dearest-and-nearest · 1 day ago
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Spoilers about Taash's questline under the cut and many angry words
So, she is basically 12 year old teenager in body of fucking 20s girl. Oh, sorry "non-binary". She messes with Neve, who wears PANTS and unisex shirt, about her looks and that Taash doesn't want to wear dresses. And then there's shit like that
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You can't call her out for shit like that. You can't be truly mean to her like you could to almost anyone in this series before. You could mock Alistair's hurt about Isolda's or Connor's death, but you cannot tell Taash that she's speaking shit. She is acting like being a woman is only wear dresses and act feminine and the worst? The game supports her in this. You can't tell her to shut up and that you don't care how poor little girl feels, you can only support and accept her.
And then she acts like "i don't want to act femminne, so i'm nonbinary" and that's offensive. It's misogynistic bullshit that relegates women to “dresses, makeup, pretty hair”. If you don't fit into that scheme, you're not a woman. You're trans, non-binary, whatever, but you're not a woman. And I find that kind of message misogynistic, yes. Because I happen to have short hair, pants in my closet, and “masculine” hobbies like video games and sports and stuff like that. And that does NOT make me less of a woman. And the very idea that if you're not feminine enough, you're not a woman is insulting.
And this game itself is constantly misogynistic. It doesn't let you create a woman with feminine proportions and big breasts in the editor. At best you'll have an androgynous character, at worst a man. I have zero problems with both categories, but I want to play as a WOMAN. A shapely, tall WOMAN, but for some reason now female breasts are offensive. They can't be added to the editor in sizes larger than B, and even characters who had them have lost them (like Isabela).
Speaking of which. She's in her 50s and yet she looks the same as she did 20 years ago in da2. Because again, you can't get old, you can't be “ugly” with not long enough hair and a pretty face, otherwise you're anything but a woman. And yes, it makes me angry. It makes me angry that under the guise of “progressivism” the erasure of women, the erasure of femininity and diversity and the replacement of that with “non-binary” and “trans” and whatever else is being promoted. Because even the topic with Taash's non-binarity could have been pitched any number of other ways, but Weeks chose to write the dialogs that way. You could have tried and created normal different models, but Busche decided to approve what they had.
I don't know who this game is aimed at. For kids there's sex, for adults there's too much dumb dialog and “Taash doesn't like skeletons” level conflicts. For right-wingers, there's too many pronouns and stuff like that, for progressives, there's this misogyny bullshit. I sincerely hope it fails, because otherwise we're in for more games like this. Games that restrict roleplay, cut gameplay, but feed you “nobody likes being a woman” bullshit that you can't even complain about. Bad games, made in a rush by lazy and untalented people, that try to sell under the sign of “progressive” when in fact the only progressive thing here is how developers economize on anything but what they should.
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If you're a Hazbin Hotel Kinnie that's not your own O.C I officially have beef with you. I'm in my "Anti Kinnie" villain era and I'm done.
First of all, I'm so sorry for not having proper context for the screenshots, dude was typing at me so fast and just attacking me so quickly and refused to let up for me to catch my breath, and I knew if I was gonna say what I needed to say and bounce, then I knew that I had to start getting those screen shots quick because I knew how this situation escalated was gonna be so fucking funny, man...
All this for saying that if I was Viv, I probably wouldn't have *confirmed* the cannibalistic Serial Killer as being her only asexual representation and people had a right to critique it and then this Alastor Kinnie in this 21+ server with me turned it into "so you don't want Viv's characters to be morally gray and evil even though they're in hell?' and I was like: "I literally didn't say that", and then "Al" ignored me, and I didn't feel like being attacked and ganged up on by another group of radiodust kinnie, so I went off and said my piece and was clearly about to leave:
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Cue these weebs acting like I literally did not say I was just leaving or was about to, and acting like Brandon Rogers ableism doesn't exist:
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But see, now I'm apparently "transphobic" and in need of "a warning", even though I clearly deadass just said the words "OH BABY I'm already gone ... "
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AGAIN LETS JUST IGNORE HOW 'ROLLING ROBBIE' DISRESPECTED DISABLED PEOPLE AND HOW I WAS 'BOUT TO SAY THAT THIS GUYS KINNIE S/O SHOULD JUST PICK A DIFFERENT NAME IF HE WANTS ME TO TAKE HIM SERIOUSLY BECAUSE, FICTIONAL CHARACTERS AREN'T REAL ....
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(Blatantly ignoring how I just implied/said I would be leaving/not acknowledging how Rogers' BLATANT ABLEISM is fucked up to begin with, because as soon as I mention any sort of ableism in this fandom I'm the one who needs to "cool off" again, acting and talking at me as though I hadn't already made up my mind, making new edits to the conversation my crippled arse can't even keep up with.. Acting like having a fictional characters name for your chosen Queer Name and then shouting "TRANSPHOBE!" when people make fun of you for it isn't already the most High School thing ever...When I know that in turn if I jokingly replied that I can't "Take a step back" because wheelchair user, their big ol' anime titties would have exploded... )
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(I literally introduced myself into this server as a High Femme Queer Trans She/They, aspiring Drag Artist.. Why does the Angel Kinnie get to call out my perceived "transphobia" for implying his beloved Alastor Kinnie should just pick a different name, before their "husband" attacks me like he's being discriminated against for just saying we could've avoided a lot of weirdness in the fandom around the sexuality of the radio demon and the concept of asexuality in general if The CHARACTER who kills and eats people just wasn't the one to be confirmed asexual? But then the Alastor Kinnie is just allowed to get away with calling me "bro" here, even though I'm obviously the most feminine presenting person in the conversation, and, as far as I know, the only actual girl involved in this conversation? Why am I being misgendered? If I pretty much said I was a girl when I got in here, then why are you calling me "Bro"? #Hypocritical #Transphobic Transfemmephobic. #Femmephobia #WomenHating #MenHatingWoman #Misogyny Guess this particular Alastor Kinnie absorbed a little bit too much of Edward's "Dude Bro" personality into his own gender presentation so #BlameBosco for that one, I guess? Did I mention that Edward Bosco keeps getting squicked out by kinnies cause they're weird? Well he's right, they're weird. )
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(And again, as you can probably make out, these people are still talking about me as if I wasn't the one to start announcing my intention to leave and in the above image are still talking at me as if I didn't basically just tell everyone to fuck off. So we ignored me bringing up Brandon Rogers ableism and then this dorkis just lets his kinnie husband outright misgender me for real and then this weirdo can't even be fucked to unfollow me on here afterward so then I have to be the one to do the blocking. Great.)
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But not before ladies get the final word... ;)
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( Yes this server owner is also the kind of person who censors the names of fictional characters they don't like, FYI. And all these radiodust kinnie couples just seem to bleed into eachother, don't they? Especially if the Angel Dust kinnie also just so happens to be an Italian femmeboy trans who also happened to be a sex worker and I'm gonna be called "whorephobic" now, but hot tip: If you claim to be/ have done sex work in the past, maybe then it's time to move past the need to "kin" your comfort characters if you don't want all the mean little girls out there that you misgender and all mean Mommie Doms out there who hate cartoons to laugh at you because this shit is why they're laughing and this shit is why they hate you and this this shit is why I'm starting to hate you too. And I'm saying this as someone who had to learn that lesson the hard way okay? Okay. So glad we cleared that up. )
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(And yeah this person was 29 years old the same as me... SO! SO MUCH FOR A 21+ HAZBIN HOTEL DISCORD SERVER NAMED FOR A GODDAMN FUCKING CHILDREN'S TOY SHOP I DON"T DON'T KNOW WHAT I WAS EXPECTING BUT AS SOON AS HE STARTED TALKING ABOUT CENSORING FICTIONAL CHARACTERS NAMES LIKE SLURS I KNEW I WOULDN'T LAST LONG GURL. LOL! )
Putting the transcript of my last message to this douche bag "pastamic" under 'readmore' with more corrected spelling cause I'm so exhausted. And Anti Kinnie. ^_^
To "pastamic":
You know …. I literally just left your server and I don't care if you're "literally married". I literally said you're the second radiodust kinnie couple I had issues with and I don't care. I am a nonbinary transgender, queer drag artist and just like every other disabled person, had a period where I thought I was a sex repulsed asexual. I'm not "transphobic" for saying I felt uncomfortable calling your s/o "Alastor" after feeling attacked by him and expressing you're literally the second pair of radiodust kinnies in love that I've had issue with because FICTIONAL CHARACTERS ARE NOT REAL. Valentino isn't real for that matter ether, so you don't need to censor his name like a slur. You also have bad taste in Hazbin Fan Music. You're 29 years old please get a life.
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luckyblackcatxiii · 4 months ago
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I'm hoping to participate in Art Fight more this year than last year allowed me, and I added Allessandro over there...only to realize I didn't have a colored ref for him! It's been a year since I last drew him so I figured: no better time than now to give him a new fullbody pic!
Fun update: after a month spent searching for his mentor and ending up in Barovia because of it, Saverio finally 'heard' from him a couple sessions ago...only for the message to be vague, short and offer no real answers. Needless to say: Allessandro is still full of mysteries and Saverio is pretty irked at essentially being ghosted by his not-father figure.
(You can find me on AF here!)
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zazikels · 7 months ago
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Ketheric was going to be recruitable???
Yep. He was intended to be a companion, here's the article: https://www.ign.com/articles/baldurs-gate-3-director-reveals-one-surprising-villain-that-used-to-be-playable
Ngl I'm just beyond disappointed that anyone in that dev team thought cutting this was a good idea. Especially when we know they went out of their way to add in a someone who wasn't put in this game as a companion and wasn't intended to be one initially, while Ketheric was, even more so because of how half baked it was. I'm baffled and gutted that this was worth keeping to them, while Ketheric, who is far more plot significant, was not.
You can still play up to getting to persuade him which was where he was meant to join you and idk why the fuck they left that in then.
I honestly wish they would stop fucking talking about what they cut now that they've abandoned the game.
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mieczyhale · 3 months ago
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knowing my dad is transphobic and witnessing it are somehow two different experiences every time and they both are fucking shit
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imwritesometimes · 1 year ago
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the "I already bought tickets to go see Indy again next week" moodboard
#actually factually finalized the purchase it's happening same seats and everything lmfao#I am being very irritating abt this I'm not sorry I had so much fun today and I loved this movie to bits#and I'm so happy this is how we as fans get to close Indy's adventures like.#it didn't just feel like half-hearted fan service bullshit it was really well done which I'll be honest#I was not expecting. there are def call backs of course to the previous films#but it didn't feel like heavy handed or cheap#they really did a good job of like. making it feel authentic like. not just a shitty rehash idk for me#it felt like. so appropriate. like he's an old man now. time has passed. they don't just like wallpaper over that#it just has idk so much heart. like the old og movies it's fantastical but there's so much heart#idk I really liked it. it felt like watching the old ones. the old ones had so much heart. that's why you loved indy!#he was a smart ass but he was earnest too and he had heart and he cared and like ahhhhhhhhhh!!!#it's just. idk idk idk I feel like it's such a great close to the adventures for massive Indy nerds like myself#lmao I asked my mom tonight like when was the last time you watched any of the movies#cause you mught wanna rewatch before we go#and she was like well it has been a while cause you don't live here anymore#and I was like I know. I'm never like six months removed from the last time I watched an Indy#and she was like I know it's your religion I know#I just. I loved it. a lot. I really did. as a massive Indy nerd I really did just enjoy it a lot. more than kotcs#but I firmly believe w/o kotcs it wouldn't have been so fuckin good like omg#erin explains it all
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lo11as · 2 years ago
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nothing like an hour long yoga class to still feel like you want to take a lighter to a safety pin to your thigh :)
but hey i'm starting a new job tonight, surely that will cure me
#i HATE working for the white man on friday nights#i'm white btw but still it's the principle#or like ‟white‟. i have a complicated relationship with the concept as people like me haven't been considered white until quite recently#well half the other half is scotts irish and my dad and brother fry in the sun for it lmao. they're both pos misogynist assholes though so#i got the darker features (my brother is a blue eyed blonde vs my hair is dark brown and i have green eyes) and there's some colorism in th#family unit too but i seldom get clocked for being ashkenazi when i'm out and about (and my hair's up and i'm not talking.....)#as long as no one makes me eat pig i'm gonna pretend that i'm not betraying my ancestors for capitalism#as if we're not all back in kemet in that old story#you know slaves in egypt were given food housing and a small wage?#fuck dude my laptop broke and i need a car what the fuck am i supposed to do here i have no other recourse#i sold my (other side's) grandmother's jewelry to buy some recording tech so i feel like not taking action there is a greater betrayal#i'm still figuring it all out#i think i will make myself some coffee and pancakes and then roll a cig with some shatter in it#at the very least i'll have money for actual weed soon#time is fake anyway and i need this stupid goddamn bag#there's small chance i can escape this mundane bullshit through a program i applied to but i fear i will be looked over as i am strange#and not strange people are terrified of strange people for some reason#i'm rambling now to procrastinate eating something i'll go do that now byeeeee
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writersdrug · 2 months ago
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My brain is open to your bartender Ghost thoughts
Give me them all 🙏
Lordy this au isn't even an hour old and I have so many thoughts
He doesn't really know what to expect when you come in the morning after the interview. At eight am sharp, he watches as you trudge inside, wearing ripped tights, shorts, knock off combat boots, and a baggy shirt that's messily tucked into your waistline. It looks like you had put on eye liner last night and gone to bed, black lines smudged in a perfect "bedhead" look.
"Really?" He asks, arms folded and muscles buddging. "Come t' the interview in a skirt 'n dress shirt, n' show up t' the first shift lookin' like a wannabe biker chick?"
You scoff, pulling your hair up into a bun. "Didn't realize I'd be walking into the asscrack of "The Devil Wears Prada"..."
He huffs and shakes his head. You hve tough skin - good.
He had Soap come in early that day - poor man usually worked between 4 pm 'til whenever Ghost decided to close. He's still rubbing his eyes and yawning when a pen and spiral notepad are shoved into your hands, Simon pushing you towards towards the cook's table with a hand on your back.
"Hey, welcome to the 141." You say, no attempt at politeness in your tone. Ghost huffs fondly, appreciating how you cut through the bullshit. "Any appetizers today?"
"None o' that keech," Soap says, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching his brow. "Canna have a rusty nail 'n th' smash grunded, wel doon 'n with the bun scud - cannae stand th' aoli. Chips oan the side."
You stare at him, eyes wide in disbelief, before turning to Ghost. "Do they all sound like that?"
He grunts. "If they're drunk."
"Are you drunk?" You ask Soap.
"Feck if I know, tryin' tae figure it oot myself." He groans.
Ghost helps you decipher the words Soap had vomited out. You successfully punch it into the POS, only needing a few pointers from the giant over your shoulder. For the rest of the morning amd afternoon, he taeaches you which button on the soda gun was which, the difference between tonic water and club soda, how to run the industrial sanitizer - with a "ye best make sure that shite is rinsed 'fore ye stick em in there" from Soap - where the new kegs go when Gaz brings them in, where to find napkins and condiments in the walkin, how to cut fruit for the bar, and lastly, how to split your tips.
"But why do I have to pay you?" You ask Ghost, sitting at a table with your calculator app on your phone and a basket of fries between the two of you. "You make loads of tips just pouring liquor."
He chuckles, watching you pop a fry into your mouth. "'N you get a cut of sales from the kitchen, since you're part of it."
You perk up at that. "I do?"
"Seven percent." He confirms. "A decent payout on weekends."
"And Soap doesn't get tips."
"Johnny boy gets paid by th' hour."
"I don't?"
"If ya do well enough, ya won't have to." He says, resting his meaty forearms on the table. "You'll be walkin' out with hundreds."
You chew your lip nervously; Simon's eyes linger on the movement, shifting his weight - the polyester seat creaks beneath him as he observes you fretting silently, the silence only broken by the sound of Soap prepping in the kitchen. "Don' worry too much 'bout it. You're young - jus' keep a smile on 'n you'll be fine. Soap 'n I got your back tonight, but I'm not pickin' up your slack after the week passes."
The fry you're steering towards your mouth falls to the table as Simon stands up. "Tonight?!" You exclaim, shimmying out of the booth.
"Yep. Sixteen hundred."
You glance at your phone. "That's in an hour!" There are kegs stacked by the front door, unpolished and enrolled silverware on the bar top, and half of the chairs are still stacked on the countertops.
"Best get to work then, hmm?" Ghost says, grabbing a container of lemons and moving behind the bar.
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thinkinonsense · 2 months ago
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forgive if it’s a bit scatterbrained but hear me out… some sort of reverse corruption w old man!logan >///< i just feel like he won’t be the type of guy who’d immediately be into having a thing w young!reader. i feel like he won’t even take it seriously at first or there’s def gonna be more resistance from him, he’d probably feel initially repulsed by the idea of even beginning to think of them that way given how young they are. but reader is bold bold, so they’re gonna keep pushing and pushing until they’ve got him where they want him. but even if she’s practically sinking down on him, logan is still probably gonna be like “fuck’s wrong with you, huh? old enough to be your fucking grandfather, kid. c’mon, you don’t really want this.”
poor old man’s just too decent for his own good :(
old man!logan x young bold fem!reader *mdni
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logan couldn't stand you. how young and ambitious you were; how you couldn't just take no as a fuckin' answer. you thought it was cute but logan found it rather obnoxious. you were persistent with your attraction towards the older man; frequenting the only bar in town that logan was still welcomed in.
"what are we drinking tonight, lo?" your voice was a siren song that he wished he could turn off.
"whiskey." he mumbles against the glass.
the mean glare he sent your way would've made anyone else run in fear, but not you. instead smiling up at him with bambi eyes. at first, logan thought you were just dumb, not picking up on his signals but as it turned out, you're just stubborn.
every friday night, you sat on the stool next to him. you should've been flirting with guys your age by the pool table but no, you would rather get rejected by the old man who drinks alone. at one point even the bartenders started to think that you two were together which logan quickly shut down.
"c'mon, at least let me pretend that i'm yours," you whine, swirling around your second fruity drink tonight.
"you don't want to 'be mine', kid," he said in a stern voice, similar to one you would use on a child who won't behave.
"aaand...why not?" you ask him, crossing your arms and already getting pissy. "don't gimme that bullshit about you being 'too old' either."
"has anyone ever told you that you're-"
"pretty? hilarious? tight? yeah, a few times actually."
logan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. he tries to give you some sympathy but there's only so many times that you can burn your hand on the stove until you learn your lesson.
"look, cherry..." logan sets his glass down. you adored when he called you, cherry because that meant he was paying attention to you and what you drank, always having to top it off with a cherry. "i'm probably your grandfather's age-"
"don't care." you interrupt him, leaning forward to stare into his eyes and run a hand through his hair. "your grey hair is so hot, lo. should let me pull on it sometime."
logan was finding it more difficult to resist you. almost letting out a groan when you pull slightly. logan could smell your arousal forming; clouding his vision.
"why don't you throw your panties in someone else's direction, huh? i'm sure those boys over there wouldn't mind." logan snarls, getting fed up with your attitude.
it wasn't that he didn't find you attractive, quite the opposite really. maybe if he was younger or you were older then he wouldn't mind your flirty personality so much but that's not the way that the world works. logan is -whether or not he wants to admit it- old and he didn't have time to put up with your whiney shit.
"okay." you shrug, getting up from the barstool.
logan doesn't believe that you'll actually go talk to those boys. in one minute your ass will be back here annoying him. he was sure of it.
then ten minutes passed and giggles were still falling from your lips. nothing the guys said was actually funny but you played it up to look better. there was one guy who you actually didn't mind talking to; both of you went to the same college and shared the same major. for a second, you'd completely forgotten about the man burning holes into your side.
the two of you talked for a while, exchanging stories while you leaned against the pool table in your tiny cut-off shorts. logan watched those boys gawk at you; staring everywhere but your face.
"i know right! her class was horrible! all she did was-" your words fell short when someone grabbed your upper arm, attempting to pull you away from the guy, who you think his name was josh, or john, or jake? you couldn't really remember and you definitely didn't care.
"c'mon kid, i'll give you a ride home." logan growled in your ear.
"oh, it's okay!" you chirp like a little bird at him. "think i'll find another way home tonight."
it's just a facade, logan told himself. you were just trying to prove a point. always stubborn.
"i'm not messing 'round, kid-"
"leave her alone, old man." the kid interrupted, giving logan a push.
logan snarls, about to teach this boy a lesson but you are faster; heel-kicking him in the nuts. the boy hunched over, allowing you to be ear level with him.
"fuck off." you spit, angrily before walking away.
logan looked at you completely dumbfounded. he had no other choice than to follow you blindly outside of the bar. he found you leaning against his truck; under the dim street light, logan would've misplaced you for some angelic figure.
"mind takin' me home, lo?" you ask him, for once not acting like some horny little rabbit towards him.
he nods, fishing out his keys. you give him directions to your apartment. the silence in the car makes you think logan's mad at you for real this time. you pushed it too far, embarrassing him and yourself this time. logan wasn't this dirty old perv who would actually give you the time of day, and maybe it was time for you to face that reality.
"i just wanted to say sorry for everything." your voice is low and quiet. afraid logan won't even acknowledge you. "i know that i should've left you alone a long time ago. you wouldn't want someone like me anyway-"
the car came to a dead halt in the driveway. logan turns to face you and you fear the worst; afraid he will yell at you.
"do you seriously think i wouldn't want you?" he asks. "you haven't left my mind since the day we bumped into each other at the bar and i spilled my whisky down your shirt. remember that, cherry?"
you nod, carefully. that day was imprinted in your mind. your friends and you were celebrating your birthday when logan bumped into you at the bar on accident. he frantically apologized for ruining your white shirt which you suggested for him to lick you clean. it had been so long since someone had flirted with him that he didn't know how to react.
"i'd never seen someone look so pretty and sticky at the same time." logan's hand gently caresses your cheek.
"could've seen it more often if you had fucked me like i wish you would've." the words fall out without pressure, making logan smirk. no matter how much you tried, you were desperate for him.
"you've got one dirty fuckin' mouth, cherry."
"it gets dirtier than that."
"hmm... don't know if that's possible."
"i could show you if you like."
the offer hangs hot in the truck. logan leans back into his seat, asking for forgiveness on what he's about to do. three light taps on his thigh and you crawl right into it.
"atta fuckin' girl, cherry." he groans as you grind against his crotch and bite on his neck.
"also for the record, the only person i want to have my panties is you, logan." you purred in his ear, referring back to your earlier conversation at the bar.
"i know, sweetheart. i know." he chuckles, watching you kick off your shorts and underwear.
once your back in his lap, you unbuckle his belt and wait eagerly for him to have his way with you. yet, logan doesn't offer anything.
"if you want to fuck an old man like me then you need to get used to doin' all the work, cherry." he says, half-joking. "can't keep up with an eager little thing like you."
you knew his game. to scare you off by acting like an asshole but you didn't mind doing the work to get what you want.
"fine with me." you smile, hands inching towards the glasses that hang on his button-down. "can't forget these, want you to see what you do to me."
logan groaned when you pulled him out of his pants, pumping him a few times before aligning him to your entrance. he was a bit bigger than you would've guessed, only making you wetter. just as you are about to sink down onto him, logan stops you, holding your hips in the air.
"fuck's wrong with you, cherry? you still want this, huh?" he taunts you, only getting a whine from you in response. "such a desperate little thing."
"p-p-please, logan." your hips wiggle against his tight grip. "want you... need you."
without another word, he lowers you down onto his length. both of you moan at the adjustment. your nails claw at logan's shoulders and you feel him twitch inside of you at the pain.
"happy now?" logan groaned, watching you bounce up and down on your own. his hands stayed on your waist, squeezing at the fat of your hips. "got what you fuckin' wanted."
"mhm..." you nod along dumbly agreeing to whatever he says. too busy trying to get his white button-down off of him. frustrated, you break open all the buttons.
once his chest was exposed, you litter it with kisses and dark bruises. for the first time, logan was happy that his healing abilities were slowing down so now he can admire your artwork longer. you grab both of his giant palms bringing one hand to your chest and taking the other thumb into your mouth, licking the pad of it before moving it down to your clit. tracing circles in a way that made your head fall back with your mouth wide open.
"do you always get this wet for older men or is it just for me, sweetheart?" logan asked, fist full of your hair.
"j-just you, lo..." you gasp.
logan's lips found your jaw, kissing up to your chin before capturing your lips. he wasn't a fan of fruity drinks but he loved the taste they left in your mouth. your backs against the wheel lazily and logan can tell that your orgasm is approaching.
"don't give up now, cherry." he teased. "you were doing so good, being a perfect little slut in my lap. what happened to her?"
you were too fucked out to say anything back and he knew it. logan finally took pity on you and started pistoling into you, listening to every pretty curse word that fell from your trembling lips.
"where do you want me, sweetheart?" logan grunts in your ear, pulling at the lobe as you come down from your high.
"inside, please."
that's all logan needed to hear to spill inside of you. the warmth indescribably flooded you. the two of you collapse in each other's arms, collecting yourself for a few minutes.
"told you, i'm a good fuck." you told him, looking up at him with messy hair and an unapologetic smile.
"didn't doubt you," he says, mirroring your smile as he moves some pieces of hair from your forehead. maybe logan could see you being a permanent person in his life.
"and to think..." your words drift off as you start to move again, feeling him get hard again inside of you. "we are just getting started."
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wilwheaton · 3 months ago
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Hey man, I could use a few talking points to help convince a friend that Musk is horrible. I'm reading 'Think Again' by Adam Grant (good read btws) and he says to help convince people to come to your viewpoint that it can be good to have 2 or 3 strong points instead of 10 mixed points. The counter argument I get from people about Musk being good is that he did spacex and tesla, and without him we'd be decades behind. Maybe, but I don't have good ammo. Please help as I get too angry tobe critical
Well, listen, the fascism, the transphobia, the chaos, and the unwavering support for autocrats all over the planet really ought to be enough to outweigh anything else, if you ask me. It sounds like you know some people who got excited about the companies he threw money at, and they are having a tough time updating their feelings due to current events. Or maybe they share his values and don't want to admit that.
But I'll try to offer some simple facts.
He did not do engineering with Tesla or SpaceX or even PayPal. He is a fraud. He walked into these existing businesses, where people had done actual work and engineering, threw some of his Apartheid money at them, and took credit for their work. He claims, over and over again, to be a founder of these companies, and that's just straight up a lie that is easily disproved.
He literally did nothing except throw money at people and take credit for their work. Look at every Tesla up to the (chokes back laughter) Cybertruck. Those Teslas look like cars, because they were designed by engineers. Look at the Cybertruck. When you stop laughing at what a joke it is, know this: that's what happens when Elon Musk is in charge. It's like a ten year-old with some crayons drew it on a menu at Denny's.
All of the things his weird fans claim he made possible, are things that would have happened, and were in the process of happening, without him. He literally did nothing to advance the technologies or engineering. In fact, SpaceX whistleblowers have told reporters how they had to keep Musk occupied with bullshit, so they could do the real work without him fucking it up all the time with his incompetence.
But even if he were telling the truth, even if the myth were fact, it would not outweigh the damage, the pain, the chaos, and the suffering he has inflicted on millions and millions of people, all over the world with his lies, his spread of misinformation, and his incitement of angry incels.
Also, don't forget, when Ukraine was trying to defend itself, he turned off Starlink access when they could have decisively ended Russia's aggression. A lot of people have suffered and died as a direct consequence of that action, which he took to support his buddy and fellow autocrat, Vladimir Putin.
That's more information than I think your friends will be willing to hear. Studies indicate that people who are heavily invested in the myth of a person will fight hard to hold onto the myth, and reject truth and facts, because it's so jarring to them. Musk has built a cult of personality, and maybe your friends are stuck to it.
I'd gently encourage your friends to consider one key fact: he has lied about his entire origin story, he has lied about his contributions to Tesla and SpaceX. He lies about everything, except when he posts on Twitter like a 12 year-old edgelord, because that's who he is, emotionally.
Finally, and this is for you, specifically: if your friends insist on supporting a fascist, a racist, a misogynist, or a bigot, because they think rockets are cool, maybe it's time to look for new friends.
I hope this helps.
And fuck Elon Musk.
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angelfrombeneth · 10 months ago
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LET ME BE THE JUDGE OF THAT - T . NOTT
Mature Content Ahead
Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader
Summary: You and Enzo are best friend, you have a bi-weekly gossip session at the astronomy tower during your bi-weekly smoke break. During said gossip, Enzo drops some juicy goss about a certain slytherin boy and how he's 'packing', iygwim ;)
Warnings: SMUT, Switch Theo and Reader, Mentions of Smoking, Graphic descriptions of sex, Slight Male!Receiving Oral, Squirting
A/N: I apologise for any spelling mistakes or slightly off sentences. I did proof read but I am dyslexic with acrylics on so my spelling gets progressively worse.
Theodore Nott. The man he was. He was one of your friends, he was in the group of the original slytherins from day dot. You always harboured something towards him - you just didn't know if it was feelings or pure lust. The man was an absolute pantie dropper. He just got even hotter with puberty.
Though he wasn't as much as a whore as Mattheo, he definitely stuck his dick in a few things (stupid bitches). There were many rumours about him but no one knew it was real, no one kiss and told with him. For all you knew he could've been an absolute virgin. But one of the rumours was true, Enzo mentioned over your bi-weekly free period cig break in the Astronomy tower.
"Oh! I've got some goss for you" Enzo chuckled as he pointed his slender fingers at you. His cigarette perfectly slotted inbetween his index and middle.
"What?" You looked over at him intruiged, as you stayed sat against the railing of the tower, your feet dangling over the old cobble below.
"Theo" He smirked. If you were a dog your ears would've perked up. The way your body instantly sat up straight away as you looked over at him more alert than ever. Your hand paused infront of you, the cig butt burning out. "Its big" He winked.
"Oh fuck off 'Zo" You took a puff from your cig, letting it hit your throat before exhaling. "You're full of shit, I'm not sitting here and listening to you bullshit another stupid 'Big Dick of Hogwarts' again. Do you know I actually got with Adrien just to fucking see" You rolled your eyes.
Enzo laughed "Did you actually?!"
You nodded as you inhaled the smoke from your cigarette, flicking the end as ash fell from the tip. "Well embarassing too, was so turned off at the.. what 3 inches I had to work with, just walked out" You groaned.
Enzo snickered but collected himself. "I'm serious though, it's literally huge. He sent a picture to the lads groupchat-"
"Why?" You cut him off
"We wanted to compare dick sizes so we measure it against our DADA text books" Enzo shrugged.
"You lot are fucking stupid..." You shook your head. "But.. out of interest where abouts was it? Would you say centered with the authors name in the centre or? I know the book is 15 inches tall" You spoke, putting out your cig on the metal bar.
"Jesus fucking Christ you are a freak" Enzo laughed putting out his cigarette beside yours. "But it was to the title lettering"
You stood up in shock. "You're saying Theodore Nott has a 9 inch penis.."
"How do you know the size- Wait I'll just show you" He pulled his phone out of his pocket, pulling up the groupchat and showing you the picture. Now with Enzo, if you couldn't guess it by now, he was the male gay of the group - him and Pans representing the rainbow together. You all thought it would be Blaise he turns out he ended up hitting it off well with Luna Lovegood.
"No.. fucking way" You gripped the muggle phone as you stared at the picture. "This makes me want to fuck Theo even more 'Zo. I've been toying with the idea but fuck this solidifies it"
Enzo laughs "Well he's been having a 'dry spell at the moment' said he can't get it up because of an 'inconsistency' he said but he won't tell anyone. Sounds like he's seen something that'll only make him hard".
"Inconsistency? Pfft, I'll be the judge of that" You smirked.
"Oh I bet you will" He snickered.
"Jesus, this cig break was crazy" You laughed, giving Enzo his phone back and the two of you walked down the steps of the tower.
"I'll update you if I hear anything more from Mr 9 inches" Enzo winks.
You shook your head bidding him a goodbye.
Later that day, You made your way into the dungeons, walking to Enzo's dorm to tell him about the crazy fight between Astoria and a random Ravenclaw over Draco.
"Zo you'll never fucking believe it. Astoria ate shit today and got her ass handed to by a Raven...claw-" You flung open the door, looking up and locking eyes to chest with a very naked, towel covered sadly, Theo.
"My eyes are up here bella" He smirked.
You gawked at him, shocked to see him, especially how chiseled he was... as your mouth practically salivated at the sight of him.
"Bella?" Theo chuckled at your frozen figure.
"Respectfully Theo, I've always found you so fucking hot. But now I'm going to have to definitely suck you off" You smirked up at him.
He snickered as he gazed at you. His tongue running across his bottom lip before biting it. "You really dont play around... Come on then"
You slammed the door behind you as you lunged yourself at Theo, crashing your lips onto his. His hands roaming your body as your slid from his shoulders to his damp chest. Your fingers working through the crevasses slowly.
"My.. my.. So eager" He laughed as you pushed him back against a bed while yanking at the towel watching as he caught himself with his hands on the bed, sitting up as he supported himself completely naked.
You bit your lip as you dropped to your knees. "Fuck.. Enzo wasn't lying" You placed your hands on his thighs.
"What?" Theo froze.
"Enzo showed me your dick pic.. Its even bigger in person though" You bit your lip.
"Fucking Enzo.. So you saw my cock and now wanna suck it because of a picture?"
"Yeah pretty much" You licked a stripe up the base of his shafts to the tip as you peered up at him smirking as he let out a shaky gasp.
"You are a weird one Y/N.. Now hurry up before I fuck your face with it" He groaned slightly agitated at being teased.
"He also said about your inconsistency to get it up Nott.. you seem to not be having an issue" You smirked as you took his length into your hands as you jerked him off slightly as you kissed up his pelvis.
"Don't act so suprised bella.. We both know it was because of you and that cheeky thong of yours. Why'd you think that was OK?" Theo sighed as he bit his lip peering down at you.
"Me?" You questioned.
You peered outside your door, looking left and right before slithering out. You really wanted to grab some water from the kitchen but it was so late and you couldn't be asked to wait till breakfast.
You snuck out the common room, running down to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water but also stealing a few biscuits while you were at it.
You had successfully made it back to the common room, slowly walking down the stairs before turning to walk up the stairs to your dorm. You felt a presence near you but you, looked around and saw no one. So you shrugged it off.
Third POV
"Fuck-" Theo hissed as he flicked his cigarette out the window as he stared at your figure stood at the end of the stairs.
The way you stood in your little black knee high socks, paired with an absolute ravishing black lace thong - leaving nothing to Theo's imagination. Not only that, a tiny crop top with underboov practically spilling out. Theodore was spoilt by this view. He noticed you didn't notice him as you crept back upstairs. The growing tent in his joggers as he stood up to readjust but ending up moaning at the slight friction of the fabric.
What you didn't know, is that night Theo went and jacked off 6 times thinking about you. He'd never came so much, let alone been so weak for anyone. You were all he could think about for weeks. Even when he came to the situation of fucking a random ass Ravenclaw after a party, he couldn't get it up. It wasn't until he thought about that night. You. He could. He ended up ploughing the fuck out of that poor Ravenclaw imaging the girl was you. After that he vowed to celibacy until he could get his hands on you.
"What are you talking about" You laughed as you kitten licked his tip, staring up at him as he fought back his moans. His fists whitening as he clenched then tightly.
"I.. saw you" He gulped, submitting and sitting on the bed as you shuffled closer. "Two weeks ago- You went somewhere I don't fucking know. But you were in a tiny fucking thong and- there was just so much boob and ass.." You tilted your head as you stared at him. "Y/N- I fucked my shit so hard- I fucked a random bitch- I nearly fucking moaned your name" He was pratically begging for you at this point.
You stood up, straddling his hips as you smirked at him, caressing his cheek. "I'm flattered Nott, if you wanted to fuck me you should've just asked" You bit your lip.
"God- S'bad.. I want you so bad Y/N" He pratically whimpered as his cock twitches up against your thigh.
"Who knew Theodore Nott was a begger.. especially with all this" You chuckled, running your hand up his whole length. You lifted your thong to the side as you lined up his dick with your entrance as you slowly sank down on it. Sighing softly as the poor boy whimpered under you.
"Good boy" You cooed, ruffling his hair as you slowly rocked your hips back and forth, biting your lip at the feeling of his dick moving inside of you, hitting your G-spot every. fucking. time.
"I fucking hate.. how weak you make me" He whines, a soft pout upon his lips as his hands grasp at your clothed breasts through your uniform.
You capture his lips, kissing him softly, speaking between the breaths- "You're so.. fucking.. hot.." You sighed as you arched your back, throwing your head back as you gripped his shoulders as you sped up the pace as you rode him. Your hips buckling against his chest as you left out soft whines and moans. Supporting yourself by your arms but you were growing weak. As much as it was hot to see a submissive Theodore, his dick was perfectly hitting your G-spot every fucking time that you were crumbling.
You threw your head forward, looking at Theo as you panted, your mouth open agape as you stared down at him. Lust in your eyes. "Ruin me Nott" you gagged out.
It was like a code word or something. In that moment, Theo pulled out and flipped you over. Ripping off your uniform but leaving your tie on. Slapping your ass harshly as he theusted his dick back into you, tugging on your tie, choking you slightly as he began to piston into you from behind. You gasped, a moan catching in your throat as your head leaned back slightly at the tug of the tie as you felt Theo's hand grip at your neck tightly as you gasped.
"Good girl.. Be good for me.. principessa" He whispered lowly as he let go of your tie, wrapping an arm around your waist as he yanked you up, leaning your back against his chest. You moaned lightly, gritting your teeth as his dick absolutely crushed your insides. His lips upon your neck, biting and sucking on the skin, as his free hand gripped your left breast.
"Fuck!" You whined out as you gasped. The overwhelming feeling of his dick and his touch was driving you insane. "I'm co-" You screamed out as he sped up his thrusts. You gripped his thighs, digging your nails into them as you screamed out. Your eyes rolling back as you let out a low groan as you came harshly against his dick.
Theo let go of you, letting you fall forward against the bed as you panted heavily, breath shaky as you gripped at the sheets below you. His dick still in you as he stared down at your twitching body.
"I'm not done yet, amore mio" He smirked, slapping your ass as he pulled out. Flipping you over as he leaned over kissing you softly. Your arms snaked around his neck, pulling his closer as you sucked on tongue as he gasped feeling him enter you once again.
"Theo- I don't think I can take anymore" You panted, giggling softly, slightly scared.
"You will" He smiled at you, kissing your cheek as he slowly dragged himself in and out of you. "I need to cum too, and you need to come atleast 2 more times" He winked.
His lips captured yours as he kissed you passionately. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your hand finding it's way through his curls as you tugged on them with each pummel into your G-spot. Theo definitely knew how to use all inches of his deadly weapon. You did question why you left it so long.
He pulled away, peppering kisses down your jaw, neck and collarbone, nibbling and sucking lightly occasionally scattering hickies and marks. "So. Beautiful" He growled as he grit his teeth. His grip on the headboard directly above you tightened as he thrusted harder onto you.
"T-Theo" you yelped, scratching down his back harshly with your sharp acrylics. Gasping as he cocked his leg up slightly hitting into you at a tilted angle driving you insane.
"Doing so good, darling. You look so beautiful" He pecked your lips as his grip tightened on his bed frame, thrusting faster as the bed below the pair of you began to creak with each movement. "Good girl.. You are doing so well" He kissed your cheek softly as you let out a soft string of moans.
Your eyes rolled back slightly as your panting became erratic, your toes curling as you shrieked, digging your nails further into his back. "Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck- I'm cumming!" You screamed out as you arched your back, your legs twitching as Theo continued to relentlessly pound into you, showing no remorse for your sensitive state. You yelped loudly, throwing your head forward, locking eyes with him as the knot harshly unwrapped in your stomach as you came harshly against him. He continues to fuck you through your high causing you to squirt. Everywhere.
You threw your head back, squinting your eyes as you gritted your teeth whining as your hands fell from his back to the sheets as you fisted them. It took you a moment to come round, you were seeing white during your high. You noticed Theo slow down, but still continuing to slowly pump into you. You felt his hand caress your cheek as he chuckled softly.
"You alright bella? Thought I lost you there" He smirked softly as he kissed your forehead.
You looked up at him, panting softly, pulling his neck as you placed a soft kiss on his lips. "You're going to kill me Nott.. How have you still not came-" You groaned.
He laughed, hooking his arms under your thighs, he lifted you up causing you to shriek. The boy stood up, lowering you once against fully on his length. His hands gripping your ass as he thrusted into you. Your body recoiling against him as your skin slapped harshly against his.
"Fuck- There-" You gulped biting your lip as your hands gripped his shoulders.
"Love making you feel good.. I could make you cum all day, I don't care if i do too" You groaned, his jaw tensing as you noticed his dick twitch inside of you. He walked across the room, your body rebounding every thrust back into him as you whimpered lowly. He pushed you up against the door, his pace quickening once he leant u against it.
"Fuck yes! You're so tight for me bella, just for me-" He moaned softly into your ear as his face buried into your neck. Soft whimpers leaving his lips turning you on even more. Your hips bucked against him as you tightened your core as you began to lift yourself to bounce up and down. Soft moans leaving your lips as he bit at your neck, whining into your skin.
"M'close!-" He yelped, gulping as he kissed your roughly. You pulled him as close as you could as he continued to plough into you against the door. The pair of you gaining closer and closr to your releases. His thrusts progressively becoming more erratic.
Suddenly, Theo halted before he drop you to your feet, pulling out as you gasped at the sudden lack of pleasure. He pulls you to the bed again, pushing you face first down as he climbed ontop of you. You had no time to compute what was going on or question him. It all happened so fast. His legs eitherside yours trapping you down as he slaps your ass. A soft yelp leaving your lips as he spread your ass and thighs with his hand as he pushed back in. The boy was fucking mounting you like a horse.
He kisses your shoulder messily as he bites down on it, his thrusts becoming messy as you gripped at the sheets again. "Tell me if your- uncomftable" He groaned in your ear. His thrusts growing messier and messier as he sped up. His poor bed frame screaming for a break, constant creaking and slamming against the wall as you both moaned. You were worried for the dorm next door, the pair of you didn't think of a silencing charm.
His whimpering driving you over the edge as you screamed into the pillow. Theo knew you were close, he could feel it as you tightened around him.
The boy chased for his high along with you. You both letting out some rather unattractive groans and whines as you drew close together.
"Sei cosi' sexy" (You're so sexy) He groaned, nibbling at your shoulder as he continued to whimper softly in your ear. His pants become erratic as he continued to thrust into you, at a wildly animalistic pace. "Mio, tu sei mio..~" (Mine, you are mine..~) he whined out, pushing your hair aside as he sucked at your neck. His pants becoming gasps as his dick twitched inside of you. You had no clue what he was saying, but his Italian accent was making you even more wet.
"FUCK!-" you screamed as you sobbed into the pillow, biting the plush object as you harshly came against his thrusts as he sped up one last time, before delving deep inside of you, practically burying himself and his cum deep inside of you.
"Porca puttana, cosi' stretto! Tutto mio. Ti amo, cazzo-" (Holy shit, so tight! All mine. I fucking love you-) He groaned as he held himself above you, his arms shaking as he panted heavily. "Holy fuck.." He collected himself before pulling out and crashing beside you, pushing his hair out of his face.
The pair of you had a few minutes of silence, panting heavily and collecting yourself together.
You lifted your hair out of the pillow as you turned to look at his fucked out face beside you. You let out a soft snicker as you moved to cuddle him, putting your head on his chest.
Theo didn't know you knew a bit of Italian not much, but enough to know he just professed his love for you.
"Ti amo" You smiled up at him. His face shot to you, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed.
"You understood?-" He gulped.
"Only slightly but, I love you too Theo" You kissed his cheek.
He shook his head, laying a soft kiss on your lips.
The two of you cuddled a bit longer before you retreated to the shower where you went another round. You don't know how you did it. Your legs certainly hate you at this point. He decided to leave some nasty bite marks and hickies on your thighs. He even drew blood a few times but that's something the two of you can toy with later...
Later you stumbled down the stairs in one of Theo's tshirts. Your hair very messy and skin peppered in hickies and bites from neck to thigh. Theo followed behind you.
You noticed your friends sat upon the couches in the common room.
You looked to Enzo "Can confirm it is definitely 9 inches" You both laughed as your friends look at you confused.
"Who-" Draco questioned before gasps came from them all as Theo walked downstairs, covered in scratch marks, bites and hickies as he stood behind you ruffling his hair in just his trackies.
"Oh my god" Pansy gawked.
If you enjoyed this fic and want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here!
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mr-jack-letterman · 5 days ago
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We need more young stan content out here.
And nah I ain't talking about 12 year old Stanley or 30 year old mullet Stan, I'm talking 17 year old, slicked back hair, acne riddled Stan pines.
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Yeah that one.
I am so happy mullet Stan is so popular because his fit slaps ngl and the angst is so potent I can't not respect it. But teenage Stan has so much potential it's driving me insane.
There is a line dividing the 17 years of relative happiness Stan had with Ford and the 10+ years of depression and crime he had on the streets, and teenage Stan uses that line as a goddamn jump rope.
Seriously, depending on how you look at it dude is either living his best life or is fighting for said life in the trenches of homelessness and poverty.
I see a lot of content regarding Stan on the streets but it only ever focuses on 30ish Stan in his later years of homelessness where he's already a hardened adult after years of dealing with this bullshit. But Stan didn't just drive away and then magically turn 30. There were times in those first few months after Stan got kicked out where he was in his car, trying to sleep, probably starving, while still being fundamentally a child.
Hell, compared to the 30ish age of mullet Stan and the 60+ year old con man he'd later become, teenage Stan is damn near a baby. There's a certain brightness about him, a sort of warm naive optimism that still clings to him because he's straight up just too young to know any better.
He's still fully convinced he's gonna make it rich and go back to his family in a few years. He still believes wholeheartedly that even if shit sucks right now, eventually everything is gonna be okay. It has to be. But it's not gonna be okay. It's not gonna be okay for a long time. And some parts are just never gonna be okay.
Seeing a happy and oblivious teenage Stan feels like watching a baby lamb walk into a slaughter house.
The next 10-something years are going to tear him apart limb from limb. In 40 years he's going to wake up on a boat during a bout of amnesia thinking he's in Columbian prison, or he's locked in the trunk of a car and about to drown, or his shoulder is on fire and his brother is gone, or it's the end of the world and everyone he ever dared to give a shit about is about to die in front of him and it's all his fault because he was too weak to stop it.
At some point, a young Stanley is going to get into his first true life or death fight. He doesn't even have to be involved with crime yet for it to happen. He's probably bruised and bleeding, with not nearly enough money to afford a doctor. He's sitting in the driver's seat of his El Diablo having a complete and utter break down because he almost died and suddenly everything is real.
Nothing is okay, absolutely nothing is going to be okay and whatever is left of his teenage innocence, naivety, and warmth dies in that car and it never comes back.
The next 10+ years are going to fundamentally change Stanley as a person and he's never going to be the same ever again. But teenage Stan doesn't know that, he's still a kid trying to sleep in the back of his car, ignoring hunger pangs and finding comfort in the half baked business ideas his mind cooks up because he doesn't understand how utterly done for he is.
12 year old Stanley I believe is so appealing because of his bright rambunctious spirit. He's still just a kid playing on the beach with his brother, but so was teenage Stan. I just wish the wholesomeness that comes with that and the subsequent hurt that follows as that spirit is broken over and over again by the world was explored more.
Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.
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strangersteddierthings · 1 year ago
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Good People
Part One🦇Part Two🦇Final Part
Wayne knows eavesdropping isn't the done thing. He's definitely old enough to know better, and he wasn't going to. He had a plan. He was going to walk directly into the living room, so they'd know he was awake, and after he'd fixed his cup of coffee, he'd plopped into his perfectly worn in recliner and subtly glare at the Harrington boy until he squirmed.
Mostly because it amused Wayne, but also just a little sliver of it was because he wanted the Harrington boy to know Wayne didn't think he was good enough for his boy. But only a little! Lord knows that Wayne couldn't do anything to make Eddie change his mind about Steve Harrington, short of Harrington proving Wayne right. Which he doesn't actually want because he doesn't want Eddie hurt.
He's just... He expects it to happen. That's what boys like Harrington do to boys like Eddie. He's seen it enough times to know that this song and dance leave no room for improvisation. Boys like Harrington play around, get their kicks with the devotion Eddie shows them, and then when they've had their fill, they leave.
Boys like Harrington will never be good enough for Eddie, but they always leave with Eddie feeling like he's not enough. Wayne hates it.
Anyway, his plan wasn't to eavesdrop. It's just that Harrington said his name and Wayne found himself standing still instead of continuing.
"Why doesn't Wayne like me?" Harrington asks.
"This again?" Eddie says dismissively, which has Wayne agreeing. His opinion shouldn't have bearing on their friendship.
A deep sigh from Harrington before, "I just. It's- he means so much to you. And, like, I- nevermind. It's stupid. I'm stupid."
"Hey," Eddie sounds a type of serious that Wayne rarely hears from him, "you're not stupid. And you gotta quit fucking saying that. You say it enough and you'll start to believe it and it's not true."
"Hard to quit feeling stupid when people dismiss my concerns like they are stupid," Harrington snaps back, bitchy as can be. The tone makes Wayne bristle on behalf of Eddie. His boy doesn't reply immediately, though. Doesn't bite back like Wayne's used to hearing. Huh. Maybe he's growing up, just a little.
"You're right, Steve," Eddie says when he finally speaks. "That was dismissive. I'm sorry. Explain it to me. Why does it matter to you whether Wayne likes you or not?"
"Well, because he's your family."
"Yeah," Eddie agrees, "he is. But that doesn't explain why it matters. I don't care if your parents like me or not."
"That's different!"
"How?" Eddie asks, soft but firm.
"Because their opinion doesn't matter. It's not- It's irrelevant. What they think."
"That makes no sense. Wayne's opinion matters because he's my family, but your parents' opinion doesn't even though they're your family?"
"Yes!"
"But why?" Eddie presses.
"Because they're bad people!" Steve bursts, not quite shouting but close. "Because when bad people don't think highly of you, it's not a fault in you. Their disproval is, like, a compliment. They don't like you because you're too different from them. And that's great! You shouldn't want their approval. It's different, because your uncle is a good person. And when a good person doesn't like you, it is your fault. It's something- it's..." Harrington loses steam here, voice dropping low and defeated, "there's something wrong with me. Something in me that- that he just knows. Senses about me or whatever. Something wrong or rotten or-"
"Steve! That's bullshit. Sure, Wayne's been standoffish, but he'll come around. You're not wrong, or rotten, or whatever else you think you are."
"How do you know that? I was an asshole most of life and what if that's just the real me? What if that's who I'll always be deep down. 'Cause I'm trying so damn hard, man. I'm giving it my all trying to be a better person and it's not enough! Everyone still talks about who I was in high school and even you-" Harrington snaps his mouth closed so hard that Wayne hears the clack of his teeth from his position in the hallway. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- I'm sorry."
"Steve. This is about more than just my uncle's opinion of you, isn't it?"
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."
"I want you, too. I want to know if I've ever done anything to make you feel like you aren't enough."
Wayne really shouldn't be listening. He should back down the hall and into his room. Give them time to talk.
"No, Eddie, you don't make me feel like- that's not what I meant. I just. I'm...."
"Hey, Stevie, you can tell me."
"I'm just so afraid that... That one day everyone will wake up and realize what Wayne already knows. That I'm not good enough for them. For you."
Oh. Wayne really shouldn't be listening.
"I'll admit that Wayne's opinion is important to me, for a lot of things. But not about you. What I feel about you, how I feel about you, isn't dictated by Wayne."
"Sure. I mean, I know that, like, logically or whatever. But it's. I can't convince my brain that you won't just. Hate me one day. And I- fuck, Eddie, I'm already halfway in love with you and-"
"You're in love with me?" Eddie interrupts, sounding awed, starstruck, and Wayne cannot be listening anymore. He backs down the hall silently and back into his room.
Steve Harrington seems to think that he's a good person, but he's not feeling like a good person at the moment.
He's got some thinking to do.
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wannaeatramyeon · 1 month ago
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Meeting Student!Gun Park for the First Time: Part 1
Part 2! G/N. 3.2k. Remember when Gun wanted to get his GED? Well. Stranger to~ Masterlists
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"How old are you?"
"20."
Press X for doubt, you think, and that's the exact meme you send over on chat.
"20 like 20 or 20 like you're mid 30s and planning your mid life crisis 20?"
You know you're being rude and making a terrible first impression. It's the first day of a new school year, of a new school in fact, and for some reason the class is held on video call and you're all forced to pair off with a classmate for an icebreaker introduction.
It’s already cringe worthy and awkward enough, icebreakers must have been created as a form of torture. To add insult to injury, you're sure this guy is bullshitting you.
"I'm 20." He deadpans.
Momentarily, you’re stunned into silence. It stretches almost a tad too long before you manage to choke out, “My bad. Sorry."
Wow. You're torn between thinking that's a rough 20, this guy has easily got 40 years under his belt and oh no, when is your puberty and hormones gonna kick in like that.
And that's also the exact moment this 20 year old Gun Park takes a drag on a cigarette and you decide that it's definitely a rough 20.
"So what do you do for fun?" You probe, and you have the distinct feeling he might say something like alimony, planning his third marriage, investing in the stock market - whatever someone in their 50s might say but-
To your surprise and glee, his body language turns shifty. 
He likes to game he says, like it's a dirty little secret. Amongst other things. Mentions something about training and martial arts and you fight to keep a straight face as it turns out you were also right about investing in shares and the stock market.
Gaming, however, is what you latch on to.
"Cute. I bet I could kick your ass."
"Oh yeah?"
"Oh yes."
And this is how you ended up at 4am on a school night, playing Tekken with your new classmate and getting your ass kicked.
"One more!" You screech down the mic, after the KO sign appears on screen, mumbling something about cheating and how if you can time this combo just right-
There's a huff of laughter coming through your tinny headphones and an amused "Fine."
.
.
Dark circles under your eyes grow. It's been a week of straight losses.
You blame the sleep deprivation on Gun Park, though really you have your own stubbornness to blame.
He never tends to say much during the gaming sessions apart from the odd expletive and you rant enough after each of your defeats for the both of you.
Sometimes this will earn you a chuckle and he will snidely add that you asked for this, you were the one who was supposed to kick his ass. This would piss you off enough for another game or three in the hopes of defeating him and getting to gloat.
Which unfortunately has not happened yet.
With a sigh, you hope your camera quality this morning is bad enough and pixelated enough that your poor sleep habits don't show.
You scan over your classmates, the few that have their camera turned on and find him.
Gun looks completely fine. He looks completely fine in what must be 4k and ugh, you scrunch your nose up in annoyance.
You keep an eye on him through the class. Observe how he's usually paying rapt attention, scribbling and typing up notes every now and then.
It's impressive how studious he is.
In comparison, you're daydreaming. Thinking about lunch, other combos or characters to play to counter his own when you catch on to the back end of a sentence as your teacher mentions ‘this’ is something to pay attention to as it will be on the pop quiz.
Huh? You blink a couple times. What is ‘this’? Unfortunately she swiftly moves onto another topic.
You type out a direct message to the only person you know.
You: I missed that, what did she just say?
Gun: You should have been paying attention.
You: Fuck you man!
You see his eyes dip to the bottom of the camera screen, briefly moving as he presumably reads your message.
He smirks.
That night he kicks your ass again.
Then as consolation, reveals what will be on the pop quiz.
.
.
If Gun looked like that in 4k, nothing could prepare you for how he looked in real life.
You're setting up your laptop and notepad in the classroom, the first actual in-person session, when someone takes a seat next to you.
Initially you feel a surge of irritation that they could have sat anywhere else and chose to sit next to you, then you look at the offender and-
Hold on.
You double, triple-take-
Is that?
It must be.
Shit.
It's fucking Gun Park.
You don't entirely regret your initial comments on his looks because this guy definitely does not look 20 but goddamn he looks-
He chooses that moment, when your jaw is on the floor, to turn to you and give you a nod of acknowledgement.
"Y/N."
"H-hi." You manage, and even to your ears it sounds like a simpering fool.
He must have thought so too if the quirk of his lips is anything to go by.
The cherry on top is that you expected this guy to smell like stale smoke, instead all you get is fresh laundry and something faintly dark and heady like leather and cedarwood.
Fuck.
Control yourself, a disapproving voice in your head says. Even that sounds vaguely like Gun.
It does nothing to stop your wandering gaze, peering at him in your periphery when you think he's not looking.
After you have taken your chance to not so discreetly run your eyes up and down his form, the only thing that makes you feel better is his hair. Because yeah he might be hot, but holy shit that must be a gallon of hair gel in there.
.
.
The other thing, as it turns out, that makes you feel a lot better is that he doodles.
It’s utterly charming.
Someone like Gun Park doesn't look like he doodles, but in between lines of his chicken scratch (seriously, who can even read that), there's little stick figures.
Maybe all the time you thought he was being studious he was just drawing-
Wait. You squint at the picture.
Is this guy for real?
"Are they fucking?" You whisper, using your pen to point at the page.
He doesn't answer straight away. There's a moment of surprise as he reacts like this is another secret of his he has unwittingly let you in on before his nostril flares and his eyes narrow and you grin in response.
Your grin grows when he grits out an answer. "No. Fighting."
He doesn't call you a dumbass but you can hear it loud and clear tacked on at the end.
"Whatever, pervert." You counter. You guess if you squint even harder then you suppose they could be fighting. Although the way one is lying on top of another is very suggestive. You don't hesitate to point that out to him.
Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.
.
.
Even without a seating plan, one forms.
Places taken by chance on the first day becomes a regular arrangement.
You exchange a few words with your classmates, familiarise yourself somewhat with their names and faces. Pieces of their backstory, why they're here studying for a GED but take your spot next to Gun regardless.
No one really talks to him, you've heard them saying he's menacing and intimidating. Yet when your first encounter of him was mistaking him as someone about to hit mid life crisis, how intimidating can he really be.
Besides, he still doodles his lewd figures that he insists are not in any way shape or form comprising sexual positions. So no, you don't find him intimidating at all.
.
.
Gun, as you have come to know, is a man of few words. He is also unsurprisingly not great at literature.
What you don't yet know is he likes to say what he means and mean what he says. His patience only extends to The Art of War, so all the flowery prose and poetry only serves to irritate him.
If Gun glared at you the way he's currently glaring at the textbook, you think you may either burst into tears or burst into flames.
Luckily you do neither of those things but you do take pity on him. Leaning over, you ask him quietly if he needs help.
He doesn't respond but the pen he's clutching in his right hand snaps in half.
Alright then.
Half an hour later, when the class empties out you ask Gun to follow you to the library.
He hesitates, and you add "if you've got time" to give him an out. In the end he doesn't take it and trudges obediently after you.
You very quickly learn that he really doesn't like literature. You're explaining and working him through the analysis and also mildly offended at the bored look on his face.
"This is a waste of time," he interjects and there's a sullen undercurrent to his words.
"Just memorise the analysis then." Exasperation tinges your tone, "That's all you need to do to pass."
He arches a brow at your words.
"They're testing your memory. So just remember what our teacher says."
There's an angry air of resignation as Gun nods, and you slide your notes over for him to copy.
.
.
Not long after, you have your first minor evaluation on the literature material.
You notice during the test that while the vein in Gun’s temple is prominent and he’s clutching his (new) pen tighter, there’s barely any pause as he fills in the answers.
A few days later, the graded papers are handed back. There's a sigh of relief from Gun.
He gives you a smile, small and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corner.
"You owe me one," you tell him jokingly though he takes it to heart and gives you a stern nod.
.
.
Gun repays his debt, with a coffee.
He places the paper cup on the desk in front of you. Logo of the coffee house to the side but still visible. It's new, expensive, and there’s regular lines around the block.
Of course it would be from there.
The issue is, who repays a debt with an espresso. He didn’t even ask for your drink of choice!
"Thanks for this thimble of coffee," you remark as Gun sniffs in distaste at your comment, placing his own matching cup in front of him and saying something about how it's the best untainted way to drink it.
Of course he would also be a coffee snob.
You tell him you usually like it with a bit more cream and a lot more sugar and he mutters that you sound like Goo.
You think that's an insult.
"Well, at least Goo has good taste," you snipe back with a grin.
Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.
.
.
You: Are you doodling or actually writing notes?
You: Cos on camera you look very studious but I’ve seen your notepad
Gun: None of your business
You: Still drawing your disgusting pornographic stick men then
Gun: They are not-
Gun: Whatever
.
.
You: Ok, maybe that espresso wasn’t terrible
Gun: I know
You: Who’s Goo anyway?
Gun: …
Gun: No-one
You: Suuuure
.
.
You: Tekken tonight?
Gun: Aren’t you tired of getting your ass kicked?
You: >:(
.
.
You: Do you wanna go over the new lit material in the library this week?
Gun: Ok
.
.
Gun: Thanks for your help
You: :) 
.
.
Gun: You’re tired. You should game less.
You: Spoken like a coward!
Gun: Dumbass
You: Hey!!
.
.
Gun: I’ll bring you an espresso tomorrow. You need it.
You: Does it have to be an espresso?
Gun: Yes
You: …Thanks
.
.
To anyone else, the figure standing in the doorway is just smoking. To you, it suspiciously looks like they’re waiting.
It's not a crime. Gun Park can wait for whatever or whoever he wants.
What really throws you off is his smoking. You've seen him casually take one single drag before throwing the whole cigarette away. Even to you, it seems like a waste.
However, this time he smokes one all the way to the filter before stubbing it out. Then does the same to a second, and third.
Strange, very strange.
You approach him. Taking gentle steps, in case he might get spooked and bolt which is really a ridiculous notion for someone like him. Nevertheless, you keep your footsteps light, yourself clearly in view and you wander over to him.
"Hey," you say, with a somewhat forced smile. He doesn't acknowledge your greeting apart from a brief nod.
"... Everything ok?"
It's a perfectly normal question to ask but a vastly bizarre one for Gun. He doesn't look like the type of person where people casually enquire about his well being.
He must have thought so too if the look he gives you is anything to go by.
In response, he stubs out his cigarette (his fourth!) then asks, stilted and stiffly, if you want to come back to his for a game of Tekken.
At least that's what you interpret as he seems to be crazy cryptic.
"Are you interested in Tekken?"
"...Yes." You wonder what on earth this question is because did you hallucinate all those games you played together?
"Then meet me. After class." 
"Where? Here?"
"No. At mine."
"Where's that?"
"..."
He gives you another look, as if you're the one trying to coax a secret out of him despite him offering.
Gun dips forward, murmurs quietly into your ear his address and some vague directions like it's highly confidential information.
You nod along, thinking what is with this guy. 
.
.
So firstly, what the fuck.
Then secondly, what the fuck.
Don't think you hadn't noticed the designer brands Gun wears. If they're fakes, they're very convincing fakes. But you're almost certain they have got to be counterfeit when he brought you over to a junkyard claiming this is where he lives.
You've seen films like this. Granted, it's less in a junkyard and more in the middle of nowhere in America where college kids meet their gruesome ends in fantastical ways.
You never thought this would happen to you. You have sorely miscalculated. 
Is this Gun Park (if that even is his real name) going to butcher you and leave your body on top of a pile of scrap metal in the corner?
Instead of a night of gaming where you’re the one KO-ing him, he’s actually the one that’s going to chase you around wearing a mask and wielding a knife or axe?
"You’re here. Come in," Gun says, opening his front door just as your inner monologue begins to truly spiral out of control and you're considering doing a runner.
"Eh?" You grunt like an idiot, not noticing when the shack appeared nor when you stepped onto his porch, or the side eyes Gun had been giving you.
He gives you another look, likely regretting inviting you at all, and leaves the door ajar for you to either enter or turn back and go home.
.
.
"This is... nice," you lie, through the skin of your teeth.
Gun sees cleanly through your white lie and exhales a huff of amusement.
It's sparse. Peeks of luxury here and there - the extensive PC gaming rig, the entertainment system and consoles, to name a few.
Apart from that, it's barely a home.
"Take a seat." He offers, and it sounds more like an order. Obediently you sit on his sofa, feeling very much a guest.
"You're not in danger," he says, bemused at how awkward you are in his domain, how tense you hold yourself.
'That's exactly what a killer would say,' you think and when you hear a low chuckle, you realise that you said it aloud.
"Don't worry," Gun reassures and it doesn’t really help before he strides off to somewhere in his house and leaves you sitting alone.
He returns back minutes later as you’re in the middle of admiring his entertainment set up and going through his vinyl collection (because obviously someone like Gun has vinyls) with a coffee for you that looks much more milky and to your taste than the usual ones he offers. 
“Thanks.” you take your drink and return back to your seat.
Taking the first sip, you finally manage to relax. Sinking into a sofa that is much more comfortable than at first glance and you take in your surroundings a bit more.
Sort of. You actually take in Gun Park more. 
He’s casual, in a way you have never seen or even considered. Dressed in a t-shirt and grey sweatpants, hair floppy and the only styling is done with his hands running through his hair now and then to keep it back.
Even during the online classes, he is usually dressed up in an open collared shirt.
If you thought he was hot before, it’s nothing compared to now. There’s an air of domesticity, the drink he made for you cradled in your hands, and the distinct feeling that not many people have had the luxury to see Gun in his natural habitat, so intimate and vulnerable.
You wonder if this is how he looks all those nights you’ve been gaming together.
You catch his eyes, having been caught checking him out and he raises his eyebrows at your blatant staring. 
Blood rushes to your cheeks as he chuckles into his own espresso and takes a sip.
.
.
"Holy shit, I won!"
You're familiar with the KO screen. What you're not familiar with is being on the side of victory. You're usually a hair trigger away from rage quitting, from throwing a tantrum down the mic.
Finally. All your hard work has paid off. Time spent thinking of combos, attacks and defences (which would have been better spent studying) is coming to fruition.
You peer over to Gun, expect the controller he is clutching to maybe have been crushed into pieces with his freakish strength. Expected nothing except for a vein throbbing on his temple.
What you do find is-
Gun looking at you, fondness in his eyes. He's taking in your grin, letting your gloating slide.
Doesn't do more than roll his eyes when you perform a victory dance of sorts around him.
And when you get in his face to tell him that you're the winner, you're the best-
(More words are on the tip of your tongue but your gaze drops to his lip, drawn to the small smile he wears.
It sinks in.
The patience he has, the attention he gives, the way he has opened his home to you.
From the very first meeting, the even-handed way he has dealt with your insults, entertained you to the early hours of the morning on Tekken.)
Gun reaches out, tugs your hand and pulls you into his lap and agrees.
"Yes. The best."
You think it's a lie, an embellishment.
But the way he holds you - tender and precious, and the way he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours - soft, like you might break - can't be anything else but the whole truth.
(Update! Part 2 here!)
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buttercupblu · 3 months ago
Text
Satoru's Psyche|Surfacing
"Power dynamics, they're fluid."
Session 1 of 10|Next Session
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🗂️Patient Chart Update: Routine patient visit and care performed. Patient is stable, mostly corporative, and only mildly rowdy today. Vitals are clear, appetite is normal, nothing of interest to report other than slightly abnormal behavior resulting in the [REDACTED] incident, pending Nurse deliberation on how to proceed with patient disciplinary action. 📋 Length of Session (w.c): 5.2k out of "we will cross that bridge when we get to it 🤠" 💊Intake Chart (tags): this is a full-blown AU with a slowww build-up, yandere-ish behavior, pet names, angst, compulsive flirter Gojo (he literally cannot help it), mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️doctor's angel’s note: there’s something very, very special about how this story was born. extended author’s note at the end of this chapter if you’re curious|kk I'm done talking - enjoy Satoru’s Psyche. 🎼 Waiting room music: Child's Play|SZA
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They all worshipped the strongest. 
But no one saw the man; no one noticed the cracks until it was too late.
The first appeared after the Star Plasma Vessel mission—Gojo's near-death experience and first awakening. 
Then, it was his best friend, Suguru Geto. His betrayal, death. Murder. 
The blood on Gojo's hands left such a deep mark.
Devastation. Irreparable damage.
No matter what Gojo did after that, death followed him like a loyal dog. 
And when the final crack happened in the Prison Realm, with no distraction from his own thoughts and burdens and painstakingly harsh reality, Satoru Gojo bent..then snapped.
He can't remember what happened after being unsealed. 
All he knew was the blood that came afterward.
Apparently, he went on a rampage, but in his psyche, it didn't matter.
Nothing mattered.
And he didn't feel guilt—not in the slightest. 
They must have gotten what they deserved, right? 
The thoughts were deafening.
But Gojo’s natural tendency to play the hero was even louder and got the best of him. The realization of what he’d done was haunting—plaguing and persuading him like a Devil in his ear until he turned himself in to shut the voices the fuck up. 
Once again, good ruled over evil and the world was safe.
In Gojo's own sick and twisted way, he had once more saved the day.
And as a thank you? He's here, in a fucking straitjacket, seals all around to make his cursed energy dormant. At least, that's what those old fools believe…
Gojo can't help but scoff, recalling all their nonsense. 
“You're unstable. The mind needs to be healed.”
Blah fucking blah. What a load of bullshit. 
However, society never took too kindly to a little mass murder, so fine.
Gojo will play nice... for now.
And for the most unexpected reason why.
His grin only deepens, a borderline predatory look as he hears those familiar footsteps. 
Ah...how wonderful.
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“There you are.”
The man waits by the door, shoulder framing your entrance and leaning on the wall. Welcoming, warm and expectantly, before the locks can disengage. 
Like many times before, your eyes meet through the window pane. A dull blue under snowy white lashes, heavy and following yours, but barely piercing the plastic—small and artificial—only a thin layer of careful separation, but you both see right through it. Neutrality on your face but wavering sharpness in your eyes. And a glint in his as the familiar buzz! ushers you into his world.
“How’s my favorite nurse?” he asks like a broken record. All casual-like, as if his arms aren’t meticulously tucked into tight restraints that work hard against his muscled frame. “Missed your favorite psychopath?”
He couldn’t sound more arrogant, but still has to smirk watching you brush past him—expecting nothing less—but feels a different air.
There’s a pep in your step, carrying you into the stark white room and making it impossible to miss the subtle sway of your hips and dangling supply bag on your arm. Naturally fluid as if you’re oblivious to its sensual nature.
Gojo rarely saw you wear any emotion on your sleeve, let alone what he thought was hints of joy, but something was slipping through the cracks.  
And what’s that? A slight grin on your face? 
What exactly do we have here?
This attitude is foreign. Better than the blank slate or frequent exhaustion you usually walk in with, but this was a side of you that was unfamiliar. 
What’s got you in such a mood, he wonders? And what else could it be, if not him? 
It’s all because today is an “okay day”. And in places like your ward, “okay” is as good as gold.
Rounds have been fairly simple in the usually chaotic hospital—a small win if you put things in perspective, but it’s enough for you to feel good about it. 
Hell, with the way things usually go around here, it feels like Christmas came early and you got just what you wanted. 
A big, whopping present called “all of your co-workers showing up to work”. The standard for most workplaces but here, such miracles only exist in your daydreams to get through your usually fucked schedule.
But not today. Today, the angels personally visited your ward to carry your burdens and lighten your load. For the first time in months, you didn’t groan the second you saw your patient roster for the day and instead had to do a doubletake because the list was surprisingly short. Only your regulars sat on it and that could only happen if the ward was fully-staffed.
You thought it was a mistake when you checked the schedule this morning, but no, everyone’s name sat prettily on the sign-in sheet at the front desk—a sight you hadn’t seen since orientation and was confirmed with every familiar and slightly foreign face you passed in the halls. 
There were no call-outs, no extra work, and the best part, no unexpected shift changes. 
Overtime would not get its hands on you today and the thought alone made you feel lighter because enough time is spent in these melancholy walls as is. 
With thoughts on the week’s end, you found yourself drifting through the day on autopilot. Wondering if you should make plans—doubtful you’ll see them through—and time seemed to be flying by with your thoughts. Following the rarely-seen routine you know like the back of your hand helped you blaze through the morning and grow closer to sweet rest for your already aching feet. 
Miracles were coming in left and right, proof that today just might be your day. It’s still early, but no one had broken out of their room or flung any property around yet. Guards sit comfy and reclined at their posts, lounging around more than they’re being called, and you haven’t even had to run off to the lockers to change your scrubs that are usually ruined by now. Luck is keeping you high and dry—free from accidents or patient tantrums, both of which are all too common. And always seem to have your name on them.
But the cherry on top, second to none, pièce de résistance.
Is a possibility.
Just the teeniest, tiniest, sliver of a chance…to walk out of these doors early. 
Be still your beating heart.
Early release?? Unheard of. You almost skipped through the halls thinking about it. Dreaming of the reclaimed time—the deliciously healthy heap of rest. 
With no signs of trouble, aside from forcing yourself to chug a wildly unhealthy energy drink to fight off tendrils of sleep, you just may be in the clear.
Things seem steady in the sleepy ward today. So sure, you’re in a relatively good mood. 
But is it good enough to deal with Gojo? 
It puzzles you, how he always knows you’re coming before he sees you. How he sort of announces your presence before you get the chance. Like the honor belongs to him.
The psychopath. 
Your head tilts at the diagnosis, hearing it come from his lips for the first time. Even if unseriously. 
He’s self-aware, at least. Not that the confession makes your visits any easier. 
Over time, after working so closely with a personality like Gojo’s, you’ve learned to take everything he says with a grain of salt. Especially when it comes from such shameless lips.
Answering his question with an eye-roll, you set your supplies down to pull out your clipboard and check his vitals. Something that once upon a time made your palms sweat and throat dry, but never showed on your face. You knew what the role required, what it would need for you to survive—intimidation and cowardice were not a part of it—and eventually, after you banged that into your head enough, even if you had to fake it til you made it, you became used to the routine.
As has Gojo, complying with each step on the checklist like it was second nature. Walking over to his favorite spot to be taken care of, the bed. Lifting his tongue to take his temperature. Offering his arm to check his blood pressure. Noting that his eyes aren’t bad today—not needing to wear his blindfold due to the security system. Doing it all without needing you to say a word. All within his control.
But the one thing he can’t get a grip on is how his heart begins to beat. Every time like clockwork the moment you lay a hand on his back to listen to it. Racing in his chest—thumping through your stethoscope—while he wears the calmest face. 
Curiosity called you after noticing it a few times once you determined it wasn’t a condition. Guaranteed to start up with the gentlest touch that he was surely used to. 
So, what exactly goes on in his mind in these moments? Despite hiding it so well? 
What could possibly be making Tokyo’s most unhinged, mass-murderer, so flustered? 
You never have much time to think about it because it won’t matter in the next few seconds anyway. Sitting still enough to get through vitals was as serious as Gojo gets, making the quickest part of your visits with him the easiest. 
Everything that follows the second you put your kit away is pure…surprise. 
“So…are you gonna undo the straps this time, sweet nurse? My arms are sore.”
He pouts. Sweetly. So devilishly charming. As he did so often with a flash of those cerulean, blue eyes that could make and break hearts.
You sigh. One could almost forget that by society’s standards, he’s a “dangerously unstable individual.” 
Something you’re acutely aware of. And trained for. Which is why you don’t mind the coquettish jabs he throws your way—and why he keeps on throwing them.
You aren’t aware but these hourly visits, along with his agreement to stay put, are the only reasons why he’s still here despite being Satoru fucking Gojo and simply walking out. It’s not like anyone could stop him if they really wanted to, and he knew that. 
Truth is—it pissed Gojo off, being stuck here. Cooperative. It was fucking irritating, to say the least. 
He’d rather be tortured than bored and might’ve second-guessed his decision to surrender if he knew the punishment would be…this. 
But lo and behold, here you are. Relief in the flesh while he bides his time. One that he wasn’t expecting.
“You sure are possessive today.” You hide a smirk, draping the stethoscope around your neck, his heartbeat returning to normal after losing your touch. “Am I really your favorite?” The leather straps hug his pale skin a bit tightly, but his mobility is good enough to ignore his request to loosen them. That would be suicide. 
He tsks, eyes sparkling at your words—a warning glimmer hidden beneath the icy gaze. 
Chilling. But the least bit surprising. 
Gojo and cattiness go together like love and war—and he wears it with his whole chest. 
Even when unprovoked, he’s known for being….testy. Trying his hand again and again until he gets some kind of reaction. Waiting to see what makes someone bite. 
But there was something disingenuous about this petty quirk. The repetition and how it seemed to lack a goal. How he seemed almost…desperate for interaction—attention—any attention.
Eventually, once you sat in his face long enough to learn how to disassociate with a straight face, you figured out that he just loves to hear himself talk. Like that one kid in class who’s always inserted themselves into every conversation and made it about them. 
He rarely gives you a hard time though—less than most of your other patients in fact—and usually sends more kisses than cuts. Occasionally, when you find them…okay, or tolerable enough, you indulge him and this charade between you two—like the high school crush it resembled. Strict. But harmless. 
And you’re only entertaining him now because he’s one of your last patients for the day. A fact not lost on him, but disregarded nonetheless. Even if you were just playing along, he knew there had to be more depth. All the masks in the world couldn’t hide that smile on your face.
His laugh breaks the tension. “I'm a yapper, not a liar...Am I yours?” He raises a brow. “You didn’t answer me earlier.”
His low tone carries an unspoken weight. Cryptic. Eerie. Needy. Almost calling you like a possession more frequently than ever.
It isn’t lost on you that his affections have blossomed as you’ve spent more time together. Visits are supposed to be 10, 15 minutes tops—collect vitals, serve meals, give meds, and avoid accidents. But Gojo? He drinks up your time. Going on 30, sometimes 45 minutes of routine maintenance and “extra care”. This wasn’t standard practice, but they didn’t tell you that, among other things when you accepted the position.
Every time you cross Gojo’s threshold, you’re reminded that you’re not actually supposed to be here. You’re just a nurse after all, not a therapist, and lacked the credentials to even begin to handle a patient like Gojo. But in the end, qualifications don’t matter when his staff has a famous history of running away. 
A fate shared by his previous nurse and therapist. Both fell victim to Gojo’s whimsical and relentless personality and suffered a mental breakdown from hell before quitting the ward. Capacity for hospitality completely shot, they nailed the coffin shut by ditching the healthcare industry altogether. 
And that was after only a few hours. 
In the beginning, you had absolutely no faith in yourself. Swore it was a sick joke as you couldn’t begin to fathom why they would even consider you for the job. 
You??
Gojo the Psycho’s nurse? It would’ve been easier to turn in your resignation right then to avoid living in hell.
You wondered how your life would change as you got to know the world’s most hated man. 
How long you would last—if he would let you. 
Anxiety and nausea gnawed at the back of your throat as time grew closer to meeting him. But eventually, after running the scenario in your head a million times over and trying to come up with some sort of plan or plea for your life, the day came, and you stood before the unpredictable man who looked like he saw right through you. 
Just the idea of being in Gojo’s presence is enough to let you know it’ll be unnerving. 
But the moment was…odd. 
Naturally, you wanted rely on book smarts and previous patient experiences to get you through what you knew would be a short and traumatic failed attempt at connection. But then you took a second to really look at Gojo, not study, but a kind of look that catches something…a conflict in his eyes—and instantly knew he was no ordinary patient. 
He was something you’d never met before, and any attempts to use a cookie-cutter facade would quickly be chewed up and spat out. 
So, you went with your gut—hoping to escape with some remnants of your sanity at least. 
Who knew you’d end up surprising not only yourself but also the Director and all the other staff in the ward who watched with held breaths? 
Gojo practically welcomed you with open arms. Flashing his pearly whites and dimples in a closed-eyed smile. You could hear a pin drop.
He didn’t bark, he didn’t bite. Only teased, feeding you sultry words with cunning lips until your face visibly flushed with blush. They didn’t warn you about charm. Debatibly the “worst” part about working with the blue-eyed lady-killer. Or that his devilishly handsome face would make you second-guess his sanity and guilt.
But you knew what this was. Or at least what it wasn’t and quickly put on blinders to every distraction he threw. Holding your breath the whole way through and surprising yourself every time you walked out his room. After your trial period had run for a few days with no mishaps—the opposite, really— you were promoted. And given a big, fat new check (certainly not for collateral). 
You didn’t know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or concern.
Congratulations! You were now in charge of Gojo’s physical AND mental health. 
Which meant longer, more thorough visits.
The idea was nerve-racking for weeks, to say the least. And because he has the nerve to be a karate-chopping ‘sorcerer’ or whatever it is that makes the man so dangerous, he needs careful safeguarding. Which means having his very own wing and accommodations in the ward. The only barriers between Gojo and doing whatever the hell he wants is one guard stationed near the entrance and some type of security system they can’t disclose to you. It’s supposed to suppress his abilities or something, you don’t quite understand itself yourself, but most importantly, it keeps him tame.
Still, choosing to grace his space almost daily always feels like tempting a snake. 
But somebody has to do it. 
And in a way, by his own means, offering a satisfied grin and all, Gojo had chosen you. 
Even in the confines of a cell, with seemingly nothing left to live for and no room for emotions, you, this wonder, have managed to catch his eye. In a way that made him want to sink his teeth in and soak up your attention. For reasons you couldn’t be more unsure of. 
“It would break my heart if it weren’t true,” he continues, sitting in the only chair in the room, “You’re my entertainment, you know? My doll to play with.”
You scoff, arms folding. The word doll echos in your ear like a chamber. That was a new one. 
“You sure talk a lot of game for someone in your situation.” 
“I love games.” He leans, eyes drinking in his favorite powdery blue scrubs that hug your frame in an all too professional manner. “Play with me, Nurse.”
Time belonged to Gojo, and he chooses to bide it with a little fun until release—or escape. His ever-changing mind hasn’t decided yet but it was far from a concern. Because the truth of this truce was painfully obvious. He knew he wouldn’t be here forever. And is quick to mention that he’d love to take you with him.
“If you can handle me.” He licks his lip. “Unless I’m too much for you.”
And there it is. That cool smile that sends shivers down spines. Irresistibly stirring your core every time he parts his lips. 
You hated it—no one could deny his charm or his intimidating presence. Even in chains, shackled and restrained, he maintains some kind of control: crumbling walls with his charisma, waving around his amorous, overassertive reputation like a big red flag.
But you’ve already proven to not be like the rest, easily swayed or reduced to puddles. Your wall is firm. Solid. He baits you time and time again—a smile here, a sinful gaze there—only to be met with dismissive yawns. Rousing something inside of him that deemed you a challenge. Something worth exploring. You were…difficult.
You’re the one who laughed this time, shaking your head and tucking a hair behind your ear. He oozes confidence from every fiber of his being—and bores you.
“Are you going to tell me what you’d like to lunch today or just keep bothering me?” 
And goddammit he has the audacity to grin. To tuck his lip under his teeth slow enough to make you catch it. 
Your insolence is adorable, yet maddening; a cocktail he drinks with delight before realizing how much he loves the taste. 
You were becoming really good at it, beating up his ego and turning a blind eye to his silly little flirts, but interest never faded from his gaze no matter how careless you seemed. Or were trying to. 
He tsks. “C’mon, Nurse. If I can’t have fun here, where can I? Besides,” Sunlight streams in from his barred window as if on cue. “You’re the only thing here worth talking about.”
Butterflies? Knots? Maybe both fill your stomach.
Neither can be good for you in a situation like this.
The dreamy words whisper sweet nothings into your ear, and stroke your ego with a delicate thumb. Soft and gentle—and from a shell of a man. 
A good turned evil. 
And you don’t have to look too far to remember how he got here—to remember why the enchanting man before you is dressed in heavy white restraints and public enemy number one. 
Guilt tugs at you for even joking around with him sometimes. You picture his victims. The lives forever changed. And how he didn’t seem sorry for it. 
Besides, even if Gojo wasn’t a basket-case, it’s hard to look past how childish he is anyway—something you heard has always been a part of him. Something you couldn’t imagine dealing with for too long, even casually. It certainly wasn’t your taste, and under different circumstances, you’d no sooner fall for him outside of these walls than you would now.
But above all of the boundaries, restrictions, and pep-talks you give yourself, is the simple fact that you aren’t the day-one nurse he once knew. Now, you have a backbone and don’t hesitate to remind him.
“You’re such a flirt, Patient Gojo.” You make sure to catch his eye when you say it, “But compliments only get you so far.”
Patient. 
It hangs in the air. Brisk and stale. A bit sour on the tip of your tongue. And acid in his ears.
With that, Gojo sits back, resting his cheek on a propped-up arm, gaze long and longing. Breathing slow as he thinks and nerves buzz between you two. Then his request comes, simple and direct.
“How about sushi? Raw and fresh.” And a psych ward delicacy.
He’s the only patient in the entire facility with such privilege—envy-worthy and used to his heart’s content. With full-scale unlimited access to all the gourmet treats and fine dining he could ever want, his meals are often better than the ones you bring to work. Gojo is above common hospital dishes, of course, and his indulgent appetite would accept nothing less. 
But it wasn’t just about the food, no, negotiating that was too easy and barely worth mentioning.
This is a conveniently constant reminder that he is still capable of influencing things and making decisions with ease, from those he’s allowed to have access to him, down to his choice of meal.
It intrigues you. How he subdues himself to the masses but finds meaning in smaller wins. What he finds significant.
But none of that mattered right now, you’d finally been given an order and another win, even if it felt like pulling teeth. For now, it’s time to feed him and let him believe whatever he wants.
You pick up his tray from this morning, scanning the room to make sure no cutlery or dishes are missing. “Sushi it is,” you wink and call to be let out.
None of his staff are allowed the room key as a preventative measure to keep his chances of escaping to a minimum. As if a door would stop him but a key does exist and you’ve only seen it on the day the Director introduced you two, and it looked nothing like the keys used for other rooms. 
When you come back with lunch, Gojo grows curious. Noticing how your body has relaxed over time, getting used to his presence every time you come in. Little nuisances like how you breathe a little easier in his space and sometimes smile with your eyes when he tells a stupid joke. The air is…changing. He wonders just how comfortable have you gotten?
“Finally back? I started to miss you.” It’s light but he can’t possibly resist testing the waters. “Would you like to eat with me, pet?” And it takes everything in you to suppress a visceral reaction.
He’s on a roll with the names today and you wonder what his affections might have been like in his life before. Sure, he’s a talker and a flirt, that much is obvious, but you wonder what his actual love was like? How did he show it if he ever got to? And if so, if he ever left anybody behind?
“You know the procedure, Gojo.” You wait with the tray in hand, brushing the thoughts away. Though the temptation savor what you knew would be premium cuisine begs you to do it, you know better than to start breaking boundaries now.
He deflates, brows furrowing. “Is it…really so necessary?” He knows the answer, of course.
You gesture for him to turn around but he holds your gaze, having a little stare down like he enjoys the silent confrontation. You raise an annoyed brow. “The food’s getting cold,” and tap the tray.
“It’s sushi.”
 You huff.
He smirks before finally facing the wall, stilling his body in the tight jacket. When you’re sure he won't move, you set his food to the side and slowly approach to attach him to the latch on the wall. 
Skilled fingers reach across his waist and you have to crouch a little to glide the heavy chain towards the loop at his hip. His skin flushes at your warmth, your proximity, as he can’t help but enjoy the intimacy of the routine power shift. Even if it was a sham, it was still one he reluctantly agreed to. To play nice. To be weak. 
But this exchange, giving himself over to your authority, was oddly invigorating—like placing himself in his victim’s shoes to get a minuscule taste of his own medicine.
“Well, don’t look so happy about it,” he chuckles. Relief finds your face as you gently tug on the chain to make sure it’s secure, amusing the man towering over you.
The thoroughness is cute, all a part of a job well done and strict boundaries that drive a heavy wedge between you two. But it doesn’t bother Gojo. Because he’s certain, he knows, that your guarded walls will crumble sooner than later. All it takes is patience.
“Remember, Nurse,” he doesn’t turn around, “Power dynamics….they’re fluid.” 
And you can almost hear the wink—the implied warning living on his slick tongue that pokes and prods with every interaction and sends heat to your rosy cheeks. 
“You have a way with words, Gojo.” Again your eyes roll as you reach for the key to his restraints. The shackles fall to the ground, shrilling in the mostly empty room to allow him to feed himself.
A mix of groans and relief escapes his lips as he relishes the freedom from the stiff leather. He sighs, “Thank you, Nurse.” and rubs his tender wrists before abruptly filling your space. Nearly knocking you off your feet, but stopping just shy of your face. The monstrous chains strain against the wall, playing tug of war with the beast of a man and the florescent lights cast a spotlight on the sudden distance between you two. 
You had never been this close. 
“But don’t forget, I can turn these roles around. Anytime.”
Twinkles play in his eyes, dazzling you with a shine so bright you can see your reflection. But you also see the unhinged nature behind them just as easily as he sees the quiver of your lip feeling his breath graze the curve of your neck and raise goosebumps on your skin.
This isn’t just idle banter. It’s a stark reminder of Gojo’s capabilities that you had grown comfortable enough to forget. That you thought maybe you had become the exception to. 
As he steps back and leans against the wall he could’ve torn down, there’s an unmistakable silence filling with tension. Hot and sharp like pins and needles. But instead of pushing you to run for the hills, to quit while you’re ahead and savor what’s left of the life you know, for once, your unrelenting mind dares to wonder where this twisted ballet will go.  
It kills you to admit that their is something interesting about cat-and-mouse game he thinks you’re playing. Just as his affections have grown, your thoughts push you to imagine what could happen if you were actually…caught..
It’s idiotic, you know. You don’t need a sign telling you not to play with your life.
This is Satoru fucking Gojo, for Godsake. The murderer. The villain. A literal stain on the face of humanity. 
Forget about what he may have been before. You never saw that Gojo, and he’ll never be seen again. 
Your motto has always been that everyone is redeemable—but these types, Gojo’s type, are so beyond saving that it feels more like babysitting than redeeming a mentally unstable murderous toddler who could destroy a city in seconds.
Even for a man who speaks so carelessly, but teases a sugary-sweet tongue, it’s easy to see how and why he ended up here. Life had made him an example.
Proving that too much of a good thing will always spoil.
And as you watch him turn a wink and begin to casually snack on his meal, completely unconcerned with you or your reaction or response, it’s plain to see that his “affections” spare no one. Not even you. 
You clear your throat and steady a breath. With the lightest voice you can muster, you remind him, “Empty threats are the best you can do, patient.” And turn to leave.
“I’ll be back later for your bath. Or maybe send someone else. Since you’re so excitable today.”  
He pauses. “Oh?”
Is that a challenge?
His laugh echoes around the room like something out of a cartoon, fading away just as quickly as it came. He leans back, hair blending into the wall as he licks bits of rice off his thumbs—gaze sharp despite the jest. 
Because the stakes are clear and you’re both aware. 
But in case you don’t know the consequences he asks, “Do I seem threatened to you?” 
You shift your weight. If Gojo is anything, he’s always playful. The man does not have a serious bone in his body, which makes him damn near intolerable sometimes, but it’s something you’re used to it. But not this tone. This tone has rocks in it, hard and heavy as he calls your bluff. 
“Because my threats—,” he continues eating, “—are never empty.” He pops the last roll into his mouth. “You sure you wanna do this?” 
There’s no denying the chill running up your spine at those words—playing out like casual banter over lunch instead of the battle royale it was.
As if the question were rhetorical, he adds, “Okay but like,” and coughs up another laugh, as if finding the entire idea ridiculous. “Who’d be dumb enough to replace you?”
To feed or not to feed? Now was a chance to bail out.
“Don’t worry about that.” And you don’t as you call to the guard, hoping to catch your break on time. “Just behave yourself.” Gojo would keep you here playing 20 questions all day if he could.    
A bemused smile settles on his face and he shakes his head at your antics. 
You were becoming increasingly enjoyable to interact with. And steadily digging yourself into a hole. You’ve been sitting front-row to the darkness within him enough times to be sure it is, in fact, very real, but still it’s impossible to ignore that there’s something driving you to pick up the shovel. 
It isn’t just his pretty face and boyish charm. No.
It’s like he wants to get under your skin. In the best way.
Yeahhhh, this death wish is turning you every way but loose.
It’s silly, so stupid to even think about. Giving Gojo a smidge of an inch just because you feel there may be something more. Like there’s depth to his pretty words and clashing ways. Who's to say any of it is “real” anyway? He is insane after all. 
Your mind and the door shut behind you, and you turn to peer at him through the small window. A mischievous yet bored look rests on his face. 
You think you actually will send someone else. Just to show him what happens when he crosses the line. To reinforce business and boundaries. 
You could also use a break yourself—Gojo is starting to feel… claustrophobic these days and if you aren’t careful who knows what could happen. 
“Choose wisely,” came his voice from within the room,. “Every move you make counts. And cheating has consequences.” Footsteps approach the door. “You may think tagging out is all it takes to avoid our game, but let me tell you something…” He stops. “...you underestimate how quickly I can escape confinement before I’m noticed.”
And suddenly, this isn’t just a game anymore. And Gojo isn’t just some harmless tease.
Your throat is too tight to swallow and you fidget with your lanyard as if responding to his words. 
Of course, he’s capable of breaking free. That’s not what’s worrying. But if it was because of you poking the bear, you trying to get on even ground with him and have the upper hand, would you be responsible if he did?
“No matter where they send you or who they send instead—” And Gojo’s comment makes it crystal clear. 
“—I promise you, you’ll end up right back here.”
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extended angel's note: first and foremost, just to give credit where credit is due, this is a chatbot i turned into a short story🧍🏾‍♀️. it was actually my first time dicking around with janitor a.i. back in like...april? and i came across this gojo bot with a suuuuper interesting prompt. [all of the prompt idea and calibration credit goes to the original creator.] i didn’t decide to actually get serious and start creating a story until around the end of part 2 - i realized i was having too much fun and was in too deep 🙇🏾‍♀️. SO after my decision to indulge madness, i didn't want to run up 10000 messages on janitor a.i. and decided to create the rest of the story on my own from there.  everything after the prompt are my own words and i've had to weave every last bit of part 1 and 2 into a coherent story but everything afterwards is all me.
you can find the chatbot and play around with it yourself here but i strongly recomment doing so after finishing this short - think of it as a choose your own adventure afterwards in case you want my head on a stick after the ending 🤠.
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tags list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @blkkizzat @kiwismoother @rune1920 @suguwife
@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @startatdawn @heijihatsutori
@inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk @rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping
@sims-4lifers @bratidol @hyunsuks-beanie @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111
@supsiii @natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko
@strawberrymilkshakes-posts @nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow
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dcandmarvelimagines · 2 months ago
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sweeter than you ever knew. (pt. 3)
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Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, canon typical violence (mostly all off screen), descriptions of dead/dismembered bodies, reader is injured (leg injury and slapped), the kidnapper emotionally manipulates the reader, on page murder. Author's note: Thank you so much for all the support it's been crazy!!! This chapter is a bit intense, I'm not going to lie. We just need to hold hands and get through this. But I swear, the next part of this will be sooo tooth rottingly sweet. It's so long that I actually had to make this five parts lmao. I could not stop with the comfort and softness. ao3 Tags (if you would like to be included or removed, just let me know. If I forgot someone I'm so sorry!!): @fallout-girl219 @xolosimp @o0aligoth0o  @thedevilsaysthings @jaeyuni @redmitsuru5 @jeffs77 @spideybv28 @trumanbluee @jennapearce13 @chxrrybomb22 @7soulstars @what-the-jams @lostinheavensworld @purplestars222 @movieat @whiskeyghoul @paintballkid711 @unmotivated-artist164 @sun7lowxr @minniekitties @ceobuggy @amararoseblog @harryshousewhore
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The first thing I felt was rough rope as it scraped against my skin. I worked my eyes open, the task feeling too great. I was strapped to an old chair. Nausea swirled in my head as I tried to take in my surroundings. It was a plain, nondescript gray room. The walls were concrete. In the middle of the room, directly in front of me, was a large iron door. It looked like something you would find in a bomb shelter. Around my chair were shafts of moonlight provided by a skylight above. There was a bite in the air that made me shiver. My breathing was uneven as I weakly struggled against the ropes. 
“I see you’re awake. Wonderful.” The man with ice cold eyes appeared from the corner of my vision, a folder in his hand. “I don’t want to waste either of our time.” He lugged a metal chair in front of me and I cringed at the horrible screech as it echoed around the room. “Where is Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett?” I blinked, my brain foggy. 
“I don't know who those people are.” The man tsked. There was a flash of anger across his calm face before it was replaced by cool indifference. 
“Bullshit, we see you coming in and out of their apartment.” My stomach churned, either from whatever they shot me with or from the creeping anxiety.
“Oh you mean Al’s roommates? I work for social services for her. I don’t know anything about them.” The man grinned. It was vicious and predatory. 
“You are a bad liar.”He sat on the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Why do we have photos of you with both men? What? One not enough for you?” He flicked open the folder and pulled out two pictures. One was of Logan and I on the fire escape. It had been captured at the perfect moment to have clear shots of our profiles in it. The other was of Wade and I at the bar. No, not just the bar, the bathroom. I was half exposed, Wade’s face against my bare breast. The woman who interrupted us had worked for him. Now I was actually going to throw up. I had been followed for months at this point. “Now, I’m going to ask again. Where are they?” 
“They don’t tell me about their jobs, I swear. Please just let me go.” The man shook his head with a hum, sounding like a disappointed teacher, sliding the photos back into the folder. 
“I’ll leave you here for a couple days, see if that jogs your memory.” Days? 
“Wait no! Please!” But he had already disappeared through the metal door. In the doorway, I saw a woman waiting. I blinked in shock. The woman, the one from the dingy bar bathroom. She was the one who had taken our picture.  My kidnapper nodded at her before the heavy door thudded shut. Days did pass, the skylight allowing me to count by the motion of the sun. My body soon grew stiff and achy as I sat on the chair. I wanted to sleep, anything to pass the time, but I wasn’t able to calm my mind enough. The shadow of the woman never moved from the small window. I could feel her watching me, my arm hair standing up at the feeling. To distract myself, I thought of Wade and Logan, of them bursting in here and rescuing me in a blaze of glory. But as the days bled into one another, hope started to fade. 
The man reappeared after four days. He removed the chair from in front of me, opting to just stand. “Have you thought about your answer?” 
“I don’t know where they are.” It was the truth. They didn’t give me any information about their jobs. They could be on Everest for all I knew. 
“I don’t believe you!” He began to pace, wearing a line into the concrete floor. 
“I don’t care if you don’t believe me, it’s the truth.” He rushed at me suddenly, fingers digging brutally into my cheeks as he gripped me. My fists clenched as I forced myself not to jerk away. 
“Stop bullshitting me,” his voice was a venomous hiss. “Tell me now.”
“Do you not understand me?” My voice had lowered too, anger boiling inside me. “Get it through your fucking head that I. Don’t. Know. You are wasting your time. Let me go. Do it before they find me here. They’ll kill you before you can even try to fight back.” 
“Oh is that right?” I knew he was toying with me, but I fell stupidly into his trap anyways. I was angry and tired and so fucking scared. My brain was barely functioning. 
“Wade’s gonna make a necklace of your intestines.” 
The slap made a stomach churning crack. My mouth filled instantly with blood from my split lip. My cheek throbbed in the aftershocks. Tears pooled and trickled down my pulsating cheek. Another thunderous slap caught my other side. Blood splattered across my sweats. It was so hot, it practically burned through to my skin. 
“What a shame.” His hand wrapped in my hair, yanking my head back, neck stretched too far. The warm blood rushed down my throat and I gagged. “You had such a pretty face. I see why those two kept you around. It’s so nice to have some stress relief. But it seems that they’ve moved on to a better piece of meat now.” He winced when I spat at him, the saliva and blood sticking to his cheek. He touched it like he couldn’t believe it, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb. 
“When they get here they’re gonna eat you fucking alive!!” His face twisted in rage. His grip tore at my hair as he ripped my head to the side. Something pricked my neck, cool liquid rushing through my veins. My vision began to fog, body feeling too dense, brain going fuzzy. 
“Sleep well.” 
It had been days. 
I watched the sun beams make their slow progression across the dusty floor, only to be replaced by the darkness of night. My face still stung and my lip kept dripping blood. I called to the woman who was still standing there, hoping that she would take mercy and help me. But I might as well have been shouting at the wall. No one came. No one helped. All I could do was wallow in my pain and loneliness. Maybe they had really abandoned me. What was I to them anyways? Exactly what he said, stress relief. Nothing more than a convenient body. Something to pass the time. If I was worth anything, they would have been here.
My eyes had just slipped shut, head lolling to my shoulder, when the door opened. “Good morning!” It was him. My shoulders slumped, hoping I could just ignore him, that he was just some hallucination. “Your saviors haven’t appeared. So we have come up with a solution.” I opened my bleary eyes when I heard the chair in front of me creak. He clutched my phone in one hand and a wickedly sharp knife in the other. He swiped my phone open before clicking on the screen. I could hear ringing and then someone picked it up on the second one. My eyes were fixated on the knife as he flipped it, catching the hilt each time. 
“Baby cakes?! Where are you? What happened?” Wade’s voice was horrifyingly panicked. 
“Aw baby cakes?” The tip of his knife traced my cheekbone and I held my breath, hoping I wouldn't flinch and cut myself. “What a cute name.” 
“It’s not as cute when you say it,” I grumbled. My voice was thick through my swollen lip. 
“What happened? Why do you sound like you have cotton in your mouth?” The man pinched my busted lip, fresh blood bursting forward, and I whined in pain. My nails bit into my palms. Over the line, I heard a growl, letting me know Logan was also listening in. 
“Sometimes I just don’t know how to handle myself around such a pretty lady.” Wade let off a string of choice swears and Logan snarled. “She has such a naughty mouth. I see why you keep her around. But it seems you’ve left her for good, huh? She won’t be too pretty once I’m done with her.” 
“Don’t you dare fucking touch her,” Logan was spitting in rage. “If you do I swear I’ll rip that worm you call a dick and ram it down your throat.” I smiled despite myself, something warm unfurling in my chest. They were still trying to find me. After over a week, they were still hunting. 
“I told you,” I hissed, “they are going to eat you alive.” 
There was a split moment where I knew I had fucked up. His eyes snapped to me, lips pulled back in a horrifying smile.
Then the knife flashed.
The pain in my leg was indescribable. I thrashed, desperate to escape the blade stuck through my thigh. I knew I was screaming but I couldn’t hear it over the pounding in my ears. Fresh blood from my lip and tears traveled down my chin. More blood pooled under my thigh, soaking into my ruined pants. I was only faintly aware that others were shouting and someone was laughing. 
His hand hammered the knife in deeper, the wood seat cracking under me, the hilt flush with my leg. I wailed, pleading sobs of mercy clogging my throat. “Stop moving so much.” There was more shouting. My head knocked against the back of my chair. The corners of my vision grew dark. “Do you want to say goodbye? Who knows if you’ll make it to see them.” All I could do was weakly whimper. “She seems preoccupied. I’ll see you two soon.” He tapped my face, the force just under another slap. “You sound so nice screaming. Maybe I will actually keep you around.” 
He left me like this, bleeding, trembling, pinned to the chair like a piece of meat. More days passed and the bleeding didn’t stop. It wasn’t normal. I should have died like this. Cold was lingering on my skin and small shivers racked my body. My bare feet had long gone numb. Someone, my foggy vision only registered them as a blob of white, entered the room. They carefully removed the knife and then eased me out of my pants. They methodically stitched my skin together, the haze of shock covered the pain of the stitches. Once a thick white bandage covered the wound, they turned and left. 
On the fourteenth day, I heard shouting. Then gunshots. My head jerked from where I had been sleeping. Panic spiked. I needed to run. “Fuck,” I mumbled, looking around desperately for something, anything, to save me. The room was mostly bare besides a table against the opposite wall. Then I saw it. 
The knife. 
I tried to wiggle closer, but failed to move an inch. “Fuck,” I repeated, desperate now. More shouting and gunshots, closer this time. The more I fidgeted, the more of the seat fell away from under me. Think think think. I continued to sway, lifting the chair onto its sides before it cracked against the floor as it fell. Then I heard a splinter in one of the legs. I took a breath to steel myself before I tipped myself completely over. I nearly sobbed in relief when the chair leg connected to my uninjured leg was the one that snapped off. I awkwardly propelled myself across the scratchy ground, the exposed skin on my left side becoming ragged. The rope on my left wrist began to fray, just enough that when I got to the table, I was able to yank my hand off and reach blindly for the knife. The blade caught my palm but I gripped it tightly, ignoring the bite of pain. 
I made quick work of my other binds, the knife almost slipping from my wet grip, and rose to my freezing feet. My injured leg protested instantly, nearly giving out when I put weight down. But I had to run, had to escape. I limped toward the door, and looked through the small window. I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard screaming. I had to yank hard on the door to get it open. There was a dead end to the right and a long twisty hallway to my left. I took a few tentative steps out. When no alarm sounded, I sprinted. 
The stitches in my thigh ripped right away. I couldn’t think about the pain. Only escape. I clutched my stolen knife close and ducked into any small nook I could when I heard people thundering by. I should have followed them, maybe found an exit, but the squelching sounds of limbs being severed launched me forward. I turned left, left, right, middle at a fork, up a flight of stairs. I was hopelessly lost but all I could think of was escape, running on pure instinct to find it.  
The smell of blood hit me first as I turned a corner. Body parts were strewn across the wide room. Intestines dangled from the ceiling beams. Heads, half crushed, lolled away from their torsos. I wretched, nothing came up besides bile. But I could see outside through large bay windows. My legs were like water under me as I moved to the door. I stepped on an eyeball, the firm jelly bursting between my toes. Just keep going. My head was swimming, nausea from the gore around me mingling with the searing pain in my leg. 
I collapsed. I could barely feel the pain as my hands slammed down on broken glass. Then I heard two men’s voices. I scrambled to hide behind a stack of boxes, jamming my sore body into the smallest crack I could find. “I know she’s in here, can smell her.” My knuckles turned white around the knife. My breath was weak, I had lost too much blood. 
“Could you maybe sound less like a pervy vampire?” I heard boots lightly hitting the floor as they spread out. “Do you think this scared her?” He sounded timid, maybe even a little afraid. The first man laughed. 
“What do you think? You pulled this guy’s entire spine out! Of course she’s fucking scared!” The shout made me jump, huddling deeper into my hiding spot. “Fucking idiot.” A pair of red boots passed my hiding spot, then planted back in front of me. I sucked in a breath as fear rippled through me. My eyes closed tight.
“Hey,” the voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “There you are.” I was so on edge, so terrified, that the hand with the knife whipped out on pure impulse. The tip pushed through something firm, before that gave way to softness. It sunk deep, blood rapidly flowing over my hand. I couldn’t open my eyes. I had attacked someone and they were bleeding all over me. My victim barely made a noise when I stabbed them. 
“You can let go of the knife, you're okay.” A hand caressed my face and my teeth sunk into the leather glove, jaw latched tight. I felt like a cornered animal, ready to tear into anything that came near. “Sweetheart,” the name, the voice, pulled me back. I released the hand and opened my blurry eyes. Logan and Wade were squatted down in front of me. Their faces were covered but I recognized the suits. 
My knife was stuck through Wade’s neck. 
“Wade,” my voice shattered, tears welling. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t see it was you.” He pulled the blade out with a little grunt. There was a hole straight through his throat. My stomach churned again but I held it back. The muscles and tendons laced together rapidly before the skin closed over it completely. 
“Don’t apologize. I said the height of romance was stabbing, didn't I?” Logan reached out again and brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. A frown drew down his lips when he saw the bruises on my cheeks. “What do you say we get you out of here, yeah? I don’t think extreme violence is really your scene.” 
Logan was examining my leg the best he could without touching me. I could hear him sniffing as he leaned closer. “We need to take her to a doctor. She’s lost a lot of blood.”
“They stitched me up but I think all of them have ripped now.” My head felt so heavy. “My fingers are cold…is that normal?” 
“We have to carry you out, is that okay?” As Logan asked, Wade was already reaching for me. He scooped me into his arms and clutched me tight to him. I hissed as my thigh stretched, head falling heavily against Wade’s chest. Logan walked beside us and I reached blindly for his hand. He gave it a small kiss, but didn’t hold it. 
After two weeks, I was safe. 
I was safe. 
But we had to get out of this building first. Logan walked a head to peer down corners before signaling we could move forward. Wade moved slowly, keeping a firm hold on me. He stayed uncharacteristically quiet. I felt limp and weak in his arms, ready to sink into sleep as soon as I could. To keep myself conscious, I tried to remember all our turns, but it felt like there was an impossible amount. There was a round of clicking and the shuffle of feet as we rounded a corner. 
“Ah shit.” 
“Fuck.” 
My sore eyes opened to find rows and rows of armed men. In front of them was him. There was a cruel smile on his face as he took me in. The woman was tucked behind him, her eyes pinned on me. “I see you pulled your stitches. You should have waited for me to get you instead of trying to run off on your own.” Logan snarled as his claws extended. 
“Listen here bub. I don’t make idle threats. So best believe I’m going to follow through with skinning you alive.” Wade moved suddenly, his back to the men. He moved far quicker than he had before. I heard men readjusting their guns, their anxiousness clear.
“And where are you going Mister Wilson?” 
“First off, Mister Wilson is my father.” I groaned as Wade placed me on the hard concrete floor, safely tucked behind a stack of boxes. He stood, “you can call me Marvel Jesus.” I watched with an unfocused gaze as his hand snapped open a holster and handed me the gun that it held. “Just dropping off special cargo.” I took it, my hands shook at the light weight. There was a flash of gold along the black metal but my hazy brain couldn’t make out the text. I carefully tucked it under my leg to hide it from view. Once that was done, Wade traveled back to Logan’s side. “What do you say darling?”
“Let’s fucking go.” My hands slapped over my ears at the thunderous noise of all those guns firing. I was desperate to drown out the screams, the wet slap of limbs falling to the floor. My first instinct was to take deep, calming breaths, but my nose was too full of the scent of iron. The time stretched, the fight going for hours. 
Just as a sense of shaky calm fell over me, hands grabbed me. I recoiled instantly. “Don’t be difficult.” It was him. He was trying to pick me up, trying to move me. But my body was dead weight and he struggled to lift me. Something cool pressed under my thigh. 
Now don’t be afraid of it. If you show fear around guns, you’ll end up shooting yourself in the foot. 
Okay, see this little switch? No, not me you insatiable minx. This. Get a feel for it. If you are ever in danger you have to know where it is right away. 
He was distracted, watching something over the boxes next to me, his arms suspended in mid air. A female scream cut through the rest of the deep shouts. That rush of time, the feeling that wasn’t easy to explain, snapped. I blinked in confusion. With the man’s focus somewhere else, I put every ounce of concentration into my hands, willing them to stay still, as I lifted the gun. I found the safety and flicked it back.
Now don’t get any big action hero dreams of just pulling this trigger and letting bullets fly. It requires a lot of force, so you have to pull the hammer back first. Make sure you hold it with both hands, okay? Last thing you need is a concussion from it flying back and hitting you in the head. 
My sweaty thumb slipped from the hammer. The movement seemed to catch the man’s attention. There was a split moment where neither of us moved. Then, as if in slow motion, he reached for his own gun. I raised mine and pressed the barrel to his forehead. Both of my index fingers wrapped around the trigger. I squeezed with every ounce of strength I had left. 
You can’t look away, pumpkin. 
You gotta make sure anyone who is trying to hurt you is dead. 
I didn’t. 
One second his head was there, eyes bulging in fear. The next, just a cloud of red remained. Squishy chunks of brain, shards of skull, and a splatter of blood went everywhere. It was in my mouth, in my hair, across my bare legs. All sound died and was replaced by a dull ringing. His body slumped before it fell. I stared at it, dark red spluttering from the exposed veins of his neck, the liquid pooling on the floor. The concrete was quick to drink it up. Logan was the first to appear at my feet. He took me in, his face unreadable under his mask. I saw his mouth move but it was jumbled, words half broken. I shook my head, tapping my ears. It was like a dial slowly moving up on the radio. The sound of bullet casings hitting the ground, screams of pain, the thud of bodies. 
“You alright?” Logan sounded panicked, his loud gruff voice cutting through the renewed sound. I nodded. “We’ll get you out of here, don’t worry sweetheart.” I nodded again. There was one last shout of agony before silence fell again. Logan maneuvered the dead man off me, throwing the body carelessly away. He slipped the gun from my sticky hands before hoisting me into his arms. I buried my face in his neck, taking in his scent. Sweet, earthy, the tang of sweat. 
“We got you. I got you, sweetheart. Always will.” 
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