesis. Meme. The new meme is a lie, manifested in (written) words, that reflects the lack of truth, the emptiness, within the very soul of a human. The meme is now not only an inferior copy, it is a deceptive copy.     But just wait, it gets better. Plato continues in the very next section of the Republic, 382 c. Sometimes, he says, the lie, the meme, is appropriate, even moral. It is not abhorrent to lie to your enemy, or to your friend in order to keep him from harm. “Does it [the lie] not then become useful to avert the evil—as a medicine?” You get one fucking guess for what Greek word is being translated as “medicine” in this passage. Ding ding motherfucking ding, you got it, φάρμακον, pharmakon. The μίμημα is a φάρμακον, the lie is a medicine/poison, the meme is a pharmakon.     But I’m sure that by now you’ve realized the (intentional) mistake in my argument that brought us to this point. I said earlier that the addition of written language to the meme flipped the pharmakon on its axis. But the pharmakon didn’t flip, it doesn’t have an axis. It was always both remedy and poison. The fact that this isn’t obvious to us from the very beginning of the discussion is the fault of, you guessed it, language. The initial lie (writing) clouds our vision and keeps us from realizing how false the second-order lie (the meme) is.     The very structure of the lying meme mirrors the structure of the written word that defines and corrupts it. Once you try to identify an “outside” in order to reveal the lie, the whole framework turns itself inside-out so that you can never escape it. The cat wants the cheezburger that exists outside the meme, but only through the meme do we become aware of the presumed existence of the cheezburger — we can’t point out the absurdity of the world of the meme without also indicting our own world. We can’t talk about language without language, we can’t meme without mimesis. Memes didn’t change between ‘06 and ‘07, it was us who changed. Or rather, our understanding of what we had always been changed. The lie became truth, the remedy became the poison, the outside became the inside. Which is to say that the truth became lie, the pharmakon was always the remedy and the poison, and the inside retreated further inside. It all came full circle. Because here’s the secret, Jane. Language ruined the meme, yes. But language itself had already been ruined. By that initial poisonous, lying copy. Writing.     The First Meme.     Language didn’t attack the meme in 2007 out of spite. It attacked it to get revenge.     Longcat is long. Language is language. Pharmakon is pharmakon. The phoneme topples the grapheme, witches ride through the night, our skulls hide secret messages on their surfaces, Smash Mouth is good after all. Hey now, you’re an all-star. Get your game on.     Go play.

[astridthevalkyrie]

summer rain: chapter 1

Your days in the Training Corp aren’t too out of the ordinary. You make friends, you train hard, and you eat dinner every day.

Oh, and you’re also hellbent on getting revenge against Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. 

Chapter 2

Read on FF.net or AO3.

Helloooo, beautiful people. I’m so excited about this story! This is now the official first part of the series, so it’s a prequel to the three oneshots I’ve already posted. If you haven’t read them, no worries, you can read this just fine. If you want to, just know they all have an established relationship and will reference the past, so you may possibly get spoiled. 

I plan for this to have five or so chapters, so buckle up, and as always, happy reading!

You’ve been expecting more.

Maybe that’s the wrong perspective to have. It’s still the military, and it’s still your first day and sure, that’s exciting and all, but you’ve heard stories. People always describe their first day of training as absolutely terrifying, but life-changing. They say that the first day is the day all the baby-faced cadets realize they’re in over their heads. It’s an introduction to the rest of their lives. At least, that’s the case for the people who stay. If one can’t handle a verbal beating, how can they stand any chance against the titans? The first day changes everything.

This, however, isn’t life-changing. It’s not terrifying. It’s rather...dull.

To be fair, the man in front doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it either.

You’ve heard of him, of course you have. Even back within Sina, people talk. A newcomer, a gift from the walls, humanity’s savior. Recently joined the Survey Corp and yet already a lieutenant, a definite shoe-in for the next available section commander position. Apparently his origins are a bit of a mystery, but he’s either the long lost son of a rich merchant or he’s come from outside the walls themselves because it’s just impossible that any common person can possess the skills he’s rumored to have. You’re not sure you believe all of it - apparently he’s so fast that the titans can’t even see him coming? yeah, sure - and yet there’s just something about him that gives off a truly well-earned confident aura. That’s been the most exciting part so far, the chance to see him up close, to see that he’s actually real.

Still, since he began talking, Lieutenant Levi hasn’t once raised his voice. He hasn’t screamed at them all for being the weakest pieces of shit he’s ever seen. He hasn’t even told them about how they’re going to train to become snacks for the titans. It’s disappointing. You’ve been ready to stand your ground, to show you’re made of some tough stuff. That can’t happen when your trainer won’t even bother to strike fear into your heart. Where other people may be relieved, you are mourning this loss of the traditional military experience.

At the very least, he’s not the actual trainer. He started his speech with a complaint that their actual instructor was sick for the day so now he had the absolute pleasure to welcome dozens of new fucking brats to their new home and occupation. His words drip with venom and boredom - clearly, he didn’t join to do any of this. It’s beneath him. All in all, Lieutenant Levi seems rather...arrogant. Maybe it’s well-deserved. But you don’t have to like it.

As he walks up to people at random who shout out their bare identities, the lieutenant snaps out comments that seem like they’re meant to bully rather than to frighten.

“Your posture is shit.”

“Oh wow, I bet the titans will be real scared of your noodle arms.”

“And here I thought these villages would send their best and brightest. Instead they sent you.”

But you’re not one to let things get to you so easily. You have your fist balled to your chest proudly, ready to serve humanity. You’ve fought to get where you are, and now you’re really, actually standing here, with your new comrades besides you, and you couldn’t be more proud. A bright smile settles on your face. You will make the best out of this, no matter your humanity-saving trainer’s dour mood. 

Unfortunately, said humanity-saving trainer takes notice of your smile, and with his gaze locked on his new target, he walks up to you, eyes narrowed in irritation.

“What’s your deal?”

You straighten your back, snap to attention, and look directly ahead as you know is appropriate. “Cadet (F/N) (L/N), sir, from Stohess District!”

His expression doesn’t throw you off, despite it looking like he’s never been so irritated in his life. You know you haven’t done anything wrong (at least not yet), so him looking that pissed off must be an internal issue, nothing to do with you. You’re not any different than any of the other cadets that have introduced themselves.

“Cadet (F/N) (L/N),” he says as though he’s testing out a brand new curse word, with just a hint of mockery in his voice. “I didn’t ask for your name or where you were from. I asked what your deal was.”

Well what in the holy hells is that supposed to mean?

Is what you want to say, but instead you simply furrow your brows and ask curly. “Sir?”

“What the fuck are you so happy about?” he clarifies, annoyance displayed clearly on his face.

Well damn, no need to be so edgy. You aren’t necessarily required to be as serious as everyone else here, and smiling isn’t a crime last time you checked. But this is obviously Lieutenant Levi’s thing, to be snarky and mean, and the sooner you answer, the sooner he’ll move on and find a new victim. “Just happy to be here, sir.”

Your smile stays right where it is.

“Oh, is that it?” He stares at you, deadpan. “You like the thought of being eaten? Does the idea just make your day? Do you fantasize about it at night? Let it lull you to sleep?”

Your smile grows a little strained.

Passion aggression is nothing new. You grew up in Stohess, you’re used to your fair share of cattiness. The lieutenant must take lessons from the tea-sipping high class ladies you’d basically grown up with, because he reminds you of them vividly. Ironic, considering you thought the military would be an escape to a life that was real and included less passive bullshit. It’s that frustration at the similarity that makes your polite mask crack.

The response slips through your lips before you can stop yourself. “No, sir, but last night I did happen to dream of a trainer that was tough enough to handle one of his subordinates smiling.”

You can be catty too. 

The grounds become more silent than they already were. It’s as though everyone is suddenly holding their breath at this new confrontation, just waiting to see what the newly dubbed hope of humanity will do if someone matches his sass. The loud silence is what finally makes you just a smidge nervous - surely, they won’t kick you out on your very first day just because of a smart comment, right?

Impatient and a bit anxious, you finally allow yourself to look directly in his eyes, and you’re suddenly stricken by how grey they are. You don’t think you’ve ever met anyone with grey eyes. They’re damn gorgeous. And there’s a hint of...something in them, and to your surprise it’s not rage. He looks calculatingly gleeful, as though he’s just been waiting for someone to say something back to him. He appears cruel and delighted all at once, and the contrast of it along with the striking silver hue is more personality than you’ve ever seen in someone’s eyes before.

It’s a breathtaking sight. You move in just a millionth of a centimeter to get a closer look -

And then he moves, lightning fast, reeling back and swinging his leg around to sweep your legs from under you. With a gasp, you hit the ground hard, head ringing and vision blurring for a few seconds. Your hair, which was loose around your shoulders, flies across your face, some of it entering your mouth. From above you, grey eyes are triumphant, looking down on you as though to ask whether or not that’s tough enough for you. You’d love to answer, but your head is throbbing and you can only let out a pathetic, confused noise that causes titters to spread throughout the room.

What the hell just happened?

You move to get up, but he’s quicker, slamming his foot down on your leg and holding you right where you are. For someone with such a short stature, he looks pretty damn tall from down here. Maybe this is the sight that the titans barely get to see before he slices through them. 

Everyone is watching, even if they’re not turning their hands. This is their entertainment today, and the fool has just made its move. The fool being you, of course. They’re all hungry to see how this will play out.

Your cheeks glow bright with embarrassment, but you are not going to waver. Not on the first day. This is what you wanted, right? You wanted someone who’d be a hardass, who’d strike fear in you and make this a day you’d never forget. Well, Lieutenant Levi is your wish come true.

“Please remove your foot, sir,” you muster as politely as you can, looking up at him icily.

He digs the heel of his shoe into your thigh to make a point, and maybe to see if you’ll cry out in pain. But you look him in his strange grey eyes and you only blink, a small smile returning to your face. Will he kick someone who’s already down?

The moment seems to last forever, and you briefly entertain the fantasy that time is freezing for him as much as it is for you.

And then it’s all broken - he takes his foot off and walks right by you, and the only words you’re spared after being humiliated are, “Tie your hair up, you look ridiculous.”

Thus goes your first meeting with Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

____________________

Dinner that night is filled with chatter. It seems people have found their loyal companions pretty fast, and cliques are forming faster than a speeding bullet. 

Luckily, you don’t need to worry about making friends. Besides the fact that you’re charming and perfect (according to everyone else and definitely not just you), you joined the military with your best friend from childhood. Millie Shackel is every bit the Stohess lady you are, the Rose to your Maria, the jelly to your butter. It’s amazing how much two girls can bond over a shared hate for the lack of activity happening within their stuffy town.

You gnaw at the bread on your plate, squeezing your eyes shut in pain after a particularly hard bite makes the back of your head throb. Not for the first time, you place your hand gingerly on the back of your skull, confirming that there’s no blood pouring out.

“Shouldn’t have mouthed off,” Millie quips from across the table, looking at you amusedly.

“Thanks,” you mutter bitterly, abandoning the bread for now until the soreness goes away. “Didn’t think one stupid comment was going to make him go berserk on me.”

She laughs, confirming you sound every bit as stupid as you feel. “I don’t think that classifies as berserk. That was a superior putting you in your place.”

“Suck-up,” you accuse, eyes narrowed. She only rolls her eyes, and you bring the cup of water to your lips and begin simply guzzling it down when someone claps you on the back, making you choke.

You turn to glare, still coughing up water, at two guys behind you. The one who nearly killed you is tall, with hair the color of bananas, and he’s grinning with no regrets, the shameful bastard. The other one behind him looks apologetic, red-haired with pretty green eyes. He whacks his friend on the arm. “You idiot, you nearly sent her to the infirmary!”

“Oh, come on.” The tall guy slides next to you without permission, slinging an arm around you as though you’re the closest of chums. Back in Stohess, you’d have called for his execution or some shit. “Surely the girl who talked back to Lieutenant Levi can handle some water going down the wrong way.”

Millie does not look pleased at the intruder, and looks even more grouchy when his friend sits down next to her, albeit keeping a much more respectful distance. When you finally stop coughing violently, you shove the guy’s arm away.

“A-asshole, what the hell’s your problem?” 

“There’s no problem, kid.” He nudges your arm with his elbow. “I just wanted to see the balls on you. Guess it was overexaggerated.”

“Obviously,” you snap, “I just talked back, I didn’t hop over the wall and kill a titan.”

“Regardless, good job with the way you handled it. The others are talking about you.”

Millie gives you a stern look. “Hear that? Now we’re the troublemakers.”

You shrug apologetically, and decide to take another crack at eating your bread. This time, it goes down easier, with only a light sting to remind you of the lieutenant’s cruelty. 

“I’m Stephen,” the redhead says with a shy smile, extending his hand. You shake it, then turn your gaze questioningly to the one next to you. He grins cockily, waiting for you to ask. You don’t.

“This is Ricky.” Stephen spoils his fun, sounding exasperated. 

“I assume you two are close.” Millie wrinkles her nose distastefully. You bite back a laugh - there’s that Stohess bitchiness that you love about her.

“We met this morning,” Ricky responds, and you can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

The two of you warm up to the boys soon enough. Ricky is rather friendly when he’s not trying to steal your food thinking you won’t notice, and Stephen is downright sweet, his emerald eyes brightening when you ask him where he’s from. He goes off on a ramble about his village which is somewhere smack dab in the middle of the land within Wall Rose. Apparently their local stew is the best there is. You privately disagree; nothing quite tastes like the stew they make in the Orvud District, least of all this bland loaf of bread in your hand.

Ricky, on the other hand, is from Shiganshina, which is apparently an outer city of Wall Maria (so the two boys really had just met that morning). 

“So, I’m guessing it’s the MP for you two?” Ricky says. Millie looks offended.

“That’s not right for you to assume!” She deflates a little. “But yes, it is.”

“Hey.” You shoot her a scowl. “It’s the MP for you. I don’t have any intention of hurrying back to precious Sina.”

Millie gazes at you with her we’ll talk about this later look like she has every time you’ve brought up that you have no intention of returning to fucking Stohess where nothing ever happens. Before she can say anything, Ricky ruffles your hair fondly. 

“Should’ve known you were made of tougher shit than that. So what, you like playing hero?”

You shrug. “No, I just have a sob story. Dead old Dad was a Scout, and then he was titan chowder.”

Stephen looks disturbed at how bluntly you say it, and even Ricky is a bit thrown off. You chuckle at their expressions, waving a hand nonchalantly. “It’s fine, it happened a while ago. I barely remember him. But you know, what better way to connect with your dead dad than to align yourself with the people who let him die, right?”

Ricky’s mouth hangs open as Millie snorts. “You can laugh, she’s making a joke. Get used to her sense of humor, it’s always this bad.”

“I resent that.”

“So you don’t care about getting into the top ten?” Stephen asks carefully - scoping out the competition, you realize.

“Couldn’t give less of a shit,” you answer coolly, “but Millie obviously does.”

“I’ll get into the top ten, it’s not about that.” Millie says confidently, shaking her head as though it’s ridiculous to even imagine that she wouldn’t. After all, you two were raised to be perfect. “The real goal is to be first.”

Ignoring the madly ambitious look in her eyes, you focus on Stephen. “So what is it for you? The Scouts?”

He winces bashfully. “I’m...undecided.”

You laugh out loud, a bit meanly. “What, undecided like you’re going to some top university in Mitras? This is the Training Corp, Stephen, you’re not gonna get to try out a bit of everything. Just choose whether or not you wanna be shipped off to a pointless death, and then you’ve made your decision.”

Stephen frowns, shaking his head. “If it was that simple, then what would be the point of choosing?”

Who in the holy hells asked for his philosophical wisdom, that’s what you want to know. Rolling your eyes, you turn to Ricky, who is chewing on your bread, abandoned after your taste buds just wouldn’t adjust without the butter you were used to. With his mouth full, he answers easily. “Scouts.”

You nod. At least he’s sure.

____________________

“That wasn’t right,” Millie says later, right as you’re about to lie down on a scratchy-looking bed.

“What?”

“What you said to him. He can take his time deciding if he wants to. And it’s just rich, coming from you.”

Your eye twitches in irritation. “You’re just pissed because I don’t wanna take on the most boring job in the world.”

“Grow up,” Millie hisses, venom laced in her voice. “Not everything’s about your entertainment.”

Turning around, you see your best friend with arms crossed, giving you a disapproving look that reminds you of your mother. How odd. What’s that old saying about people becoming what they most hate?

“You’re gonna lecture me now too? Hit me with some philosophy, maybe?” You raise your brow, daring her to say more. “Or do you wanna knock me over again? Maybe I’ll get a concussion this time.”

Millie scoffs, sitting down on the bed she’s claimed. “You know what, it was nice. Seeing someone put you in your place like that.” Her lips quirk under your hard gaze. “Maybe he’ll teach you a thing or two about taking things seriously. Give you some actual goals to achieve.”

The only thing Lieutenant Levi will teach you is to never get distracted by something like how beautiful someone’s eyes look ever again. Even now, you can still picture him, the way he stood in front of you, startled you, threw you off. The way his eyes were filled with more duality than you’d ever expected to see in a person.

Pretending like you didn’t just fantasize about his pretty grey irises, you roll your eyes and flop down on the bed next to her’s. “He’s not gonna teach me jack shit. He’s not even our trainer.”

Millie hums, whether it’s to you or to herself you don’t know, and when you look at her again she’s closed her eyes, clearly wanting to end what was a very long day. It’s not long before you join her.

“(F/N).”

“Yeah?”

“I miss home.”

You don’t, but you keep it to yourself.

The last thing you think of before you fall asleep is how cold the lieutenant had looked when he humiliated you, and your cheeks burn angrily.

____________________

Two weeks pass by in a blur. Once training starts, there’s not much time to think about something like goals, because everyone’s goal is simply living until dinner each night. Avoid getting yelled at, attend classes, study hard, and for the love of all things holy don’t fall on your face when you’re balancing in the practice ODM gear. 

It’s a rush, and you actually find yourself enjoying it. The food still tastes stale and the bed is still too hard to be comfortable, but there’s an easy routine that’s so much more than sit still and look pretty. While you’ve never been a fan of routine, this is different. There’s a purpose to this, even if everyone has different things they’re working towards. Whether they’re trying their best to show what they’re made of and get into the top ten like Millie, or pushing themselves because they get starry-eyed at the thought of saving humanity like Rashad, or simply staying out of trouble to avoid getting meal privileges taken away like Clara, everyone is working towards something, and it’s thrilling to be in the midst of it, to be a part of something meaningful.

You and Ricky are fast friends - he’s surprisingly not too insufferable and he shares your enthusiasm for not taking things so seriously. He also seems like he’s looking for a partner in crime, someone to partake in the oh-so delightful task of slacking off with. Millie is throwing herself into perfecting everything, and Stephen, while not as crazy as she is, is more nervous about losing respectability in front of their trainers and comrades. So the two of you naturally gravitate towards each other, because jeez, at least a few people here need to remember that life still exists outside of all of the training and military drama. 

Today is the first time they’re letting you practice hand-to-hand combat, and while that’s obviously ridiculous since you’re training to fight titans (or just bully people, if you’re joining the MP, but Millie didn’t appreciate you voicing that out loud), it’s also a chance for you to show off a natural talent. 

You’re flexible. And fairly fast too.

Sure, you’re no fighter, but back home you were put into dancing lessons since you were a wee young thing, so you have a much higher tolerance than most of these chumps. You can take a few hard punches here and there, and you’re fluid with your movements, so you’re giving as good as you get. Even combat is a dance in a certain way, it has all the same elements at any rate. Everything comes down to the placement of the feet, and every other body is an accessory that has to be utilized perfectly to do any damage. 

Unfortunately, Ricky’s fought, like actually fought - fucking peasants from Maria and their street fights - and so as much as you put up a damn good fight, he eventually gets you in a hold from behind. You squirm in his grasp as he laughs, digging his fingers in your side. You try to protest, but it’s hard when he’s tickling you so hard.

“H-hey, hey!” Your giggling only gets two octaves louder when Ricky doesn’t let up. “Stop!” Ricky’s laugh mixes in with yours, until he’s lifting you off the ground. Your breathing becomes painful as you struggle against his grip, clawing at his hands. “Ricky! Let go!”

Finally, he decides to show mercy, dropping you. He regrets it pretty soon, though, because then you’re on him quickly, throwing a hard punch against his shoulder. He groans, letting out a pained, “What the hell, (F/N)?” but you’re not done. You grab the collar of his uniform, and tug it forward briefly to give yourself some momentum to shove him back as hard as you can.

Ricky stumbles on his feet, catching himself before he falls at the last second. There’s a determined expression in his eyes, not quite competitive but suddenly eager to show off.

“So, think your dainty dancing is gonna give you the advantage here?” he challenges, balling his fists in front of his chest. You do the same. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but that’s not how that works.”

“Beat me, then. Properly.” You smirk, planting your feet firmly. Let him throw the first punch, you decide. “I have to be on the ground for you to win.”

Ricky’s clever too, knowing you intend to use his size against him. He lowers his arms, extending them as though he’s going to let you take a free shot. Yeah, you’re not that stupid. You stay right where you are, raising an unimpressed brow. The two of you stare each other down, trying your best not to break into smiles. 

“Hit me.”

“Hard pass.”

“Because you know your punch will be too weak?”

“How’s your shoulder, Ricky? Should be feeling fine, since my punch was so weak.”

He barks out a laugh, rolling his shoulder back experimentally. “Like getting hit by a feather.”

Okay, trash talk isn’t part of the combat training that the trainer, Instructor Grumman, has assigned. But it’s still fun, and it’s about a thousand times more preferable than actually fighting. Fighting is painful and pointless. Trash talk is entertaining and doable. 

Still, you hunch your shoulders. If Ricky really won’t move, you’ll come at him with full force. Digging your heel into the ground, you give yourself a boost and run towards him with a burst of speed. His eyes widen, and his first instinct is to hold out his hands to keep you at bay. But with the close proximity and his lanky figure, it won’t be enough. You’ll have him on his back within seconds if you ram into him in one, two -

You don’t make it.

You don’t make it because you’re suddenly flung into the air. You let out a frantic shriek and bring your arms up to shield your face. The ground approaches with dizzying speed and you hit it with a sickening thud. Your hands are suddenly covered in scratches and you open your mouth to furiously ask Ricky what the fuck he was thinking and how did he even do that and did he have to throw you so high -

But when you look up, it’s cold grey eyes that meet you.

Fuck.

The glare that was supposed to be for Ricky is now aimed at him, unadulterated hate coursing through your veins. This is the first time you’ve seen him since that day. Just what in the actual fuck is his problem, and just what had you done to deserve being thrown over his shoulder and up into the sky like a fucking ragdoll? You hadn’t mouthed off this time. Hell, you didn’t even know he was there, so just what the fuck was he punishing you for?

“People who don’t take their training seriously usually end up looking up like this,” he hisses. His glare matches yours, which is ridiculous, because he’s the one who knocked you down. Why is he pissed off? “‘Course, they’re usually looking up at a titan, but we don’t have any of those on hand for me to demonstrate.”

Yeah, he’s far from a titan. Fucking shrimp.

“I was taking my training very seriously, sir,” you say with gritted teeth. “In fact, I would have defeated my opponent had you not stepped in and shot me up in the air.” Your hands would also have significantly fewer bruises. 

He snorts, actually snorts, like you’ve just told a hilarious joke. “A real opponent isn’t going to let you run that mouth of yours before they come at you. You’d be dead in two fucking seconds.”

People are looking now. Everyone remembers that first day, and they all look as though their favorite stage actors have come to town to perform a show. They’re all waiting to see just what the girl who talked back to Lieutenant Levi will do now. A circus trick, perhaps? They don’t know what you’re made of - no one is going to see you crack. And definitely not because of this insufferable man.

“You don’t know that, sir.” You say it with a poisonous smile, wanting him to know that it’s not meant to be respectful. “I might just make it. Maybe I’ll even make it longer than you.”

There are hushed gasps all around you, but the lieutenant pays them no mind. He looks amused, as if you’re just a stupid little girl, an arrogant brat who somehow thinks she’s somehow stronger than him. You’re not an idiot, you know that he’s an excellent soldier who will probably make captain soon, and you’re a lowly cadet who doesn’t even know the basics yet. But once you’re trained up, once you have experience, you think you could take him on, and you could possibly win.

Lieutenant Levi leans down, crouching on his legs before leaning in. He grabs your shoulder harshly, and leans in to whisper in your ear. “I’ll be waiting, (L/N).”

You almost feel respected until he adds, “Waiting to see the day that fucking smile gets wiped off your face.”

With that, he stands up and turns. Turns to walk away. Turns as though you’re not still on the ground. Turns as though your comrades aren’t snickering around you, convinced that he just put you in your place a second time. Turns as though he didn’t just single you out for no damn reason - who even fucking asked him to watch? Who asked him to interfere in your business? Why didn’t anyone else demand his attention? You weren’t the only one goofing off. Hell, there were some people who were actually just lazing around! Where was their punishment?

Furiously, you speak before your brain can catch up.

“Why don’t you fight me, Lieutenant?” you say loudly as you get to your feet.

He stops.

Ricky, who is safely standing a few feet away now, gives you a wide-eyed look, silently asking if you’re brain damaged. But you pay him no mind, your eyes focused on the back of Lieutenant Levi’s head, probably burning a hole in him with your gaze by now. Immediately, the crowd changes sides again, hushed oohs spreading around. It’s not enthusiastic, no one actually believes you’ll triumph, but they are enthusiastic that you have the balls to try.

He turns, giving you the driest expression you’ve ever seen, and you half expect to be dismissed. To be told that you’re too weak to even think about fighting him.

Instead, his stance changes, his fists are raised, and he’s accepted your challenge.

You know you can’t win. That’s not the point. The point is to hold out. For a whole minute, at least. Half a minute. Was twenty seconds too generous?

There’s a small part of you that regrets mouthing off this time.

Lieutenant Levi doesn’t have to waste any time staring you down. He has no need to debate in his head about who should throw the first punch, and nor does he grant you the courtesy of devising a strategy in your head first. In half a second, he’s approaching you with dizzying speed, fist reeled back, about to knock you over for the second time today.

But you’re sick and tired of these fast maneuvers. 

You duck down just as he closes the gap between you, and you go for his legs. He grunts in surprise as you make contact, clutching tightly. It may look pathetic. Your arms are wrapped around his thighs, which you basically just dived into. Your face is squished against his hip. Your feet have left the ground, as you’ve thrown your entire body at him. At this moment, you look absolutely ridiculous.

But it’s worth it.

The lieutenant loses his balance as his feet slip from under him. You can feel him falling down, down, down, with a gasp that is just fucking music to your ears. This is turning out better than you’ve ever hoped for. You’ve proved everyone wrong, even yourself. He’s going to hit the floor, and you’re going to win. You’ll win.

Or at least, you would have.

You’re both hurtling through the air for one glorious moment. Then, recovering from his shock in an instant, Lieutenant Levi spins the two of you in midair, and despite all your efforts and quick calculations, it’s your back that hits the floor again with a loud crack, air knocked clean out of your lungs. You gasp for breath. His knees are digging into your neck, you’re going to choke -

He takes no time to recover. He’s up and on his feet in a second, brushing the nonexistent dirt off his pants, and you’re left panting with your hand on your throat, trying to recover what little dignity you have left as laughter erupts around you. Dizziness and confusion overwhelms you, as does something else. Just a few minutes ago, you’d been looking at him hatefully. Well, you from five minutes ago had no idea what hate was. You could kill him right now, this arrogant, pompous, cruel jerk. 

How dare he look so unperturbed? Like this is just a normal weekday for him?

A hand yanks you up by your hair, nails digging in your scalp painfully. You’re brought to your knees with a heaving gasp. He tugs your head up until you’re looking at him properly, and he has the nerve to smirk. It’s slight - perhaps he knows a full blown smile would look creepy on him - but it’s there, mocking you.

When he speaks, it’s just a little louder than a murmur. “I thought I told you to tie your hair up.”

Then he releases you, and your buckle over in pain. The position literally has you bowing down to him. White hot anger seeps through you. Consumes you. When he starts walking away, his every step thunders in your head, echoing a million times. He had no right. 

No right at all.

It seems like Millie’s wish has come true. You have a goal now. A goal that Lieutenant Levi has so graciously given you.

You’ve decided. No matter what happens, you’re going to get revenge on Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. He’s going to fucking pay.

____________________

You’re pacing out in the field later that day, muttering under your breath, the events from earlier replaying in your head on loop. Millie’s decided to give up on getting you to come study with her, and she’s blatantly refused to participate in your little quest for revenge, citing it as “pointless and foolhardy.” Well, this whole thing is pointless and foolhardy. The Training Corp is just a way to produce more dead bodies every year. But Millie didn’t agree with your line of logic and has left you to brood on your own.

Realistically, what are your options? It’s not an easy task to take on. Humiliating a man who is now so respected and admired will be difficult when his ego soars sky high. Something heavy will be needed to bring it down. Now you have no intention of ruining him for life, nothing major or extremely dangerous. If you did have such an intent, it would’ve been rather simple, just a letter back home to your mother to spread the word of what humanity’s hero was really like. Not that she’s inclined to listen to your demands nowadays, but it’s a doable plan that would work one way or another. But you want to embarrass Lieutenant Levi the exact same way he embarrassed you. You want to knock him flat on his back, while everyone watches, and you want to stand triumphantly as he kneels down to you.

Someone listening to your thoughts right about now would think you were having a vivid sexual fantasy. You groan, slumping down against the bark of a tree. It’s going to be dark soon. You have a curfew that you’re inclined to obey. But you simply can’t go back without thinking of a plan. He deserves it. He deserves to be utterly humiliated. Punishing you is one thing. Beating you in a fight is only natural. 

But holding you up by your hair like you’re one of the fucking spoils of war only to have you kneel to him - that’s sick. He’s sick, and probably perverted. You wonder if he’s always been like that, or if the glory has gone to his head. And you wonder why he’s chosen you to play this game with. Because of a smile and some cheek? That’s no excuse. 

Maybe you’re just the prettiest one here, and he has a crush.

Even the cocky thought can’t distract you enough from your frustration. You can’t possibly beat him. There’s a reason he’s getting so much attention. It’s because he can fight like no other, and it’s all natural talent too. Frankly, you call bullshit, no one is just that good without any practice, but whatever, not the point right now. Who could possibly make you capable enough to beat the lieutenant in a fight? Who could possibly know all his weaknesses? 

Probably only him.

Your eyes widen.

____________________

The sun shines brightly the next day. You feel the warm breeze from the open windows kissing your cheek as you run through the base. Most people passing by pay you no mind, although a few give you questioning looks. But they don’t say anything, probably figuring you’re just a lost newbie who’s inevitably going to get yelled at when you show up late for class. But they’re mistaken, you’re not lost at all. You’re running with purpose. And well, you might be late for class, but it’ll be fine, you know Stephen takes detailed notes that he’s willing to share, and even if he feels like being mean, this is much more important.

Originally, the plan was to go all the way to his office, the path pieced together from directions you’d gotten from Instructor Grumman who believed you were going to apologize (for what?). Hopefully, he won’t actually double check if you went through with it, because you have no intention of apologizing for a single damn thing. Your aim is far more sinister than that. Today is the first step of a plan that will take you a long while, but it’ll pay off eventually. You’re going to achieve your goal. 

That is, if he agrees.

The universe is on your side, because you don’t even need to go all the way to his office. There he is, in the flesh, talking to a blonde man you recognize as Captain Erwin Smith and a woman who you haven’t seen before. Maybe if he hadn’t been so callous yesterday, you’d have waited until he was away from his comrades before approaching him. It’s too late to care about appearances now.

You step up to the three of them and salute, clearing your throat.

He looks at you, and his eyes harden when he sees a smile plastered on your face yet again. 

“Can we help you?” Captain Erwin says gently, but there’s just the slightest edge in his tone. Clearly one is not supposed to just approach this dream team. Your bad.

You open your mouth to answer him, but Lieutenant Levi beats you to it, looking bored as he does. “She’s lost, Erwin. Classes are on the other side of the base,” he says dismissively, waving a hand like he’s swatting away a fly.

“I am not lost. Sir.” Your spine is still straightened and your fist is still balled against your heart. You’re not sacrificing it just yet, but you’re certainly sacrificing your pride here. “I have a request for you. After you pointed out my obvious flaws yesterday, I realized that if I don’t get help, I’m going to fall seriously behind.”

Captain Erwin shoots him an exasperated look, already having figured that his best friend (or whatever they are to each other) must have done something to you. Meanwhile, the woman cackles, nudging the lieutenant’s shoulder. 

“She’s being proactive! You appreciate that, don’t you, Levi?”

He doesn’t answer. His attention is now exclusively on you - you nearly feel special. 

“So what do you need from me, Cadet?” You ignore the way your stomach flip-flops violently from the way he stares at you, the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a light smirk. Something in him clearly enjoys the idea of you needing him for something. Something else to lord over your head, something else for him to be cocky about. “You want me to find someone to give you private lessons?”

“Close,” you say, mustering the brightest and happiest fucking expression you can, “I’d like you to give me private lessons. I want you to train me.”

The lieutenant’s eyes flash upwards. 

Your hair is neatly tied up in a tight bun.

Y’all have no idea how weird it is to write “Lieutenant Levi.” I loathe it.

Also, this is my first time writing in second person. Lots of firsts here, folks.

Please review, your comments are my source of life.

[youn9racha]

Don’t Test Me

Requested by: @crzy-devil

Pairing: Jinyoungxmasc!reader (with a vag tho)

Words: 3.1 k

Warning: dom!reader, sub!jinyoung, consent being explicitly discussed, implied masturbation, mentions of pornography, implied dacryphilia, weapon play (fake gun), pegging, mentions of butt plugs, jinyoung in a short skirt, dirty talk, overstimulation

Extra Notes: wheewww finally my first got7 request ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ don’t get me wrong, i‘ve been enjoying writing skz chan and changbin smut but i’ve been meaning to write some got7 but i wouldn’t think anyone would read it :( but yay finally i got something. i pray i don’t fuck this up, and i hope this is okay everything you want 😔

photo edit is not mine

——————————————————————————

This is no way representative of the way Got7 act. They’re nothing but references of character, and in no shape or form is this how they act. And I am in no way romanticizing or glamorizing any toxic behavior exhibited, they’re just stories that is meant to be read. Readers discretion is advised.

—————————————————————————

You and Jinyoung have an interesting relationship to say the least. Jinyoung is always thought to be that dominant guy who’s always protective of the people whom he cares about, especially towards his partner. While that is true that he is protective and caring, however no one knows who the real Jinyoung Park except you, or at least who he is in your bedroom.

It was no secret that you two are very open about your sexual needs to each other, and it may come to the surprise to anyone to know that a man like Jinyoung is more submissive than anyone would think. But you however didn’t think so.

Prior to meeting him, you may follow what everyone says about Jinyoung, but five months into your relationship with your boyfriend, you were shocked, yet pleased, to see him one day in adorning nothing but a skirt, a butt plug, and a leash, innocently yet seductively telling you to touch him. And ever since then, you’ve been the one Jinyoung looked up to and waiting for to ruin him.

Every sexual encounter with him were exciting and fun, but there was one incident that took the title of the most amazing sexual roleplay you both have took in and neither of you had any sense of regret. Even if you guys would have broken up—knocking on wood—, it’ll probably not top anything but that moment.

~~

”(y/n!)” Jinyoung exclaimed in a sing song-y way as he walked into the apartment door with something hidden behind his back. He spotted you laying onto the couch, legs lazily splayed open as you looked up to the ceiling with half eyes open. It was clear that you were tired and wanted to rest, but Jinyoung didn’t care, “I’ve got something to show you..”

You looked up at him with a furrowed eyebrows, “what is it Jiny—ah!”

You felt wide awake when you saw Jinyoung unexpectedly pulled a gun straight into your face and pretended to shoot by making certain movements and sounds.

“Jinyoung, what the fuck?!” You exclaimed with your eyes popping out your socket with fear, leaning far away from him, only for him to get closer to you. Jinyoung saw the fear in your eyes, which made him laugh at my state. “I’m being for real, put the gun down!” Your heart was rightfully pounding, fearing not only for your life but at Jinyoung’s sickening laugh.

”Oh, relax, big baby, its a fake gun,” Jinyoung said with an eye roll.

You looked at the man on top of you with a baffled expression, he flipped the gun around and shoved it to you, “see, carry it.”

You looked at the gun, then at the man, then back at the silver object with a gulp. You took the gun out of his hand, and to your relief it was indeed fake, with it being very lightweight and looking at it up close. Props to whoever made this gun look really realistic, at least at a distance.

Jinyoung laughed at your relieved expression, “did you really think I’d bring an actual gun?”

You shrugged at him, “I wouldn’t be surprised to be honest,” you jokingly replied to which Jinyoung opens his mouth agape. Now it was your turn to laugh, “I’m joking, baby,” you patted his cheeks and he pouted in response, “you’re fucked up, (y/n).” He says that as he laid on top of you.

There was a moment of silence until you began questioning why he had the toy gun. Jinyoung fidgeted with his fingers, sort of hesitating with the words he wants to say. “Baby?” Your calling for him sounded more dragging rather than a questioning call, as your hold on him got tighter. “I kinda wanted you to use it on me,” He blurted, not baring to look at you, while you looked at him with a confused expression.

He didn’t see you but he can sense your confusion, “I want you to use it on your dumb whore..” and thats where your eyes widened. You knew exactly what he wanted.

You would lie if you said you didn’t have the thought of the idea, but that does not mean that you’re feeling one hundred percent sure about all of this. You both are experimental people, and enjoy trying new things at least one, and pain on both ends goes right up your and Jinyoung’s alley. But you wouldn’t go as far as bringing weapon into this, albeit fake, but still.

You thought of how weak he would look over you though, how he tries so hard to fight back but it fails miserably and pathetically. You easily find yourself slowly warming up but then caught yourself as you uncertainty was still in habiting your consciousness.

Your ears met with his gentle voice with him saying, “baby, if you don’t want to do this, I understand,“ Jinyoung held onto your arm in comfort.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just what if I’m gonna hurt you with the gun?” You held Jinyoung, which endearingly smiled at you. He admires how no matter how hard you go on him, he still can see how you’re very loving and caring towards him. The last thing you wanted to do is to harm your baby Jinyoung.

”baby, you won’t hurt me, you’ve held the gun. It’s fake and it won’t do anything,” Jinyoung rubbed your arms, reassuringly, “besides, we have a safe word, and if you did anything uncomfortable, I’ll just say the word.” You looked back at his eyes. His eyes were entrancing to you, its a contrasting blend of assertiveness, plead and child-like. You have no idea how can one have the capability to withhold such power like this, but knowing Jinyoung, you can see how it works.

You smiled back at him with a gentle caress in the cheek, “I’ll think about it.”

~~

You’ve given yourself sometime to think about it. Jinyoung made it absolutely clear that he won’t do anything that would make you uncomfortable. For a typical submissive person, he still values your comfort, but that is regardless whether he is submissive or dominant, verbal and emotional consent holds a great value in your relationship.

You’ve scrolled through the internet and went on certain adult website to see what got Jinyoung that excited about all this. You did see the hype, but you were still unsure about it, so you just wanted to give sometime where the ice of uncertainty is melted.

While browsing, you saw a distinctive video. The thumbnail caught your eye, as it had a pretty boy in a pink skirt laid on the bed with his leg spread and what looks to be someone pegging him. The video was of the type you’ve looked it up but it was different because it seems to be more of a point of view type of video.

Your mouse hovered over the thumbnail, almost clicking it. You turned to check if Jinyoung was still in the house. It’s not that he cared about you watching porn, he knows that no amount of videos will match up with you taking him on the spot. But you didn’t want him to see you researching, as you wanted to surprise him in case you enjoyed it.

You’ve not seen his presence and you decided to text him, to make sure if everything’s clear and that he’s not close to your proximity whatsoever.

(y/n): hey babe !!

(y/n): where are you ??

Jinyoung immediately saw your message. The bubble and dots of his began showing up until his message was sent.

Baby boy <3: heyy !!

Baby boy <3: oh i’m hanging out with Jaebeom rn i’m also gonna spend the night at his place if thats not a problem with you :)

Baby boy <3: y ??? u need anything ??

you sighed with relief to not only see him respond back, but also that he won’t come back later. Never would you have thought to say this, considering that you’re overtly obsessed with the man.

(y/n): no !! i was just checking up on u !!

(y/n): its fine by me :)) have fun and tell jaebeom i said hi

Baby boy <3: will do ^_^ see you tomorrow baby

Baby boy <3: i’ll miss you <3333

(y/n): i miss you too darling xx

Once the coast was clear, you’ve turned off your phone, turned back to your computer screen and turned on the video.

The video startes off with the boy, who eerily reminded you so much of your boyfriend with his mannerisms and body type, calling out to the presumed viewer. He only wore a skirt, a choker, and what looks to be a jeweled butt plug. To say that the scenery wasn’t a turn on would an absolute lie. You almost moaned at the scenery as you‘ve suddenly started to see, instead of the actor‘s face, Jinyoung.

His pleading eyes were captivating you as you felt yourself getting wet at the way the man is looking at you. Suddenly a pink gun was put into the face of the boy and hearing him yelp in fear did something to you. You felt your organ began twitching at the way the boy looked up to the gun. Seeing how the gun was shoved into his mouth as he began making lewd movements and noises while getting his pretty dick stroked, it did all wonders for you.

You felt your hands going down your pants as you carried on watching the video. This may have awakened something in you, and you can’t wait to showcase to Jinyoung when he gets back.

~~

You sat back in your couch waiting for Jinyoung. It was the next day, and you didn't have much to plan, but you decided to keep the fake gun near you for the sake of your role. It was almost nighttime and the clock kept ticking as you anticpated your boyfriend's arrival.

Jinyoung didn't know about the whole ordeal, he probably thought that you were gonna be out running errands, hanging out with your friends, or even just sleep. But what he won't expect is you sitting on the couch, lust blown in your whole system and hiding the gun he brought in. He never would have thought to see you with it, up until this moment.

While you wait for him to show up, you scrolled through your phone, mindlessly liking any posts that comes in your way. You didn't care on whatever is on your screen, all you wanted was Jinyoung bending over, ready for you. You smirked at the dirty thought, until you heard keys clashing against each other then one inserted into the locked door. In comes the prettiest boy you have ever laid your eyes on, he came in with a bag in his shoulder and adorned a baggy pink sweatshirt and skinny jeans. He smiled when he saw you on the couch, waiting for him.

Normally you would feel soft and warm over his appearance, however the sinister thoughts inhabiting you was clouding every other thought. Jinyoung extended his arm up to stretch after putting down his bag, as he came in and sat down next to you, eventually attacking with kisses as a greeting. Typically, you would laugh at his typically private yet adorable affections, but you could only look at him with semi blank stare.

He noticed the stare in your face, his face shifted into a worried frown, “whats wrong? you’ve been acting weird since yesterday.” You looked at Jinyoung with your hands in his face. You couldn’t help but smile at the clueless boy in front of you, “Jinyoung, have I ever mentioned you’re gorgeous?”

Jinyoung’s confusion starts to get even bigger as his eyebrows furrowed. Not knowing what to say, he just went along with, “yeah?” It was clear evident confusion and you weren’t dumb. You knew he‘d be confused, thats the point, you want him to be clueless and confused about the whole ordeal.

“What if I told you that you’re all I think about?” You whispered, as you began caressing his face. His face was still grimacing in confusion, however he would lie if he said that the thought of you thinking about him nonstop makes him feel good and excited. “I love you so much…”

“(y/n), cut the bullshit, whats goin—” Jinyoung has had enough with your suspicious act and decided to confront you, up until he felt something on his jaw, which he ended up cutting his words with a gasp. It felt something cold against his pulse, his eyes were dragged to the source only to see something he wasn’t expected to see, yet is pleased. It was the toy gun he handed to you. His mouth was open agape, and you said, “I thought much through about it, and I decided why not,” you had a loving and evil smirk on your face, and he simply just smiled back at you, “and besides,” you leaned closer to his ear.

”The thought of you begging for mercy does things to me, you do not understand your powers you have on me, Park Jinyoung,” Jinyoung shuddered at you whispering out his full name at him. He could already feel himself getting hard at your words, and the thought of the gun digging into his skin makes the process faster. You knew that he was getting aroused without you looking down at his crouch, so you opted to use your other hand and held his member, to which he let out a closed mouth moan.

“You know what to do..” you said after pulling your face out of his ear and staring straight into his face. He looked like a puppy with his eyes innocently sparkling at you. You slapped his thigh to get up to do what he’s doing, which you took him out of his trance, nodded at you and got up.

“I’ll give you five minutes,” you said loud enough where he can still hear as he walks, more like wobbling, into your shared bedroom, while you smirked at his adorable weak state. You looked at the gun and you knew were gonna have fun with your boy toy.

~~ Five minutes have passed, and you decided to walk into the bedroom where Jinyoung is at at a painfully slow pace. You felt like a lion going after a deer, ready to devour it on the spot, with Jinyoung being the deer in this situation. You dragged the gun against the wall as you got closer to your bedroom. You can already sense Jinyoung getting weaker and weaker without even looking at him. You hear heavy breathing coming from out of your bedroom, and you felt your lust is started to mix fury with it as you knew exactly what he was doing.

However you kept your composure and still have the smirk drawn into your face. You reached the door, and you opened the door to see a sight that both angered and aroused you. Jinyoung was dressed in a pink short skirt and a crop top along side with thigh highs, his whole cock was out as he was stroking himself as he was looking at himself in the mirror. Still in his lust world, he didn’t notice your presence up until you spoke.

“Who told you you can touch yourself?” You questioned with a crossed arm and a lean into the door sill. Jinyoung gasped his eyes wide open, his hand stopped stroking as he was looking at you with pleading eyes, “I-I’m sorry,” he gulped as you got closer to him, looking at him with a scowl. Despite him being slightly taller by a few centimeters, he still looks and feels smaller than you, especially at this moment.

“I couldn’t help it, I j-j—“ You cut his pathetic talk by putting the gun into his cheek. His mouth was wide shut as he fearfully looked at the gun then back at you. You glided the gun across the face as his breath hitches, you stopped the gun at his mouth. “Open your mouth,” you growled at him, which he didn’t respond at first as he was too aroused to function. You shoved the weapon not too harsh that it could hurt him, but not too light, to wake him up to, which he just moaned.

”I didn’t even touch you, and yet you’re already fucked up,” you commented as you tugged his bottom lip with the gun making him whimper. You tapped his face and commanded again, “open.”

This time he complied and he stuck his tongue out, you lightly inserted the weapon into his mouth as he wrapped his mouth around it.

To say that the scenery was pornographic was an understatement. A man in his short skirt down on his knees sucking on a weapon as his superior is tugging on his hair, it was hot to look at, you and Jinyoung would agree. It was typical that Jinyoung is going dumb just for you, he’s willing to drop everything just to satisfy your needs. He loves you too much. And to see you enjoying his idea makes him feel really good.

~~~ ”Thats what you fucking get for being a dumb slut,” You thrusted your strap on onto your pretty boy’s hole as he grips into the sheets underneath him. His legs placed on your shoulder while your hips were moving in and out of him.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry! I’m not gonna do it again!” Jinyoung was a mess under you, he’s practically crying as he feels his hole getting stretched with pleasure. Tears rolling down his face as he feels his orgasm get closer. You can see that based on his face twist that he was getting closer so you stopped thrusting for the nth time, which caused him to whine and sob louder.

“Bad sluts like you don’t deserve to cum,” You leaned over, his leg still on your shoulder and squished his cheeks. His nose was tinted pink due to blissed out cry and the amount of times you’d edge him, and the fact you still resisted giving him what he want made him blush even more. You both love it, especially Jinyoung, who may love this more than you do. He loves getting edged and getting all this punishment. He was a walking masochist, and because he is what he is, you ended up loving it and use it for your advantage.

Despite his “apologies,” he always misbehaves just so he can get punished by his superior. He is a brat in disguise, and you love it. You love giving him the punishment that he ever so deserves, as much as you love degrading him and you absolutely love seeing him being at your mercy.

He simply looked up at you with teary eyes and says softly, “I’m a bad slut, but I’m your bad slut,” to which you smirked back at his claim.

Your Bad Slut. That’s exactly what he is.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Mabel’s Worry

Collab with @clownwry! They’ve been super sweet and very nice, and after getting inspired by this post, I decided to write a full on-fic about it... but then it spiraled out of control, so enjoy an angsty story featuring the sweater twins!

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel sat up quickly, breathing just as heavy as an Olympic runner. She shook her head to clear it and she hugged her knees in self-embarrassment. It was just a stupid nightmare. Vague, no real plot, but still carried the overall message, the fear, anxiety, and still made Mabel’s blood run cold and sweat sparkle on her forehead. She needed to calm down, get herself together. Milk. Warm milk.

And so she quietly got out of bed and left her shared attic bedroom for downstairs. Despite being gone for nine months, she still knew this dark home by heart. She could walk it blindfolded if needed, but the moonlight leaking in through the triangular windows helped her in her journey. That and a small light coming from the living room. Like a moth to a flame, Mabel sleepily dragged her socked feet to the room and peaked through the doorway, half of her face hidden by wood and shadow.

Grunkle Ford was sitting in the armchair, reading a book in the light of a lamp. Mabel’s spirit was lifted, relieved and happy to see him, but she was hesitant to bother him. He was happy with his book, she really shouldn’t bother him with her own stupid problems. She should probably just go get her drink and go to bed and leave him alone. But then Grunkle Ford’s instincts alerted him of a spy and he looked up and instantly smiled.

“Mabel,” His blissful facial expression dropped suddenly remembering that she went to bed a few hours ago and it wasn’t quite daylight yet. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

This really wasn’t like her, for words to fail leaving her mouth, for her to be silent or non-vocal. But all Mabel could do was barely step into the light, hands behind her back, and shrug with her eyes to the floor. She was silent because she was afraid of what she would say if she dared to give herself the opportunity to talk. Ford grew more concerned, but he knew what to do; he had more practice under his belt now than he did months ago. He smiled softly at his niece, closed his book and sat it on the dino skull, and patted his thigh. “Come here.”

Mabel looked up and bit her lip. The dame broke over her uncle’s kindness. With watering eyes she ran into his lap and clung onto him tightly, burying her face in his chest and whimpering as tears left her eyes. Ford hugged her back tightly and petted her soft long brown hair. The girl might be thirteen, but that doesn’t mean she would stop having nightmares or no longer need comfort. Moses knows, as much as he would deny it, Ford still had nightmares and still needed reassurance. Not to mention it was well-earned after everything he and his family had been through… everything he put his family through…

Mabel was mumbling something into his maroon sweater. Ford thought it was moans, sobs, but as he listened he could actually make out words. “M’sorry… m’sorry…”

“Hey, hey.” Ford said softly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, my dear.”

“... didn’t mean t’bother you…”

“Oh,” Ford cooed as gentle as a lamb. “Oh, sweetheart, you could never bother me. Never.”

Mabel sniffed. “M’sorry.” Whether she was still sorry for bothering him or sorry for being sorry was a bit unclear, but Ford decided it didn’t matter.

“It’s alright.” Ford eased. “It’s alright, my dear.”

After a few minutes of letting Mabel cry into his chest, Ford could feel Mabel make a sharp shiver in his hold. He got a pretty good idea, and so he gently had Mabel let him go. She whimpered like a puppy denied a treat, but she watched with sparkling eyes as Ford slipped off his maroon sweater, revealing a thin long-sleeved white undershirt, and he sweetly pulled it over Mabel’s head and smiled at her. She helped him by slipping her arms into the correct holes and she grinned as she now wore Ford’s old red sweater. Nearly every day he wore a Mabel Sweater she had made for her, whether she mailed it to the Stan O’ War while they were apart, or she gave it to him in person. Only every so often did he wear his old sweater, but they were both glad he did.

Mabel allowed her head to sink deeper into the worn yarn. Her senses and lungs were drowned in Ford’s scent, which brought along happy memories and good emotions. She hugged Ford again and he happily held her, petting her hair and just being there. 

A few minutes of silence passed, and Ford made a prediction that it was a good time to check on her verbally. “Feeling better? Mabel?” He looked down and Mabel was asleep, one arm still around him, one hand holding onto his undershirt. Ford chuckled warmly in his chest, slowly stood, and carried Mabel to the attic to tuck her in.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dipper, they’re ready!” Mabel called.

Dipper hurried up the stairs and ran into his shared bedroom, plopped on the beanbag, and Mabel started the call on the laptop they had on the floor between the two beds. The grunkles answered at once, sitting at the table and grinning.

“Well hey there, gremlins! How was your week?” Stan greeted.

“Pretty good, just the usual school stuff.” Dipper answered.

“Did you get the package?” Mabel asked.

Ford grinned and picked up the large sealed box and placed it on the table. “Yes, perfectly intact! We picked it up in Pevek two days ago.”

“What?! And you haven’t opened it?!”

“Oh, well we thought we should wait until…”

“You two will freeze!” Mabel shook her head and smiled. “Open it and get warm!”

Stan rolled his eyes as he pulled out his pocketknife and cut the tape. “Sweetie, in the last two years we’ve been sailing you’ve sent us three trunks full of blankets, eight pairs of gloves, at least a dozen sweaters for each of us, six scarves…”

“Not that we don’t appreciate it, we always love your packages, my dear.” Ford interrupted. “But you work too hard. We’re never cold thanks to you.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Mabel said firmly.

“Oh wow! Mabel!” Ford gasped happily as he pulled out a new green sweater-vest with golden diamonds and a long-sleeved salmon button up. “This is beautiful!” Ford also pulled out a regular dark-orange turtleneck.

Stan noticed there had been two stacks of things. Ford had already taken out his stack, so the old conman grinned as he plunged his hand into the box and grabbed his new baby-blue sweater with a sailboat on it. “Sweet! And look here!” Stan pulled out another sweater, this one being a warm cream color with tiny pinetrees on the neck and wrists and waist of the sweater. “Wow, Mabel! Just when I thought your sweaters couldn’t get more impressive… this is so cool!”

Mabel blushed over the compliments. “I’m glad you like them. There’s still…”

“Oh, my dear, this must have taken you ages!” Ford pulled out one last item: a large knitted blanket to go with the others, this one made with very thick yarn that was as soft as the melody of youthful days. It was very large and could easily cover both men, and it resembled the sky perfectly, being dark blue with white specks.

“Thank you, pumpkin, this is amazing!”

Mabel grinned and said, “Just please stay warm.”

Ford smiled and nodded. “Of course we will. We’re always careful, my dear. And thanks to you I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be cold.”

Mabel wasn’t sure if she bought it, the number of times she saw their chattering teeth, tight jaws, and rosy cheeks and noses in pictures, but she decided not to fight it and she just smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~

There are some benefits to living in the glorious year of 2014. Many different forms of communication allow people to keep in contact, no matter how far apart they are. So not only did Ford, Stan, Dipper, and Mabel, text every day and send pictures and emails, they always had their Saturday night/Sunday morning video call. Always. So, of course, Mabel and Dipper were a little concerned when no one responded to their text messages to ask if they were ready for the call.

“Hey guys! Ready?”

“Rise and shine, sleepy heads! Can’t wait to see you guys!”

“Are you guys okay? We understand if you can’t make it this week.”

“Is something wrong? We’re not mad, but could you please text us.”

“Guys, seriously, this isn’t funny…”

“If we don’t hear back from you guys I will call the FBI! The CIA!”

“You guys do know how to use your phones, right?”

“Are you guys hurt?! ARE YOU DEAD?!”

Dipper looked up from his phone and across his bedroom. Mabel was in Sweatertown on her bed, buried in her favorite nightgown. Dipper sighed and moved to sit next to her. “Mabel, it’ll be okay.”

“They’re jerks.” Mabel mumbled from within the maroon yarn.

Dipper smiled and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ll get payback when they finally answer.”

Mabel lifted her head just enough to peek at his twin. “But what if they never do…” And tears formed.

Dipper rubbed her back and said, “They will. I swear.”

But they didn’t. As time ticked from ten o’clock at night to midnight to even three o’clock in the morning, Dipper and Mabel stayed awake, waiting for a response, both of them knowing any attempt to sleep was futile. And when Mabel’s phone buzzed and rang for a video-call, they both dove and Mabel clicked the green button with a shaking hand.

~~~~~~~~

Stan gave his brother the mug of warm water. “You’re an idiot.”

Ford snorted and sipped the warm drink. “This isn’t coffee.”

“You don’t need coffee, you need to get hydrated.” Stan collapsed into the couch next to his brother. His eyes landed on the wall-clock, and he shot up quickly and ran for the bedroom. “DAMN IT!”

“What? What is it?!” Ford gasped.

“It’s Sunday!”

Ford groaned and slapped his forehead.

Stan grabbed his phone and found a dozen text messages from each kid and some missed phone calls. “Ah jeez, I know you’re wiped out, Sixer, but we gotta talk to these kids.”

“I don’t care if I’m on my deathbed, we’re calling them.” Ford hollered back as he loosened the grip of his blanket and Stan entered the room. His brother sat next to him and called Mabel’s phone.

At once Stan’s phone lit up with two distressed looking kids, both with wide eyes but missing their bedheads. “YOU’RE OKAY!” The two teenagers cried out.

Stan winced. “Kids, we’re really really sorry…”

“What happened?!” Mabel gasped. “Grunkle Ford, are you okay?! You don’t look very good, are you sick?!”

“Mabel, sweetie, I’m okay.” Ford eased. “I… erm, I fell overb-...”

“YOU FELL IN THE OCEAN?!” Mabel yelled in horror.

“Ssh, Mabel!” Dipper hissed, eyeing the door.

“Are you okay?! Are you on your way to a hospital?! Do you need anything? We can hitchhike…”

“Mabel, Mabel, please, I’m alright, Stanley’s been taking excellent care of me.” Ford said firmly. “I’m sorry we scared you, sweetie, but…”

“Well, good!” Mabel snapped, visibly angry and now full-on scolding. Stan and Ford glanced at each other nervously, getting flashbacks of scoldings from their mother. “You should be, knuckleheads! We can’t tell if you’re even still alive unless you tell us! Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you hear?! If something happened to you… I’m glad you’re happy and doing what you love, but PLEASE don’t kill yourselves doing it!” Mabel bit her lip as she realized she was yelling, and she used the long sweater sleeve to wipe at her damp eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Aw, pumpkin, it’s okay.” Stan replied calmly. “You’ve got every right to be mad at us. I’m sorry, I should have at least texted you. But I honestly didn’t cuz I was busy keeping this dork alive.” Stan teased, elbowing Ford and making him smile. “So, yeah, that was really scary and that wasn’t fair, but he’s gonna be just fine and we’re both okay and you know that now. Right?”

Mabel held her knees and sunk her face into Ford’s old sweater, only her eyes and the top half of her face visible now, but she wasn’t looking at them. “Yeah… Yeah, okay…”

“Mabel,” Ford said firmly. “Mabel, look at me.” He waited until her eyes were on him, and he smiled softly and said, “We’re okay. I promise, we’re both okay.”

Mabel couldn’t help but return the smile. “Okay… okay…” She sniffed and lifted her head a little, but her chin was still happily buried in red yarn. “So, tell us what happened? Was it the Kraken again?”

Stan grinned at the opportunity for a story, and the kids happily sat and listened.

~~~~~~~~~~

Almost fifteen-years-old. Dipper should know better than to run off into the woods after a dangerous anomaly, but he did it anyway. Mabel stayed home to make sure the monster didn’t come back, and was soon reunited with her boys as they arrived, breathing heavily. Dipper was okay for the most part. His arm was hurt and he had a black eye, but he was okay, and their grunkles were only a little scuffed and there was a leaf or two in Ford’s fluffy hair.

Mabel hurried to Dipper, but instead of hugging him like the three guessed she would, she smacked her brother over the head.

“Hey!”

“Mabel!”

“You KNUCKLEHEAD!” Mabel screamed. “Don’t you EVER do that again, you hear?! Don’t you dare! What were you thinking?! You just HAD to go after it! Couldn’t go inside like a normal person!”

“Good to see you too, sis.” Dipper muttered. “I had it under control.”

“I don’t care! What if you never came back…”

Dipper blinked and interrupted her. “Aw, Mabel, that was never gonna happen.”

Mabel bit her lip, held herself, and looked away.

“M-Mabel, I’m really sorry…”

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up first, and then we’ll talk about this, okay?” Stan eased, sensing that they needed a time-out. “C’mon, kid.”

Dipper sighed and followed Stan to the bathroom where they kept the first aid kit, leaving Ford alone with Mabel, who was well prepared to talk to her.

“Mabel, my dear, you have every right to be upset with him…”

“How could he do that?!” Mabel looked up at her uncle. “How could he think for a second it’s okay to just run off like that?!”

Ford chuckled a little to try to lighten the situation. “You know your brother. He has high ambitions and is extremely curious.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Mabel snapped. “It’s still stupid and selfish! I know he needs to do what he loves, but doesn’t he know how much I need him?! How can he just leave me behind?!”

Ford stared at Mabel. Her voice was cracking, her lip was trembling, and something in her eyes was screaming to be heard. Ford thought for a second, then dared to ask, “A-Are you talking about Stanley and I as well?”

Mabel sobbed. She yelled out in pain and collapsed on the bottom step, burning her face in her hands, and sobbed her heart out. Ford was stunned to hear her cry so hard, in so much emotional pain. She didn’t even cry this hard over any nightmares, and he had dealt with a handful of them. Poor Mabel was crying so hard and violently she gagged and retched occasionally, her body torn if she could cry or not but it was out of her control.

Ford got on his knees before her, but did not touch her. It broke his heart to see her so upset. And he and Stan had done this? Whatever it would take to fix it, he would do it. He was reluctant, but if sailing around the world with his brother was causing this much pain for their girl, then they would both agree to dock for good. “M-Mabel…”

“I understand…” Mabel mumbled through her tears and into her palms. “I understand why you had to go… why you both wanna go… b-b-but what if something happens to you?! How many times have you both gotten sick or hurt or nearly killed?! I miss you all the time and I’m always worried I’ll never see or hear from you again!”

“Oh, Mabel, sweetie…” Ford reached out a hand to put on her shoulder, but Mabel threw herself into Ford’s hold and he hugged her back tightly.

“I get it… I understand why you have to go… so WHY do I still feel this way?!” Mabel sobbed, clinging onto his uncle for dear life. “I’m so angry and scared and hurt! But I don’t want you to stop, I want you to sail cuz I know it makes you happy, but I need you to be okay!”

A lot of things clicked in Ford’s brain. Why Mabel always sent packages full of warm clothes. Why she always asked what they ate. Why she always checked on them. Why she was very observant and asked if they were okay if something was slightly off. Why she easily got worried if she didn’t hear from them. And why she always hugged them like she never wanted to let them go.

 Ford blinked his stiff eyes a few times and forced himself to keep it together. “I’m so sorry, Mabel. You and your brother are everything to us. I love you two more than anything. If… If sailing causes you this much distress we can…”

“NO! No no no!” Mabel screamed in horror, holding on tighter. “No, please don’t stop cuz of me! I don’t- That doesn’t matter!”

“Mabel Pines,” Ford said firmly and readjusted his hold on her so he could look her straight in the eye. “You matter.”

“I-I know. I know.” Mabel breathed. “But… please don’t stop sailing cuz of me. Please. I don’t want you to stop. But… I want you and Grunkle Stan to be okay. I… I can’t lose you…”

A large lump was in Ford’s throat. He tried to swallow it away, but it didn’t work. He compromised and took advantage of the silence. He cupped Mabel’s right cheek with his left hand and wiped some tears away with his thumb. Mabel covered his hand with hers and turned her face into his palm.

“I understand, my dear. I do. And I’m so sorry. I swear, we won’t stop sailing unless we want to. You have my word. But I also swear to you that Stanley and I won’t let anything happen. We;re too scared of losing each other to let anything happen, believe me.” Mabel moved her eyes to his. “We will always come home. I promise.”

Mabel hugged her uncle again and cried into his shoulder, leaving him to rub her back and pray she would be okay. Ford opened his eyes and caught the sight of his twin at the top of the stairs. He must have heard Mabel’s screams and come to investigate, but decided to stay out of it. But a look from Ford told Stan that Mabel needed him too, so Stan climbed down the stairs, sat behind her, and hugged them both.