#buttons too obvious in their functions

[irishbreakfst]

Call me old but arcmap 10.8.2... I miss you

[linddzz]

I am slamming that validation button like a rodent wanting more sugar water so here's more mostly rough draft Jayvik.

A continuation of the nicknames fic. More science dorks being dorks, this time greatly featuring some seriously questionable boundaries between totally normal lab colleagues, and much more briefly featuring Viktor being so horny it makes him stupid. Also appearing is Jayce Talis, ADHD King and allusions to Viktor's past slut era. Both fics are a sort of preview chapter in the bigger thing @amahhi and I are working on!

Thank you to @avelera for planting the idea of platonically dubious scritches in my head, and for being a constant sounding board!

Rating: PG

Pair: Jayvik pre-relationship

----

It continues to be surprising, how not surprising everything is when it comes to Jayce.

A week into the partnership, and that initial bright thrill of something new has not dulled in the slightest. Nor has the perfectly ordinary, easy comfort that he feels with Jayce. The un-remarkability of this calm is what makes it remarkable. With Jayce, there is none of the discomfort of dealing with another person. None of the abrasive tension that arises when Viktor must face other people as distinct personalities which he must contend with, instead of the larger concepts of People. People as an idea have problems that he can solve, whose suffering he can reduce without any needs for interaction causing issues.

But Jayce functions outside of these issues Viktor often finds himself in. Jayce slots into a space Viktor hardly knew existed, like there had always been this jagged edge to him that, to his great surprise, was actually part of a puzzle that Jayce had the other half to.

Past experience would have him expecting that, with time, the shine would wear off. The glow would dim. He would learn all the little faults and human contradictions of Jayce and would grow to feel that jagged tension return. Spending hours upon hours each and every day for a solid week with him have revealed Jayce’s little foibles, yet not one has grown into a frustration. In actuality, Viktor has had nothing but further data points to add weight to his newly forming thoughts of destiny and its relation to himself and Jayce. For each little fault and lacking Jayce has, Viktor can help. He can, perhaps, be the puzzle piece that returns the favor to fit neatly into Jayce's life.

For example, Jayce can grow blind to his surroundings, his mind too caught in their work. Viktor had assumed that the apartment was in the state he first found it in due to an explosive force of arcane power. He still thinks that, but he has learned that this great force was not the struck gem amplifying and reflecting the kinetic force aimed at it to exponential levels, but Jayce himself. He often forgets his keys, or his mugs, or his pencils behind an ear, his goggles on his head, his tools, everything but his journal really.

It was the third time that he left his keys in the lab (on top of twice that he came in groaning that he had locked himself out of his temporary housing), that Viktor realized what the pattern was, and that he could provide a solution.

Jayce had more important things to focus his mind on, so it was both useless and counterproductive to adjust Jayce’s behavior or habits so he could track the little necessities of life. Fortunately, Viktor is well practiced on keeping track of what he needs to. It’s a skill that was refined when he first used it to avoid detection in the Academy, and then even further developed as Professor Heimerdinger’s assistant. When Jayce left his keys behind again, the answer was simple and obvious. They were already missing from Jayce’s person, so Viktor simply took them to the sort of establishment in the lanes that would never ask any questions, but would always make a perfect copy of any keys brought to them.

Jayce’s keys were neatly returned to him, and Viktor took no small delight in waiting for the next time Jayce smacked his forehead as they left for the day, realizing that he had once again locked himself out of his rooms, to reveal his backups. There was a brief moment, where Jayce stared at the keys hanging from Viktor’s finger, when he worried in a flash that this was not something a friend or colleague should do, that he had overstepped in some way. Then Jayce snorted with his grin, called Viktor brilliant if a little terrifying, but mostly brilliant, and everything was perfect.

The key was only for Jayce’s temporary rooms in the Academy housing, but Viktor could make another set once the apartment repairs were complete, even if it seems wasteful to have Jayce eventually move out of the building that Viktor lives in.

Jayce is also wonderful at taking notes for his work, but less skilled at going back to reorganize or refine those notes. His notes are exemplary, even with the little flair of him signing every single page, but it leads to problems.

These problems are their current struggle in the cramped space of their semi-lab at some odd hour of the night. Viktor stands and contemplates the board crowded with copies of Jayce’s notes, additional observations both have about that first successful arcane spell, and Viktor’s little chalked notes next to clusters of paper denoting what sections of an article each goes to. Behind him, Jayce is not exactly pacing, which would require repeating of one path, but he is in a constant state of muttering movement with occasional bursts of frustration over paperwork.

Because they can make a fully stable arcane frame that affects the gravity within the dean’s office, but that means nothing to the academy if it is not properly written and submitted for review. They are on their fourth draft of the paper, and the initial excitement over being published has dwindled with every draft that has been returned with Heimerdinger’s cheerful blue ink slashed across the pages. One of Jayce’s faults, Viktor is finding, is that he does not take such things gracefully. It takes the second set of revisions for Viktor to realize that pride is not the primary hurt that Jayce feels, but the thread of anxiety Viktor had seen woven through Jayce’s journal. The need to prove himself, and the fear of impending failure at every turn.

“How else do they want me to explain it?” Jayce groans, and Viktor does not need to turn around to know that the perfectly clean cut hair is likely sticking out in every direction.

“I was hoping the Professor would not have edited “crank it” so quickly out of the methodology.” Viktor muses. That was his greatest disappointment. “I am deeply curious on how he expects us to find half of the citations he has requested for this entirely new scientific field.”

“And when the Academy insists there aren’t more tomes on mage lore!” Jayce snarls.

“We will have to expand outside of the Academy in the future.” Viktor agrees, turning a little to once again look over the taped up pages of their latest draft and what blue marks are where. “However, I think a more concrete description of the runic array you conducted into the stabilizer may be our ticket past many of the other issues he has found.”

Instead of grumblings or more huffed complaints, a heavy weight thumps onto Viktor’s shoulder. He pauses, realizing immediately that it is Jayce’s head that has slumped against him, and Jayce’s impressive body heat against his back indicating that there is, at most, a few inches of space between them.

“I don’t know how.” Jayce groans, but it’s less petulant and quieter, almost fearful. “I don’t know how to describe what I did.”

“Hm.” Is all Viktor can say in that exact moment. He is, briefly, distracted by Jayce’s hair brushing against his jaw with the strong scent of some sort of…of fancy wood. It is not an unpleasant scent.

“Sorry.” Jayce mutters. “Sorry, I know you’re not touchy I just- gimme a second I gotta think.”

“That’s perfectly alright.” Viktor assures him. It is alright. Jayce is correct that Viktor is not nearly as tactile as Jayce is, but he is at this point well acquainted with Jayce’s propensity towards touch. His own lack of aversion or any other strong reaction to it was one of the earliest surprises in their partnership. “Take your time gathering your thoughts. This is a far less dire circumstance than that first stabilization was.”

“You told me there was no pressure then.” Jayce mumbles, already sounding a little less miserable.

“That is because I was lying.” Viktor hums, delighted at the snort he gets, and the way he can feel Jayce’s movement from the small laugh.

“Seriously V, I just remembered that night, remembered what the mage looked like and what all the magic looked like and I…did the same thing. But it wasn’t the same thing, because no one got teleported. I don’t even know if what I did was a spell.” Viktor thinks he can feel the resonance of Jayce’s voice through his core, spreading in waves from the point where Jayce’s forehead presses down at the top edge of his shoulder.

The distraction is not a true distraction however, because Viktor catches something in what Jayce is muttering. “You can remember how he moved, what the runes he summoned looked like?”

“I remember everything about that night.”

“Yes but-” There is something here. He has already seen Jayce's remarkable skill at memorizing things that Jayce deems worth memorizing. If Jayce says he can remember it, Viktor does not doubt it. “The order of them, could you remember that?”

The head on Viktor’s shoulder shifts as Jayce rolls it slightly to one side, but he doesn’t move it in the other to shake his head. It’s a contemplative movement. “Maybe…I think so. Let me...ok this is going to sound so weird but can I just uh, hang out here for a second? It helps me think.”

“By all means.” There’s something particularly marvelous about becoming a stabilizing agent for Jayce’s mind, he would be a fool not to agree to the opportunity. As Jayce calibrates himself, Viktor once again considers their paper, the problems it has given them. Jayce had moved the dial of the stabilizing framework like a conductor, with precision. Heimerdinger wants written out theories and explanations and citations, but what if they could instead find a formula. What if the precision of Jayce’s input could be broken down into components and quantified…

His free hand moves with habitual lack of awareness to where it would usually begin fiddling with his own hair, and it takes a few moments for him to notice the slight change in both texture and location of the hair he is rolling between his fingertips. Even then, he only notices because Jayce’s head becomes an even heavier weight on his shoulder.

“Ah, apologies.” He says, stopping the movement, thinking this might be a thing to feel awkward about. “Force of habit, it helps me think.”

“No, s’fine.” Jayce says, voice thicker in a way that is dangerous for Viktor’s higher thought processes. “It’s nice, actually. I don’t mind.”

After a second, Viktor continues. This time he notes the finer texture of Jayce’s hair. It’s very soft, sleek almost, with traces of the gel he uses to style it making sections of stiffness that crunch away under Viktor’s fingers.

“You smell nice.” Jayce mumbles.

A response to that requires some consideration. Viktor…considers.

There was a time, not all that long ago, where he would have leapt on someone with Jayce’s build telling him he smelled good while standing a scant inch away from Viktor. He would have assumed that the intent was for him to leap. Viktor is more discriminating than he used to be about sexual escapades, mostly because he began finding the nights spent on dalliances not worth the distractions, but even he can admit that if Jayce had put a head on his shoulder and told him he smelled good a week ago, Viktor would know exactly how to respond. It would have involved leaning back against that broad heat, turning lightly twirling fingers into a fist in Jayce’s hair, then gleefully seeing where things went from that point.

But now…

Jayce fits in like a missing puzzle piece. Whatever Jayce is, it is not one of Viktor’s brief encounters. Viktor would want to tell Jayce he didn’t need to get his apartment repaired, when Viktor lives much closer to the lab and things would be much more efficient if they lived together. Viktor can be wildly in love with this man in every definition of love that exists, but romantic or sexual entanglements (and if there is one, Viktor very much wants the other as well) often end. In Viktor’s personal experience, they ended before morning, and that was only considering the sexual entanglement. Heightened intimacy was desperately tempting, but it risked a greater end to the entire partnership. Even if nothing ever started, a proposition alone could forever poison what there already is.

Jayce is tactile in a very casual way. He flirts with everything that smiles at him for more than three seconds, and there has been nowhere near enough data for Viktor to calculate the risk of losing that side of the puzzle, or how much of a reward he would gain from taking that risk.

“Thank you.” He says eventually, slow and still considering. Then, because that feels incomplete and awkward, he adds, “I use soap.

Jayce snorts again, the head on Viktor’s shoulder shaking as Jayce’s body shakes with quiet laughter. Viktor knows he is shaking with it, because every other hitch up of Jayce’s shoulders causes a tiny sway forward, which bumps Jayce’s chest against Viktor’s back. Each of these millisecond bits of contact makes Viktor once again run through the considerations of risk versus reward in relation to getting his hands on that chest. Under the shirt. He would need both hands. There is an awful lot of chest, after all. Maybe both hands and his mouth. Definitely all three. It really is so much chest.

He takes the fantastic effort to rein his mind away from Jayce’s prodigious chest, even more effort to pull it further from contemplating the amount of shoulder matching that chest and what the rest of the torso probably looks like. There should be a response in kind to Jayce’s. A friendly compliment to return a compliment.

“Your hair is very soft.” He decides, as that seems safe as well as relevant to Jayce's compliment. Jayce’s silent laughter turns into some small hitched sounds that near a squeak, which means that Viktor’s thoughts are successfully pulled away from the sexual distractions, but only into the romantic sort.

“Thank you.” Jayce says with a dreadful mimic of Viktor’s accent, which only strengthens Viktor’s resolve to not take any uninformed risks that could lead to him losing this, “I use a leave-in conditioner.”

Viktor’s hand drops from Jayce’s hair, and he turns his head as much as he can to shoot a baffled look at the top of Jayce’s head.

“Why the fuck would you leave in a hair conditioner?” He asks, affronted. “Conditioner already feels dreadful. It’s heavy and slimy, absolutely horrendous.”

Jayce shoots up (which is a shame) so that he can lean around and give Viktor a look of equal outrage. “What does- Viktor it’s a different thing from- do you not use conditioner!?”

“Of course not. It feels terrible, I already said that.” Jayce makes a pained sound, and Viktor waves him off. “Enough of that nonsense. It is a waste of time. I have an idea.”

Jayce moves up next to him, facing Viktor with an intent eagerness. “What is it?”

“You are going to describe to me exactly what you remember. Each rune, each movement, as much as you can.” Another thought occurs to him, and Viktor snatches his cane from where it’s leaning on the board so he can turn to the inert stabilizing frame sitting on a table. “And I want you to dial in the stabilizer as you did in Heimerdinge’s lab as you do so. I will record everything. I believe there may be something we can measure, some sort of constant in the timing and the runes used, a way to-”

“We can make it an equation.” Jayce interrupts, breathless and awed, knowing what Viktor is thinking without Viktor needing to explain any of it. He so deeply wishes Heimerdinger had let them keep “crank it” in the paper. “Something concrete.”

“Precisely. The runes are instructions, a code. Perhaps the clockwise and counter-clockwise cycles of them are additional instructions. We can use your stable field as a baseline to begin working on a formula.”

“We can give them a solid theorum.” Jayce is already rushing to the stabilizing frame, even recreating the hunched over pose he had that wondrous night. “Okay, tell me when you’re ready.”

Any thoughts on conditioner or smells are gone. In the future, it will be as common as breathing for them to be drawn together when they need help thinking. Jayce’s head will always find Viktor’s shoulder, and Viktor will learn that playing with Jayce’s hair further settles his restless mind and channels his thoughts towards solutions. Whatever else there is, the most important goal to further all other goals of Viktor’s life is to keep the partnership. In the partnership there is the work, the thrill. The endless infinitesimal ways they fit together, two pieces destined to find the other. In the moment, Viktor takes up his notes and marvels again on the nature of fate, of probability, and of magic.

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

morbid meeting - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader runs into a stranger in a coffee shop—a very smart stranger

genre: fluff wc: 800 warnings: reader is supposed to be alt/goth, mentioned kissing, kidnapping of an umbrella, mentions of serial killers and morgues a/n: requested by @westanleovaldito!!! ty:) also it's come to my attention that not everyone knows what a london fog is????

The rain made your hair much flatter than you had in mind when you back-combed it this morning. It’s a miracle it managed to not get soaked completely if we’re looking on the bright side.

But who are you kidding? You suck at looking on the bright side.

So you pat down your hair and shake off your umbrella.

You wonder to yourself if the craving for a London fog was really worth the wet tights (not to mention the scribbled-on Converse that most definitely don’t have stick men on them anymore). You’ll have to remind yourself to hold a wake for said stick men.

The shorts you put on this morning were a better idea before you saw Mother Nature’s idea of a good time.

Your feet move quickly to the back of the line.

“Excuse me?” You turn to see a tall man with shaggy hair and a satchel. An awkward smile adorns his boyish face–a face you could see yourself kissing. But that’s irrelevant.

A tilt of your head conveys your confusion and you're sure your wide eyes do too.

“Sorry, just–uh–is that your umbrella?” he asks, pointing toward the door.

When you look in the direction he’s gesturing toward, there’s–of course–a man walking out the door with your black and white polka dot umbrella.

“Shit!”

His head dips as his eyes lock onto his shoes. With your jaw slack, your head shifts back to him and, naturally, you follow his gaze down.

A complete 180, you grin. “Nice shoes.”

Your eyes meet and he mirrors the curve of your lips. “Thanks. You, too.”

“They��um–used to be nicer but, y’know, rain,” you shrug awkwardly.

“I understand,” he nods, that same smile on his face, “I’m really sorry about your umbrella, by the way.”

The way his nose scrunches makes you want to look at him longer. You’re blushing and you don’t even know his name.

“It’s okay! I like the rain.”

An honest, adoring look lands on you right before he says, “me, too! Did you know that the average speed of rain is fourteen miles per hour or twenty-two point five three zero eight kilometers per hour?”

Something about how he knows that makes you admire him. You mean, who just has that knowledge tucked away? Except maybe you.

“Did you know that the chainsaw was originally invented to assist in childbirth?” you chime happily.

His jaw goes slack in what you assume is impression.

“I did! Uh, th–there are roughly fifty active serial killers in the United States at all times.”

You giggle. “I knew that, I watch my crime shows. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

It’s obvious he wasn’t expecting quite a response but he recovers. “Okay… Did you know that, in the mid eighteen hundreds, morgues brought in more onlookers than museums?”

“They did?” you narrow your eyes in curiosity.

He nods eagerly, a curl falling loose in front of his face. “Around forty thousand visitors a day! Children drew the largest crowds.”

“Wow,” you smile. You bite down on your crimson lip bashfully before muttering a soft, “you’re smart.”

You watch his throat bob as he swallows. A meek, gentle–and honestly adorable–”thank you,” leaves his lips.

You nod and your pupils dilate while they trace every curve and slope of his face. He has on a button-down and a tie, a cardigan on to keep him warm. The rain outside has started to dry, leaving messy but defined curls behind. His shoes are also muddy, yet, still cleaner than yours.

“Box Jellyfish possess at least twenty-four functional eyes,” he whispers under his breath as if to defeat the silence.

A soft giggle leaves your lips. “You just… know that?”

Proud of himself, he nods. “I read a lot.”

“Oh, yeah? What–”

“What can I get for you?” the barista asks.

And you’re pulled out of your real world reverie. The dreamy haze you found yourself in with a complete stranger.

How curious is that?

Your mouth opens to speak but you find it near impossible to get a word out. “Oh! Uh–” you clear your throat, “a medium London fog, please? Extra foam.”

The change in your red leather wallet practically hits the poor girl in the face with how quickly your manicured fingers ruffle through it. But the swiftness in which you pay doesn’t help you, because the minute you tell her the name for the order, the stranger–the one that’s not so strange–his phone starts ringing.

“It’s–uh–work, I’m sorry, I have to–I have to go,” he rambles, hand slipping into his satchel for a cellular device you haven’t seen in five years.

“It’s okay! I… it was nice…” and he answers the call, tongue sweeping across his lips. You continue to yourself, “talking to you…”

Peculiar.

Yet, you find yourself interested.

[aibafiles]

Deciphering the invaders' language in the Hundred Line demo

After playing the hundred line demo recently, I gathered up any screenshots I could of the script the invaders use and I believe I've managed to decode all of it so far, so I wanted to share my findings here! I'll put the rest under the cut for anyone who wants to avoid it—I don't think anything I've translated so far would reveal any huge plot twists, but the game certainly doesn't expect you to be able to understand it.

Note: I'm aware that the demo has been datamined and there is plaintext of these lines, but I do not want corrections or confirmation based on this. I like piecing this together based on what the game has presented, nothing more!

Below the cut: translations of dialogue and UI text, character charts and other observations, and an analysis of the spoken language as well! (warning: long)

First things first, this language is a very straightforward kana-only Japanese in a different script. I started with the text under each main menu option, so let's look at these:

"Press any button" はじめる Hajimeru Start

The : mark next to the second character functions just like dakuten—the base character is し (shi), which becomes voiced to make じ (ji).

"New Game" はじめから Hajime kara From start

"Continue" つづきから Tsuzuki kara From next

"Load" きろくから Kiroku kara From

Pretty straightforward—I got stuck here for way too long because I thought these were -masu verbs and then nothing else made sense, oops.

"Gallery" せってい Settei Settings

"Settings" がろう Garou Gallery

"End Game" しゅうりょう Shuuryou End

Another sticking point here—the text on settings and gallery are actually switched. One danger of putting a fake language in your game is that you risk not being able to read it and messing it up in places (hi Metaphor), and though it's not really critical, this is not the only goof so far. (EDIT: This has been patched!)

Note that the smaller characters here are are reflected in the script as well, like the っ in せってい.

Cutscene dialogue

The subtitles for our commander's transformation cutscene, and a rough translation:

いだいなほしのかみよ… Idai na hoshi no kami yo... God of a great star(/planet)...

われにちからをあたえよ…！ Ware ni chikara wo atae yo...! Grant me power...!

むげんたい…！！ Mugentai...!! Eternal body...!!

ぼくは…「ちつじょのけしん」むゔゔむ… Boku wa... [Chitsujo no Keshin] Muvuvumu... I am... the [Avatar of Order] Muvuvumu... (MVVM?)

This was the section I struggled the most with, so there could be inaccuracies, but I'm reasonably confident in most of it.

Post-Battle Dialogue

Here's the very straightforward part:

こ、ころさないで… Ko-korosanaide... D-Don't kill me...

ゆるしてください Yurushite kudasai... Please forgive me...

おねがい…たすけて… Onegai... tasukete... Please... spare me... (or help me, but spare felt most fitting in this context)

And that's about everything we have so far! Here are my very janky kana charts, one for the script and one for the spoken language:

The most obvious observation is that the general shape seems to indicate the vowel sound, and the extra swoopy bits indicate the consonant, though some vowels are more consistent than others.

There's a general pattern among each consonants as well—N-shapes have loops or curls, S-shapes have angular lines that hook over the vowel shape, pure vowels have tiny loops, etc, but there aren't clear-cut enough patterns to extrapolate the rest of the language yet. Luckily I think there's enough so far that any remaining characters won't be too hard to place.

Let's talk about the spoken component as well! Notably, the commander is dubbed differently in English and Japanese, but both voice actors seem to be reading the same set of syllables, which gave me more sample data to work with, because they inflect their vowels a little differently. Like the written language, each kana has a 1:1 replacement syllable, but the nature of these syllables changes the cadence of the sentences when spoken.

The above chart is transcribed to the best of my ability, but it's possible I got a few sounds wrong, and I can't quite make out what the tsu in chitsujo is through the voice filter. I'm considering replaying the demo with the music and sound effects off to pick these voice lines out, and if I do, I'll edit this post and drop a reply noting it! There are also some unsubbed battle voice lines I'm curious about.

What's really interesting to me is how these new syllables interact with dakuten. Plenty of unvoiced consonants are replaced with voiced ones, or the other way around—but there are a few, like ta (now tu) and te (now se). When the Japanese script uses dakuten, the new syllables get voiced too, becoming du and ze. This tripped me up a bit, and it does cause some confusing duplicates (ku is already pronounced du), but it's fascinating that it bleeds through into the new pronunciation.

One other thing I noticed when analyzing these voice lines is that the English dub of the transformation cutscene straight up uses the wrong audio clip for the final line. The Japanese audio matches the syllable count, and those syllables match up with the ones we've heard in the other voice lines, but the English line seems to have too many syllables, and doesn't match at all. JP starts with "diduwa..." and EN starts with something like "mozoku en." I'm wondering if it's possible to reverse engineer this to figure out the original line, but that's another thing that would need scrutiny from a voice-only recording.

Misc. Observations

These little guys have the character for "o" on their faces! Also pronounced "ga" in the invaders' language.

I'm really intrigued by this graffiti on the walls when Takumi chases Karua into the abandoned school district, because this game is full of Japanese graphic text in the environments, so this can't be a case of generic unreadable background text—but it doesn't quite fit the invader script, either. A few shapes sort of match the characters if you rotate or invert them different ways, but I can't parse anything readable out of this. There are repeated shapes, like the topmost "word" in the first two images that appears to be the same, but written with slightly different strokes, so I have to assume there's meaning to it. Not sure what that is, but I wanted to include it in this post just in case.

Thanks for reading! this game is going to drive me insane

[nanaluvsyappping]

you’re the one , you’re all i ever wanted…

Hiii! So this is my first time ever writing (at least with a conscious and functioning mind of an adult and not of an early teen). I started this blog a little back and was never in my plans to create but hey! here we are. This is about a headcanon I have had for sevika since I first read about her. This is in any way my experience lol, all of my uni professors are closer to retirement than being a hot forty something beautiful and handsome woman (like sevi here y’know). Also this in any way trying to sexualize the wonderful work that teachers and professors do it’s just a silly way of what I think a modern!sevika would be. I imagine her being this mastermind and excellent professor so you just fall for her for her marvelous brain (who wouldn’t).

Also english it’s NAWT my first language so if there is a grammar error or if anything has a weird name that’s why.

Reader is going to be written and referred to as a fem presenting person. There would not be that many body descriptions apart from hands :33. She is also supposed to be past 25 years old, you can imagine her age how you want.

CW: nothing :D (for now)

W.C: almost 2k.

University professor!Sevika + fem!reader

University professor!Sevika, who had really long lectures but lectures that were also so interesting that you didn’t want the hour to end.

University professor!Sevika, who was known for her sassy tone and remarks to make the lectures manageables but also for her impressive knowledge about what she teached.

University professor!Sevika, who noticed you on the first day of the new semester, she didn’t know why at the moment but you just stood out from the rest.

University professor!Sevika, who despite her relatively young age for a professor she had forged a great and known career. She had started teaching as soon as she could, and you could notice that in her expertise. Looking at the way she moved around the lecture hall, how her low, deep, raspy voice for too many cigarettes captured the attention of almost every person who put a foot in her class. Noticing that special glimpse of pride that made her grey eyes sparkle when she got elbow deep on the class topic of that day.

University professor!Sevika, who doesn’t talk much about her but more about what she knows. Who is excited to help the moment she sees your name as the remittent of an email asking for papers or articles to read about the matter she talked about in that day's class.

University professor!Sevika, who always dressed similarly, a button up in darker colors, sometimes in a deep red or an eggplant color when she got tired of the most neutral ones, that usually got tighter around her bust and arms, with the first two buttons always loose and the sleeves usually rolled to mid forearm letting you see part of her tattooed right arm and the black color of her prosthetic left arm. Her eyes are always half covered with her seeing glasses that rested in that beautiful nose. You never saw her haircut change; it was always in that sharp cut that went from short in the nape of her neck, leaving a beautiful undercut behind, to longer closer to her cheeks. Her slacks were always black or dark gray. Combat boots were her staple and even if she owned different pairs purple shoelaces were present in each of them.

University professor!Sevika, who always was capable of keeping you hooked at her words, at the side smirk that covered her plump and dark colored lips while talking. How could you not put all of your attention to what she was talking about? There was an inexplicable energy that she radiated that made you want to wrap yourself around her and listen to her talk about anything for hours without an obvious end.

University professor!Sevika, who got used to paying attention to you, you intrigued her to an enigmatic level. Firstly, you weren’t close in age to the rest of her students. It wasn’t hard for her to notice your experience when reading your work, watching the way you took notes, and the attention to detail in every essay you sent. It made sense that you excelled in her course.

Secondly you weren’t hard to miss, at least in her eyes, without fail you were 5 minutes earlier than the rest, with the same coffee cup every time, consistently dressing in just a style that screamed ‘you’.

And lastly because of the amount of attention you put on everything she says, sevika was used to capture everyone's attention but yours just felt… different.

University professor!Sevika, who was the strictest professor you had encountered in university. It wasn’t hard to imagine how hard she could be as an outsider, after all what she wanted was the best for her students, she wanted to make them excel, she was not going to permit unfit people to pass her course.

For the same reason university professor!Sevika normally wasn’t kind to the idea of befriending or being close to her students. A self imposed rule of just keeping all of her relationship with students strictly professional. She knew people would tend to get close to her with the idea that being friendly would make them gain a few extra points in their assignments… She would just laugh inside at seeing the poor job some students did at the end of a semester to try and get anything she was noble enough to give them (she wasn’t noble at all, at least not with those who didn’t put in the work. After all her heart wasn’t made of stone as you could imagine, she would help the people she knew did their part during the school year).

But… there could always be an exception, right?

University professor!Sevika, who didn’t want to act surprised when you approached her before class started, but she did. You were earlier than ever before, your hands occupied and your voice sounded as soft as always with a hint of something she couldn’t decipher in that moment. She never had the chance to hear you talking only to her, she was accostumbrated to listening to you talk with your classmates or when you always so cleverly answered a question in class, but directly and only to her? never had the chance to hear more than one word until today. Maybe what has been stopping you was her gaze, that gaze that seemed to be the only one that could make your knees tremble, and it wasn’t because you weren’t confident, you were, but it was sevika after all. The only times you directed your voice to her and her only was just as you entered her sacred place of teaching, a small cordial greeting when you entered the class and a soft nod accompanied by a “goodbye” after classes ended, until today. A small paper bag was gripped by your perfectly manicured nails and a drink carrier that sported two cups that rested in your open hand when you entered the hall this late afternoon.

She didn’t know how you got stuck with this class schedule that was normally the least desired one, after all… who wanted to take a lecture on a friday at 4pm?, but today she was pleased with it. This class normally had the least amount of students so it tends to be more relaxed, although at the same time this is the one where the tiredness that she accumulated during the week usually gets to her.

A surprised look appeared on her face when she saw you, with a small rise of her eyebrow. She was willing to be the one who started a conversation, until you got ahead of her.

“Good afternoon, professor” The words left your lips softly while a soft and shy smile appeared on your lips. This might be the first time she heard your voice clearly with no other sound to interfere, now that she had heard it loud and clear she found it enticing, a sudden spark of curiosity arose in her, just a greeting wasn’t enough. She wanted to hear you talk more and more after each word.

“Good afternoon,” your name left her lips like it was covered by thick honey. “you are earlier today” Her usual smirk now plastered on her lips, her thin metal frame glasses were lower on her gorgeous nose than usual. A soft blush appeared on your cheeks. She said ‘earlier’ which only could mean she had noticed that you were here before your usual time.

“Oh! Well… I was on my usual coffee run, it’s been a rough week for all so i thought it would be kind to bring one for you. I hope this isn’t an overstep.” She didn’t know where you kept all of these words before, but she wasn’t going to complain about it. This sudden rush of confidence from your side and the detail of thinking of her made a smile appear on her lips, suddenly a small bit of her tooth gap was on display only for you to see.

“It isn’t an overstep, don’t sweat about it. And thank you for this, I was almost on my way to grab a cup from those vending machines.” A short chuckle left your lips. Sevika was never used to kindness, at the end of the day her background wasn’t colourful. Everything she had made of herself was thanks to her effort, unthinkable hours spent on working and studying at the same time, sleeping when and where she could, having to endure men thinking and telling her she would always be ‘a no one’. She was used to always thinking the worst, especially coming from students, and although this time it felt different the little voice in her head told her to not let her guard down. While her mind was quickly filled with information you occupied yourself taking the cup from the holder with only one free hand. She thought about what could have driven you to do this; you didn’t need extra points on your assignments, your work was basically perfect, you weren’t failing for the same reason, so then why?.

“But those suck!” You quickly interrupted her train of thought. “I didn’t know what you would like so I chose just a latte, I also asked for sugar and sweetener in case you preferred that”. You said as you put everything you just mentioned in front of her.

“They indeed suck. And I don't really mind the way the coffee is made. Coffee, it's coffee after all.” Confused was how she was feeling, she couldn’t really understand it, again why?. Before she could stop herself she asked “Can I ask you a question?”.

“You already did” a soft laugh escaped your lips “but yes, of course” Ah! now you’re toying with her, her own smile grew a little bit more making her eyes look softer.

“Why?” Now you were the one surprised.

“Why?” This time you were the one asking the question.

“Yes, why?” A look of confusion appeared on your face.

“The coffee?” A small nod came from her side, a hot tingling sensation took over you, you could feel it on your naked shoulders and the back of your neck. You could feel it in your face too, probably a soft blush appeared on these areas as you stumbled with your words, she still made you nervous after all. You were grateful that you weren’t that young anymore, if you still were in your early twenties your knees would falter and your hands would sweat and tremble. After a soft sigh left you, you answered. “I don’t think there is just a specific ‘why’, you are probably my favorite professor and your lectures always leave me with this sensation of wanting to know more. I thought making a move to be closer would be great, after all I am really interested in what you teach and would love to have someone to talk about all of this and who is better for that than an academic that teaches about it.”

Her gaze softened the more you talked, her left mechanical hand held the cardboard cup close to her mouth to take a sip. After she was confident that you were done talking it was her turn. After she cleared her throat she talked in her characteristic deep voice. “That’s fine by me, after all I'm the one who reads what you write. You are different from the rest of the people in this course, I can notice your actual interest in everything I teach.” She also noticed your slender fingers taking notes, and the smile that appeared on your face when you where learning something new, she also notice the furrow on your brows when you were focused, and the way you bit the corner of your lips at the same time, but she wasn’t going to tell you that, it was dangerous, at least for now. Wait… what was that about a rule?.

[airandyeah]

Animals (Alpha!Sukuna X Alpha!Toji X Omega!Reader) Pt.6

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, suggestive comments or actions, just generally Minors DNI-just in case. This will be similar to Pink Pony Club and Sins, where I just mark every chapter as 18+ This also has the general warning of Toji and Sukuna both honestly being menaces.

Your eyes fluttered open, the morning light filtering in through the curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the unfamiliar ceiling. A slight throbbing echoed in your skull, the remnants of last night’s drinks making themselves known as you stirred against the surprisingly soft sheets.

Panic came first—where were you? Your heart kicked up, and your body tensed as you sat up abruptly, looking around the room with wide eyes. It was simple, neatly kept, but not yours. Shit.

And then, like a dam breaking, the memories rushed in.

The drinks. The laughter. Toji’s knowing smirk. Sukuna’s sharp eyes watching you closely. Their teasing words and the heat of their presence pressing in from either side. The feeling of strong arms supporting you when the alcohol finally got the best of you. The murmured reassurances that they wouldn’t cross any lines.

Your hands flew to your body, patting down your clothes. T-shirt? Still on. Jeans? Still buttoned. Shoes? Kicked off neatly at the side of the bed. A slow exhale left your lips. They actually didn’t do anything.

The house was quiet.

No heavy footsteps. No low murmurs of conversation. No teasing voices calling you a lightweight for barely keeping up last night.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, bare feet meeting the wooden floor, cool against your skin. A quick glance around the room confirmed what you already suspected—it was the guest room, a space barely lived in but still thoughtfully prepared. A folded blanket rested on the edge of the bed, and a glass of water had been left on the nightstand.

They had taken care of you. And they were nowhere in sight.

A part of you was relieved. Another part? Frustrated. You weren’t sure which part annoyed you more.

You pushed yourself up, body slightly sluggish, but functioning. If they were gone, that meant you could slip out without dealing with whatever smug remarks they’d surely throw your way for staying the night.

Still… you couldn’t shake the odd feeling settling in your chest.

They hadn’t taken advantage. They hadn’t hovered. They had simply let you sleep, made sure you were okay, and left you alone.

And somehow, that made you even more uneasy.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and stepped toward the door. Time to figure out what the hell came next.

The moment you stepped out of the guest room, the scent of sizzling food hit your nose—eggs, bacon, something rich and buttery. You blinked, the scene before you not at all what you expected.

Sukuna, of all people, was standing at the stove, quietly focused as he moved a pan over the flame, the muscles in his back flexing beneath his fitted shirt. He looked… calm, almost domestic, though the sharpness of his tattoos and the natural smugness in his expression kept him from ever looking too soft.

Meanwhile, Toji was sprawled on the sofa, a book in one hand, his other arm draped lazily over the back of the couch. He didn’t even glance up when you entered the room, though you knew damn well he’d noticed.

The sight was oddly peaceful.

It made you hesitate.

You were supposed to be sneaking out, slipping away before they had the chance to start their usual teasing. Instead, you stood there like an idiot, watching them exist so normally—not as the cocky alphas who pushed your buttons, but just… two men in their own home.

Then, of course, Sukuna ruined the moment.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he drawled, glancing over his shoulder, his lips twitching up. “Figured you’d be out cold longer after the way you conked out last night.”

Toji let out a huff of amusement, still not looking up from his book. “Lightweight.”

And there it was.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you crossed your arms. “I’m not a lightweight,” you muttered, but it lacked real bite. You shifted awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you’d woken up in their home, in their guest room, with them cooking you breakfast.

Sukuna turned fully then, raising a brow as he leaned back against the counter. “Sure you’re not,” he mused, eyeing you up and down before smirking. “Hope you like your eggs runny.”

Before you could snap back, Toji finally closed his book, stretching out like a lazy cat. “You eatin’ or you stormin’ off?” he asked, gaze finally meeting yours.

You wanted to say storming off. You really did.

But your stomach betrayed you with a well-timed growl, and both men grinned.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Toji chuckled, tossing his book onto the coffee table. “Sit your ass down, Omega.”

Your hands clenched into fists at the casual way he called you that, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you muttered a curse under your breath and shuffled toward the table, trying to ignore the way your pulse skipped when Sukuna set a plate in front of you, all smug satisfaction.

You were definitely in trouble with these two.

It was almost eerie how well-mannered they were. You sat at the table, half-expecting one of them to throw a piece of food or crack some crude joke about last night, but it never came. Instead, they ate quietly, using their knives and forks for everything but the bacon and toast, their movements unhurried, refined even.

No loud tones, no teasing remarks—just the occasional clink of silverware against plates and the low murmur of a few exchanged words about the food and the juice.

You took a slow sip of your drink, eyes flicking between them as if waiting for the act to drop.

Sukuna caught your gaze first, raising a brow as he speared a piece of egg onto his fork. “What?”

You hesitated, glancing over at Toji, but he was focused on his food, calmly cutting into his breakfast with an ease that didn’t match the sharp, wolfish aura he usually carried.

“This is weird,” you finally admitted, setting your cup down. “You two—eating like this.”

Toji scoffed but didn’t look up. “What, you think we eat like animals?”

“Yes,” you answered flatly.

Sukuna let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Gotta keep some mystery, sweetheart. Can’t have you knowing everything about us just yet.”

That shouldn’t have sent a flicker of something hot down your spine, but it did. You ignored it, choosing instead to focus on your plate.

It was only after a few more bites that you realized something else—this was nice. The quiet. The lack of tension.

But that only meant one thing.

They were waiting.

And you weren’t sure if that made you more nervous or excited.

Toji leaned back in his chair, fork idly twirling between his fingers as he finally looked up at you. “Look, for however obnoxious we are out there,” he gestured vaguely toward the door, “we don’t spend all our time acting like overgrown pups.”

You narrowed your eyes, skeptical. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Sukuna snorted, still focused on his food. “Just ‘cause we like getting under your skin doesn’t mean we’re idiots. We live here—we keep it clean, we cook, we act like actual adults.”

Toji smirked. “Shocking, huh?”

Honestly? A little. You hadn’t expected them to be complete slobs, but part of you had imagined their cabin to be more of a bachelor’s den—messy, chaotic, full of empty liquor bottles and a lingering scent of trouble. Instead, it was… lived-in, warm even.

“You’re telling me you two don’t wrestle in the living room over the last beer?” you challenged, crossing your arms.

Sukuna gave you a lazy grin. “Nah. We buy enough for both of us.”

Toji chuckled, shaking his head before turning his gaze back to you. “Surprised?”

You glanced around at the clean space, at the well-kept kitchen, at the way they sat—calm, easy, like this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for them.

Maybe you were.

But you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of admitting it.

“…A little,” you muttered, stabbing your fork into your food.

Sukuna huffed a laugh. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re still plenty bad when we wanna be.” ~~~ The moment you stepped into your bedroom, you knew something was wrong. The air felt damp, thick with the scent of moisture and wood rot. Then, you heard it—soft but steady.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Your stomach sank. Your eyes snapped to the ceiling, where a dark, water-stained patch had spread across the wood. A small puddle had already formed on the floor near your bed.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," you muttered, stepping closer.

A quick touch to the wall near the damage told you everything you needed to know—swollen wood, damp to the touch. This wasn’t new. You just hadn’t noticed until now.

Fantastic.

Frustration bubbled up as you yanked your phone from your pocket. No way you could stay in here with this mess. But where the hell were you supposed to go?

You scrolled through your contacts, your thumb hovering over the one name you refused to acknowledge.

No. Absolutely not.

You would rather sleep in your damn car than—

The deep rumble of an engine outside made your head snap up.

They hadn’t left yet.

Cursing under your breath, you bolted for the door and threw it open just as Toji and Sukuna were about to pull away. You waved them down, your pride taking a brutal hit as both trucks came to a slow stop.

Sukuna leaned out of the driver’s side window, his smirk already in place. "Miss us already, sweetheart?"

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. "I have a problem," you admitted through gritted teeth. "And I need a place to stay."

Sukuna’s brows shot up, and Toji let out a low chuckle from the passenger seat.

"You literally just left our guest room, and you already wanna come back?" Sukuna teased, resting his chin in his palm. "Didn’t think you’d miss us this quick, sweetheart."

You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes. "Shut up and get out of the damn truck."

That got their attention. Exchanging glances, they stepped out, curiosity flickering in their eyes as you turned and motioned for them to follow.

The second they stepped inside and saw the spreading water damage, their smirks faded.

"Damn," Toji muttered, stepping closer to inspect the ceiling. He pressed his palm to the damp wall and gave a low whistle. "This isn’t just some small leak—you’ve got real water damage here."

Sukuna crossed his arms, eyes sweeping over the room before landing on you. "And I’m guessing you don’t have a backup place to crash?"

You crossed your arms right back, shifting uncomfortably. "Would I have stopped you two if I did?"

His grin returned, slow and sharp. "Guess not."

Toji sighed, shaking his head. "Looks like you’re coming back with us, then."

You wanted to argue, but the steady drip, drip, drip of water behind you killed any protest before it could leave your lips.

This was going to be a long stay.

You moved quickly, tossing clothes into a bag, grabbing your laptop, a few framed photos, and whatever else you deemed important. It wasn’t like you had much choice—staying here wasn’t an option with the water creeping its way through your bedroom.

Toji leaned against the doorway, watching with a raised brow. "You pack like you're never coming back."

You shot him a look. "Maybe I’m just being prepared."

Sukuna snorted from behind him. "For what? Moving in permanently?"

You ignored them, zipping up your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. "Just helping myself to a little peace of mind. Not that it’s any of your business."

Toji smirked. "If you're staying under our roof, it kinda is, sweetheart."

Rolling your eyes, you brushed past them, heading for the door. "Let's just go."

They exchanged glances before following you out, Sukuna chuckling under his breath.

This was going to be interesting, to say the least. ~~~ When you got back to the cabin, Sukuna and Toji wasted no time showing you around.

First, they took you through Sukuna’s room—a minimalist space with sleek furniture and a dark, almost imposing vibe. Black sheets, dark wood, and an odd collection of antique knives on the wall gave it a mysterious, almost intimidating feel.

Toji’s room was next—completely different. It had a more laid-back, comfortable vibe, with a leather chair in the corner and a few scattered books. His bed was big, the sheets a deep shade of green that matched his quiet, practical style. He tossed a glance over his shoulder as you took in the room. "Don't get any ideas," he warned with a grin.

Then they led you down the hallway to the guest room, which you had stayed in the night before.

"This’ll be yours for now," Toji said, giving you a little nudge. "At least until your place’s fixed."

You bit your lip, not sure how to feel about being here. It was temporary, you told yourself, but something about it felt different.

They moved on to show you the laundry room, then the living room and kitchen. The layout was surprisingly nice—spacious, with a big stone fireplace and a cozy couch that looked perfect for lounging. The kitchen had a rustic feel, with wooden counters and shelves lined with mason jars of spices and canned goods. It wasn’t luxurious, but it had a charm.

You knew, however, that this place was going to be the last place you’d want to get too comfortable in, especially with them. They were a constant reminder of how things never quite went the way you expected, and being here felt like playing with fire.

After showing you everything, Sukuna raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "You good with the guest room? No complaints yet?"

You shot him a look. "It’s fine. Let’s just get this over with."

Toji laughed softly, glancing at Sukuna. "Guess we know how to treat our guest, huh?"

You could tell they were enjoying this a little too much. You couldn’t help but complain as they showed you around. The cabin was nice enough, but there was something about it that felt too much. Too masculine, too... Alpha. The whole place reeked of it—the heavy scent of their dominance in the air, like it was just a part of the furniture itself.

Everywhere you went, it was suffocating. The air felt thick, and you could almost taste the assertiveness, the intensity. The slight musk of them clung to the walls, the furniture, the very floorboards beneath your feet. Even the sheets in the guest room smelled faintly of them, as if their presence had saturated the very space.

You wrinkled your nose, pretending not to notice how your body instinctively responded to their scent. The faint pulse of heat that flared in your chest was something you desperately tried to ignore. It wasn’t fair—this was your space for now, not theirs.

"Does the whole place always smell like this?" You blurted out, unable to hold back.

Sukuna glanced at Toji, both of them looking almost amused at your discomfort. Toji smirked, leaning against the doorframe of the living room. "It’s our cabin. What’d you expect?"

You let out a frustrated breath, eyeing the rustic furniture and the big, open spaces. "Could you... maybe air it out a little?"

They both laughed. Sukuna gave you a slow, teasing grin. "You’re the one who decided to stay here, sweetheart."

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to keep yourself from reacting to the low hum of their laughter. "It’s just a lot, that’s all," you muttered, more to yourself than to them.

Toji’s expression softened a little, but he didn’t back down. "We’ll get used to it. Just try not to let it get to you too much."

Easy for him to say. With the way your body was reacting, it was easier said than done.

Sukuna, always the one to push boundaries, grinned as he leaned against the doorway. “You think this place smells bad now? Wait until it’s close to rut time. You won’t be able to get away from it.”

His comment hung in the air, and for a moment, you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. The thought of them... that close to their rut, the intensity of their scent overwhelming the whole cabin, sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

You couldn’t help but snap.

“Shut up,” you muttered, slamming the door in their faces. The sound of it echoing in the small hallway made you flinch a little, but it was better than facing them and letting your body betray you any further.

You heard their chuckles from the other side, and a part of you knew they were enjoying the irritation they’d caused. But it didn’t matter. You could hear them, muffled, talking between themselves. They’d probably make fun of you for it later, but for now, you needed space. You needed peace—away from the stench of them, away from the heat they dragged with them.

Leaning against the door, you sighed heavily, trying to steady your breath. The last thing you needed was to feel this exposed. You needed to regain control, but every time they got too close, it felt like you were slipping. ~~~ Later that night, when everything was still and quiet, you found yourself lying in bed, the sheets tangled around you. The cabin was unnervingly silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards or the soft murmur of the wind outside. You tried to push the thoughts of them away, but they lingered like an uninvited guest, making it hard to relax.

Then you heard it.

The low murmur of voices, drifting from the living room. It wasn’t loud, just a quiet conversation, but the cabin’s layout made it easy to pick up on the faintest sounds. You tried to ignore it, but your curiosity got the better of you.

You shifted in the bed, pressing your ear to the wall, straining to hear what they were saying. It wasn’t intentional; it was just the overwhelming need to understand what was happening around you, to make sense of all the tension between you and them.

“Did you see the way she looked at you earlier?” Toji’s voice was soft, but you could hear the amusement in it.

“Yeah, like she wanted to rip our heads off,” Sukuna responded, and you could almost hear the smirk in his voice. “But she’s got that spark. I told you, she’s not like the others.”

You felt your chest tighten. Were they really... talking about you? You felt a mix of unease and something else—something you weren’t quite ready to admit to yourself.

“To be fair, she’s stubborn as hell,” Toji continued. “She won’t give in easily, but... I don’t know. I like the challenge. And she’s different.”

Sukuna chuckled, a sound that was more predatory than playful. “You’re right. It’s gonna be fun breaking through that wall of hers.”

You flinched at his words, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. "Breaking through" your walls? What did that even mean? Was this all some kind of game to them? Were they really just going to push and push until you were cornered? The thought sent a cold shiver through you.

"She’ll come around," Toji said, his tone thoughtful, almost gentle. "She’s just not used to people wanting her like this. She's not used to being wanted, period."

There was a pause. You could almost feel the weight of their words hanging in the air, the tension building between them.

“Yeah,” Sukuna finally replied, quieter now. “But that’s gonna change. We’ll make sure of it.”

The conversation drifted off after that, and you couldn’t bring yourself to keep listening. Your mind was racing, a mix of confusion and frustration churning in your stomach. They liked you. Both of them did, in their own way. It was clear in how they spoke, the way their voices dropped when they admitted it, but something about it felt... wrong. Was it really you they liked, or was it the challenge of getting you to give in to them?

You pulled the covers over your head, trying to block out their voices, but the words lingered in your mind, refusing to let you sleep. It wasn’t just the weight of what they said—it was the realization that you had no idea what to do with any of it.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @tojislongshlong , @jaxawinchester , @ectomotive , @hishearttohave , @makingtimemine , @tojinxies Perma Tags: @thenightperson

[iliketangerines]

I've been loving ur work this past month, can't go a day without them 🥴 ... With that being said, could I ask for one with Johnny? Where the reader gets horny at work, and so she starts texting Johnny to tease him about it, going to the bathroom to send him spicy stuff and whatnot. I'm not particularly creative, so u may go all out with this one! Thank u !! 🥰

big tease

a/n: wrote this while i was at work actually lmao

pairing: johnny cage x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), phone sex (?)

you’re sitting in your chair, looking at the computer, except you can’t focus as you rub your thighs together and try to relieve some of the pressure between your legs

something about today had you particularly frustrated, and you desperately wanted Johnny right now, to hold you down and fuck you until you were satisfied

but you’re on the clock at your boring desk job, putting in data entries and receiving too much paperwork for one person

but still…you look from your cubicle to the entrance, you’re situated in one of the corners and tilted conveniently away from the cameras so that they couldn’t see you on your phone and only had a view of your back

you rub your thighs together, biting your lip, and you pull out your phone and click on Johnny’s contact in messages, typing in a simple text for him

it’s a simple message, that you want him, but knowing Johnny, he would be all over you if he could the second he saw the text

hitting the send button, you put down your phone and put on vibrate, not wanting to get caught being on your phone by your desk, and place it on your desk

then, you look at your phone again and then carefully pick it up and place it between your legs right against where your clit is

that way you would know exactly when Johnny texted you back, and then you went back to clicking away on the computer, trying not to focus on the way your phone was pressed right against you

the seconds seem to tick away slowly as you put in number after number, and then there’s a slight buzz against you, making your spine shoot straight

you hadn’t realized that the phone’s vibrate function was so strong

picking your phone up carefully, you unlock it and read Johnny’s text

he’s sent back that he wants you too, and a picture of himself sitting in a chair in his trailer, legs spread and an obvious bulge in his pants

usually you would snort at the picture, ever the diva and the need to take a good picture but there’s a buzzing in your head and you wish you were there between his legs instead

you text back that you need him to fuck you so bad, need him to ruin you right now and press send before shoving your phone right back between your legs

it’s a while before he texts back but when he does there’s several in a row, sending buzzes through your clit and up your spine

you’re sure that you’ve soaked right through your panties, but you can’t find yourself caring as you check what Johnny’s sent you

it’s a series of messages of him stuttering and then finally a text saying that he wishes he was there with you right now to bend you over your desk

another photo, him with his dick in hand, the tip flushed and a slight bit of pre-cum pearling at the tip, and you nearly drool as you wish you could get a taste

you shake the thought from your head as you type back a response with shaky fingers, speaking your thoughts and saying that you wanted his cock in your mouth

it’s just a short message, but you’re sure he would recall the memories of you in bed, his fingers in your hair pushing you down further, your lips stretched around the girth, the tears streaming down your cheeks

it’s only a minute when he responds back, and it’s a video this time

he’s slowly pumping his cock and god you wish you could turn on the audio and listen to his groans

his thumb swipes over the tip, spreading the pre-cum along the shaft, and then the video cuts off, only a few seconds long

his text underneath it reads that he wishes it was you because you would look so pretty between his legs right now

you can’t control the way your legs slightly twitch, how you want to grind your hips into your office chair except you’re still at work

so you hurry off to the bathroom and thankfully, they’re one of those family bathrooms where it’s like a small room in of itself

you lock the door, leaning against the wall, and turn on your own camera and record yourself with shaky hands as you dip your fingers below your waistband and rub at your swollen clit

small whines and whimpers come out of your throat, and you’re sure that the microphone has caught them as it points at your fingers moving underneath your pants

you dip your fingers a little lower and let out a little breath at how wet you are: you’ve definitely soaked through your panties

you slide in two of your fingers and curl them to push against that spot that makes you see stars, and you let out a small moan, hoping the door was thick enough to hide the sound

the pleasure is building, your palm grinding into your clit and your fingers buried deep in you, and the slick is just making everything so intense

you can barely think, only focused on how you desperately need to cum and that you want Johnny’s fingers  instead of your own

his are so much more rough and thicker than yours, and he would whisper in your ear with that smug voice of his and tell you to cum for him

he would be pressed against you, hot and heavy and so intense, and he would kiss you, tongue making its way into your mouth

he would trail kisses down your jawline and then suck dark hickeys into your neck, before biting you as you came

it’s enough to make you clench around your own fingers and cum on them, a slight whine of Johnny’s name coming out of your mouth 

you stop the video, taking a second to breathe as you slip your fingers out of yourself and stare at the mess on your fingers

you angle your phone with a shaky hand and take a picture of you licking your own cum off of your fingers, and then send the video and photo together

you collect yourself, wiping yourself clean with toilet paper and washing your hands in the sink, and you check your phone again and find a message from him

it’s a text saying that you’re in for a surprise when you get home, and there’s a photo of his cum splattered against his exposed stomach

you wish you could clock out early

[solarmorrigan]

space au neighbor au steddie

So I wasn't actually sure what a space AU is meant to entail, so I hope a little vaguely Star Trek-inspired AU is okay?? This was a challenging combination, but it was fun!

Fanfiction Trope Mashup: 22. Space AU + 11. Neighbor AU

cw: vague mentions of injury, mentions of background character death

-

Lieutenant Steven Harrington transfers from the U.S.S. Nora and onto the U.S.S. Forrest about six months into the Forrest’s mission. He works in security. He can usually be found stationed somewhere on the ship, but sometimes he’s called up to go planetside.

(He’s also too pretty for Eddie to believe he’s one hundred percent human, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Eddie knows all of this because Harrington gets the previously vacant room right next door to his.

It isn’t bad, really; sometimes the sound of someone shuffling around on the other side of a wall that had previously been silent is comforting. Much as Eddie loves the hum of the ship around him—you can’t really work in engineering and not be a little enamored of the sound of the engines purring—sometimes human noise is what he craves.

(Particularly out here in the void of space. Eddie loves his job, loves working in the guts of a starship, but he wishes sometimes it didn’t come against the backdrop of an endless dark nothingness.)

Eddie doesn’t have reason to see Harrington very often during the day, but they work the same shift rotation, and they catch each other coming back to their rooms now and then at the end of a shift. They mostly exchange nods or waves, brief pleasantries if one of them is in the mood, but that’s really it.

At least, that’s really it until a few weeks in, when Eddie gets back to his room and sees Harrington still standing outside his own, mashing the buttons on the keypad and swearing quietly.

“Everything alright?” Eddie asks as he draws up at his own door.

Harrington lets out a long sigh. “Uh, yeah, just–” He shakes his head. “Apparently if you get your code wrong too many times in a row, the keypad locks you out. And you can’t get into your quarters. Which is… great.”

“You forget your code?” Eddie can’t help but ask.

“No,” Harrington snaps, then softens a little, looking sheepish, even a little embarrassed. “No, I just– sometimes the numbers get a little jumbled.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m gonna have to go find someone from maintenance to reset this and let me in, so…”

“Nah, don’t bother. You’ve got in-built tech support right here.” Eddie gestures for Harrington to move aside and crouches down in front of the keypad to reset it; doors and security locks aren’t technically his remit, but it’s not like they’re hard. It’s the work of moments to get the keypad to unlock, and Eddie shuffles back out of the way. “Go ahead and try it now.”

Harrington steps up to the keypad and slowly punches in the six-digit code that should get him into his quarters, and this time, instead of beeping angrily and flashing red, it chirps and gives him the green light. His door slides open and Harrington sighs.

“Thank you,” Harrington says, turning a smile so bright on Eddie that he momentarily forgets how to function. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Nah, t’weren’t nothin’,” Eddie says for some insane reason, slipping into a ridiculous accent like he does when he’s running tabletop games in the rec room with a couple of other guys from engineering.

If Harrington thinks he’s being weird, he mercifully doesn’t mention it. Instead, he sticks a hand out towards Eddie, still smiling. “I’m Steve, by the way. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

“Eddie,” Eddie says, taking the hand to shake (Steve’s hands are big, and strong, and warm, and Eddie tries not to think about it).

“It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. And not even for the obvious reasons,” Steve says, nodding towards his door.

“Yeah, you too,” Eddie says.

He then realizes that he’s still shaking Steve’s hand. He lets go, but Steve is slow to draw back. They’re quiet for a moment, both unsure how to end the encounter, before Steve lets out a little huff of a laugh.

“Well… have a good night,” he says, backing away towards his door.

“Yeah, you too,” Eddie says again, wondering where the hell all his eloquence has gone to.

With one last dorky little wave at Eddie, Steve disappears inside his room, and Eddie does the same.

They talk more, after that. Whenever their schedules coincide, they spend an extra few minutes outside their doors, learning more about each other, bit by bit. Eddie talks about why he’d joined up with a starship even though he really hates space (he’d had to get out of his small-minded hometown), and Steve talks about how he’d ended up really enjoying his work even though he’d only joined to appease his dad (captain of another ship, one Steve prays he’ll never, ever be assigned to).

Their conversations edge past five minutes, past ten, past fifteen. Eddie talks about his uncle, who taught him at least half of everything he knows about fixing things, who had encouraged him to reach for the stars. Steve talks about his best friend in the galaxy, who works up in communications and speaks “about a million languages.” He mentions that they’d met as ensigns, both stationed on the U.S.S. Butterscotch, but he doesn’t say much more than that (and Eddie won’t make him; he knows the story already. The ship might have had a ridiculous name, but the fate that had befallen it had been anything but: it had been taken over by hostiles and eventually gone down in flames. The number of survivors had been abysmal, and fact that Steve is here at all is a small miracle).

Steve learns that Eddie loves music and roleplaying games. Eddie learns that Steve has a knack for avoiding medical staff after altercations planetside and for brushing off minor-to-moderate injuries.

He’s not as good at avoiding Eddie, however, who makes a point of dragging him down to medical one evening after spotting a still-bleeding gash on Steve’s arm.

“One of these days, you’re gonna come back with something you can’t walk off,” Eddie warns him, “and I’ll be there to say I told you so.”

“Well, as long as you’re going to be there, I guess it won’t be so bad,” Steve replies, and Eddie tries not to be swayed by the flirting.

When Eddie turns out to be right, though, he doesn’t even have the heart to say I-told-you-so, which he feels a bit cheated about later.

The evening starts out so promisingly: Steve and Eddie are loitering outside their doors, Steve gravitating further and further into Eddie’s space as they talk, and Eddie is just about to pluck up the nerve to invite Steve inside when Steve’s communicator goes off.

He frowns, pulling it from his pocket to check the message, and his demeanor immediately turns serious. “I have to go,” he says, and apprehension prickles at the base of Eddie’s skull.

“Everything alright?” Eddie asks.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Steve offers Eddie a brief smile. “We can pick up where we left off as soon as this is taken care of.”

Eddie wants to ask just what “this” is, but he finds out soon enough. The promising evening turns into a hellish night with too little sleep and too many hits to the machinery for comfort, under attack from some unknown, hostile force. When things finally calm down and reports start rolling in, things aren’t as bad as they could be. No casualties, minor damage to the ship, and minimal injuries. It sounds reassuring, until Eddie finds himself standing next to Steve’s bed in the infirmary.

“I’m going to be fine. Stop looking at me like that,” Steve says, even though his eyes are closed and he can’t possibly know how Eddie is looking at him.

And the thing is, Eddie knows he’s right – Steve might sound an awful lot like he’s in pain right now, but the medical tech on the ship is top of the line, and the staff is equally good. Steve will be fine, but that doesn’t give Eddie any comfort right then, realizing how lost he would feel without his and Steve’s hallway conversations every day.

How lost he would feel without Steve.

It scares him– for a moment, it scares him enough that he wants to run from it, to put a halt to things before they get too serious, before this really hurts him. But even more than that, there’s a feeling greater than the fear: one of rightness when he’s with Steve, a feeling that’s worth the risk, that’s worth holding onto.

Eddie reaches out and takes Steve’s hand where it rests on the bed.

Steve cracks his eyes open to look at Eddie.

“You know…” he says slowly. “They said I should be fine on my own by tomorrow, good to go back to my own quarters, but– I’d feel a lot better if there was someone nearby. Just in case.”

“Like someone right next door?” Eddie asks, a tease of a smile beginning to grow on his face.

“Maybe a little closer than that,” Steve says, squeezing Eddie’s hand in his own.

“I think I can do that,” Eddie says, finding that he’s prepared to do a lot of things, if it means he can keep Steve close.

[toskarin]

going on the twine rant again, lads. fair warning.

-

the twine editor is theoretically great software

which is to say, twine editor is far and away the best execution of "a text game maker for people who mostly make text and not games" that presently exists. it's notable for making wholly self-contained (read: does not require interpreter software) text games with functioning mechanics at about the level of code literacy you could feasibly ask from people who brushed off of other more complicated software

this is in large part because the text adventure and IF ecosystem has the same problem as the (similarly insular and incestuous) scorewriting ecosystem: all of the software is made to be used by a group of like 50 people who don't use anything else, so they just settle for whatever exists

twine solves a lot of these problems by simply existing as an html game maker that can automate all of the functions of a gamebook out of the box. the editor has features which (to me) seem to be inspired by scrivener, which is my favourite WYSIWYG writing software for longform fiction on the market (I prefer writing in LaTeX but I can acknowledge that's a habit I picked up and not an endorsement of LaTeX)

that being said, even though there's an obvious utility to being able to prototype out rpgs and such in twine incredibly quickly, I can't really recommend people... use twine for that. because of the problems.

the twine editor is also kind of beautiful for all the ways in which it issoftware designed to torture the user

twine exists with one foot in "games" and one foot in "writing" and this overlap is the totality of its intended use. this space of compromise is still the best that's been made for this specific scene, but it means that edge cases are (at absolute best) operating twine in much the way that someone being hanging onto the edge of a shattered cockpit is operating an airliner

I could go on and on about the specific elements of twine's design that drive me insane, and in how it punishes you both for making too much of a book and for making too much of a game, but there's one problem that kind of sticks out as a simulacrum of this whole issue

by design, twine organises its projects as a story map. this is kind of like the middle point between scrivener's storyboard and a whiteboard, but specialised for use in making text games. this means that each node on it is one screen, called a card, that you can open and edit

doing this opens a window for text input, and the exact contents of this window kind of depend on which format you're writing your story in, but as a rule, you write everything into these sub-windows and that's the game

because twine runs in one window, these cards open more like menus than true windows. you can have one open at a time, and when you need to test something, you close the window and press the button to test the game. simple as

now, for making software, it's helpful to have a versioning function of some sort in case, among other reasons, you fuck something up in a way you don't immediately notice

for writing, you usually want some sort of undo function, in case you accidentally delete something or edit over it

at the intersection of these two, twine does have an undo function. which works differently depending on which version of the editor you're using. in the web version, you get multiple layers of undo. that makes sense.

in the downloaded version, which is the version you have to use if you don't want to use your browser's local storage (?? you shouldn't be doing this) you get

one layer of undo.

in a modern text editor.

that you are expected to write in.

this is on top of the browser-hosted version of twine editor being significantly more stable than the desktop version, so that's obviously the version you're meant to use, which runs in stark contrast to like... how that should work. this should already be raising your blood pressure a little bit if you remember that the browser version of twine saves your project files to your browser's local storage

now, common to both versions is another important feature which seemingly exists to prevent data loss: twine automatically saves your changes when you exit out of a card

this means that, the moment you close a card to go test the changes you just made to your game, they are saved over the previous version of the game with no way to undo them

but there IS a way to get around this without having to write in an entirely separate word processor! several ways even. you can even use the downloaded version if you do this

duplicate the full project every single time you make changes that could necessitate an undo function

make a copy of every card you edit in case you need to revert to it after testing, then remember to delete it afterwards

if you're editing the cards themselves, see option 1, because there is no way to undo deletion of cards in the story map

and like... that's not good. it's kind of the hell machine for killing all human beings, actually

it's also not a problem remotely unique to twine, because this is the kind of thing you see in most niche-specialised software where there isn't really a distinction made between "this is an expected frustration of working on any artistic project" and "this is something completely insane that absolutely should not be the case and isn't tolerated in immediately adjacent comparable creative fields"

twine can be used to make longer projects, but at the point where you're recommending two layers of supporting software that overlap so hard with the editor that they should be redundancies, it becomes clear that the only thing it's really fit-for-purpose to do is non-linear fiction consisting of two or three paragraphs per card

and that's generally not what it's used for! because that sort of thing is almost universally understood as a stepping stone towards using twine for making either longform non-linear fiction or full-featured rpgs

twine could be really useful software, and in fairness it's generally better than the alternatives it supplanted in its niche (people making little interactive poems probably shouldn't be trying to use Inform or TADS), but it really seems like it was designed with as a cursed amulet meant to cause as much grief as possible while being difficult to justify throwing away

[seventeenlovesthree]

Koushirou Izumi's clothing style - a meta analysis

When it comes to Digimon and fashion, you can tell that certain characters have - mostly consistent - preferences. Most obviously, every character has colours they are usually (but not exclusively) wearing, certain motives and symbols keep returning... And for some characters, their choice of clothes is - more or less - arc-defining.

While looking for references for some art pieces on Pinterest, I stumbled over one of my favourite Digimon Adventure 02 concept artworks:

We never see Taichi, Sora and Yamato wear their Summer uniform in the series and Koushirou literally only wears it in one episode - but looking at the ensemble here, there was something that caught my eye specifically. And this observation took me down a little rabbit hole in terms of what exactly Koushirou's style is, how it changes through the series - and what it may mean for his character as a whole in my humble opinion.

It simply felt like the perfect opportunity to post all these ideas as a contribution to @izumikoushiroweek 2024 and the prompt "Dressing Koushirou".

Adventure (+ Our War Game), age 10-11:

Analyzing Adventure won't take too long, because we don't have a lot of variety at this point - however, it still gives us the baseline for what we will have to expect for the entirety of the series.

Koushirou wears very "boyish" clothes that can be, more or less, considered to be common for a "computer nerd" in the 90s and early 2000s; wide, if not oversized button-down shirt (big emphasis here!), t-shirt, wide shorts, (colourful) sneakers. It's all "comfort over function" at this point, because, as pointed out, he seems to prefer wide clothes. While his signature (crest) colour is purple, his favourite colour appears to be orange, and there are usually lots of earth/nature tones too.

Honorable mention goes to his trademark Japanese school boy undercut hair with a middle parting, barely able to tame the spikyness.

So let's see what elements he will keep and what will change:

02 (+ Diablomon Strikes Back), age 13-14:

As mentioned, the concept art above was what inspired me to make this post in the first place - because I couldn't help but notice his pants there. If you compare the way he wears the Summer school uniform to the way Taichi and Yamato wear it, three things come to mind:

The older boys wear the shirt very casually, whereas Koushirou has tugged it in - which is definitely a change to how loosely he wore his button-downs before.

Taichi and Yamato also don't wear ties in comparison to Koushirou. So far so good, these are the most obvious aspects...

And then there are the pants - which are particularly less "form fitting" than it is the case for Taichi and Yamato. Considering how he used to wear wide shorts in Adventure before, one may think that this is related to "comfort over form" again, but it collides a little with how "correctly" he wears the rest of the uniform. So my assumption here is: In one of the dramas he mentions "one of the female 5th graders in computer club who is taller than me" and we can definitely assume that he was referring to Miyako there. He says that he is "working very hard" to catch up... Which leads me to believe that he wears wide pants in anticipation of getting a growth spurt. Which is not only practical in general - but would also spare him/his mom the stress of constantly buying new uniforms.

In sum, we learned that he is the only male character in the entire season who wears his uniform correctly - with the spunky shoes being the only glimpse of "individualism" there. This is an interesting contrast - and will actually turn out to be quite a pattern for him: When it comes to important duties and business, he will make sure to wear his clothes appropriately and neatly (which, at this point, is important if you consider him taking so much responsibility for the 02 kids as their team mom dad). Outside of that, we still see the habit of wearing more comfortable clothes:

Koushirou definitely likes to wear layers (similarly to but not in the same way as Taichi btw), the good old button-downs or hoodies over shirts in particular, it's all very cozy and simple - and while he hasn't completely abandoned his associated colour orange, he seems to have adopted a second favourite colour to his wardrobe as an addition to the earth tones: Green. We later learn that his mother used to buy the clothes for him, so based on her excited expression in the first shot, watching him put on his green school uniform blazer for the first time, they may have realized how well the colour complements his red hair. The wide shorts and pants are also still there and he also seems to prefer basic long-sleeves (and stripes) at this point (which may or may not have been inspired by his own Digimon partner's colour schemes, very sneaky).

Last but not least we have the hairstyle - he's been growing out the undercut to even everything out and starts the season off with a VERY short cut and a side-parting. Very neat and, at first glance, very easy to tame, since the spikes are a lot shorter at this point. The side parting did not last for long though, so the middle-parting returns through the course of the season and he also grows it out a little.

Overall, the dichotomy of "business serious-casual" and "comfy-cozy" is already coming through, but we haven't come to the heavy lifting yet:

Tri (+ the Stageplay), age 16:

As I have briefly pointed out in the intro, for some characters, fashion is an arc-defining factor. For teenage!Koushirou, his interest in fashion is basically a B- or C-plot that - in my opinion - could have been handled in better ways, but I will get to that.

First of all, let's start with the "easy stuff": Hair and uniforms.

His way of wearing his uniform hasn't changed much from 02; he is still wearing blazer, shirt and tie "correctly" - but his pants are not as wide as they used to anymore, as can be seen on the promo art I have used above. (Since he has surpassed Mimi in height and is basically as tall as Sora, he may not expect to grow much further, so he probably chose more fitted pants at this point.)

The hair, especially the spikes and middle parting, are still pretty much the same and thus - probably - still very difficult to tame. It's notable that he has grown it out more in comparison to 02 though.

Now onto his private wardrobe: We see him confiding in Takeru, telling him that now that he goes to high school, he intends to pick clothes for himself, but... Shopping has proven to be quite difficult for... Various reasons. So instead, he created a software to generate outfits for him, with... Varying degrees of success. So through the course of the first few movies, it's heavily implied that he's making use of that software and also Takeru's advice - who appears to be a little bit of a mix between a "k-pop-fanboy / hobby-novelist with a Starbucks order in hand" and "an absolute fashion disaster" himself, but he seems to enjoy being Koushirou's wingman and assumes that his sudden interest in fashion stems from him wanting to impress Mimi.

And this is where things get a little more complicated. I will not go into too much detail about why I think that this was the wrong approach for his arc, because I have already talked about it in full length here. To summarize it very shortly: Koushirou's arc had ALWAYS been about him learning to be himself. That him being the way he is is perfectly fine and that he doesn't have to hide his true self - being adopted, smart, into computers, with all his flaws and quirks, whatever it may be. Him trying to bend over backwards to impress somebody else contradicts his arc and the only reason to include it at this point is for him to come to the same conclusion again. Of course there are underlying insecurities all over the place - especially since he actively seeks Mimi's approval. The school festival should have culminated in a scene in which he and Mimi - dressed up in a costume that was heavily criticized before, thus criticizing Mimi's way of being as well - should have had a talk that went along the lines of: "You know what? It doesn't matter what you wear, as long as you are comfortable." (Which... In itself leaves room for a lot of subtext as well, but I will get to that by the end of the post.)

So long story short, what we see through the course of the first three movies is him being quite experimental: Overalls, wild patterns like koi karps, lots of layers and a peculiar interest in bowties... He also adds several new colours to his arsenal, reds, blues, even his signature colour purple makes a prominent appearance. All for the sake of appearing "less plain", and to have more variation in his style.

While he has abandoned shorts from his wardrobe at this point, he - just like Taichi - likes to wear 3/4 length pants. One style of clothing he hasn't abandoned is his button-down shirts and (open) collared shirts in general. This has been a constant so far and I doubt that we will ever see it change, since they basically feel like "comfort clothes" for him. The interesting part here is, like we discovered before, the consistent contrast between "private" and "important occasions/business settings":

Once he's out with his parents for their anniversary, once he shows up at the school festival in a whole suit, once he wears his school uniform: He WILL wear the (bow-)tie correctly, the collar will be tight, the shirt will be tugged in, no funky shoes either.

Once he's in a private, less "official" setting, the collar will be more loose (!), the shirt will (most likely) be pulled out of his pants, the style will be more comfy, the shoes will be more "funky."

We've seen that since 02 already and it's nicely represented in Tri as well - the stageplay even dared to merge two of his outfits from the first Tri movie, a casual and a serious one, to create the perfectly "nerdy" mix for him: (Shortened) Shirt and vest from the anniversary (with an open collar and without the bowtie), 3/4 pants and yellow sneakers from the "let's look for distortions" scene. So we can tell - he DOES have preferences and may not even need a software to tell him what he naturally gravitates towards!

So let's fast forward a few years to see how it'll all develop...

Kizuna (+ The Beginning), age 21-23:

Unfortunately, we don't really get a glimpse of his private wardrobe as a young adult - but we can still be pretty sure that the patterns we spotted before are still going strong:

First of all, it can be assumed that he stopped experimenting for the most part: The hairstyle went back to the roots, for whatever reason he returned to his elementary school undercut, the middle parting and spikes are still there, but less wild. The associated colour orange also returns - and even makes its way into his business wardrobe, as he is back to wearing neckties instead of bowties.

That aside, we mainly see him in his work attire as the boss of his own tech company: White shirt with the orange tie and a closed collar (short-sleeved in Summer, long-sleeved in Autumn), black pants + brown belt, black business shoes.

And once again: Depending on his surroundings, the difference in how he presents himself is still intact to some degree: The outfit is still the same, but once he's just with his friends, shirt and pants appear to be wider again, whereas they seem to be more tailored once he is in "business mode" - this can be seen in particular in The Beginning, where he function as PR Digimon expert and gives interviews to the media.

Long story short: He kept his dichotomy alive for the majority of the series.

The epilogue, age 38:

Even the epilogue shows us that he could never give up the wide, collared shirts (wide collar, no tie, pulled out of the pants!) in nature tones after all. The most notable part here is probably the hair - not only did he grow it out to the point that the spikes vanished almost completely (aside from the long, pointy bangs), but he apparently managed to FINALLY get the side-parting going after all.

Final thoughts (and a few headcanons):

I've once conducted a whole post on how I felt like Koushirou broke a few gender stereotypes in interesting ways for a series that was created in the 1990s and early 2000s (and not only because he was the only male character who basically never had a male voice actor or because 02 basically turned him into "the mom" of the group). I feel like it's no coincidence that his arc and the way it is portrayed actually speaks to a lot of people who consider themselves as neurodivergent, non-binary or trans. It's a story of self-acceptance, about someone who used to question his whereabouts, who didn't know where he came from, who he was. He didn't consider himself to have much "worth" aside from being a human extension of his laptop and also tended to mask his insecurities (at least in front of his parents) with a polite and very correct demeanour.

The way fashion is interwoven into it all may not have been conducted perfectly, but the fact that it is tied to self-discovery still leaves room for interpretations and headcanons. While his personal clothing style has always been rather "boyish" (and not feminine in the slightest), him gravitating towards oversized clothing in private settings while conforming (!) to a very correct and neat dressing style for important occasions still is a curious contrast in this regard. Hiding behind his computer, hiding behind a software to tell him how to dress (and being uncomfortable going shopping physically), hiding his generally slender body behind (mostly) wide clothing because he may - or may not - experience something along the lines of gender-dysphoria is a headcanon that a lot of people can relate to. Especially if you take Tri overall as a metaphor for him figuring out "his preferences" (in both sexuality and gender and thus the scene in which he looks at a kimono - presumably made by Sora - will forever live rent-free in my head, especially because it is a more feminine piece this time).

In the end, it can all be just a matter of perspective - the most likely explanation is that he simply prefers comfort in private settings, but can easily adjust towards a "serious business mode" whenever the situation requires it. Through the course of the series, you may argue that the characters that had the most influence on his casual style were Taichi (layers), Mimi and Takeru (being a little more experimental). On the other hand, you may also take Tri as your average "the nerd cannot talk to women and doesn't know how to dress, so he makes disastrous choices" trope and call it a day. But personally, I feel like, since Koushirou does have obvious preferences that are mostly consistent, it really is more a period of self-exploration. And like I said before: I wish the outspoken conclusion for him had been: "As long as you feel comfortable, you can wear whatever you want."

[terzosboyfriend]

Perhaps perpetua having... a bit too much fun in the morgue of the ministry....? >:3

ABSOLUTELY!!!

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Perpetua x Human female corpse

Cw for Necrophilia, gore, open bodies, this is fucked up, knife play(kinda), non con, he is fucking her guts.

Under the cut or on AO3

Perpetua was not exactly excited. He had been tasked to go work in the morgue for the day. He had to harvest organs for future rituals. At least he was forced to because he had to know how to get what he needed.

That's exactly what led the man to be in his button-up and slacks, a plastic apron, and pulling on gloves. He made sure they were pulled on tight, rearranging his tools on the tray beside him before looking down at the body. It was a younger girl, perhaps in her mid twenties, and she had long brown hair that went just past her shoulders. It was obvious that a ghoul had gotten her from the shredded skin by her neck. A terrible way to die, he thought to himself, before focusing on her torso. There were plenty of bruises and bites that littered her blue skin, having been left as a cold corpse for a count of days.

Letting out a shaky breath, he picked up the scalpel that was on the tray before bringing it to her sternum. Carefully, he pressed down before dragging the blade down, watching as the skin split open beneath him. He expected more blood when he did that, but surprisingly, there was nearly none. He worked on pulling the skin back, wincing for just a moment at the weird pull of it.

Using clips that had also been on the tray, he clipped the skin in place. Taking another shaky breath, he looks inside the body properly. It looked so weird that none of them were moving, but what did he expect? Why would a dead girl's organs still function?

Before doing anything, he made sure to double-check that all the jars with a clear liquid inside of each one had been opened. And then, finally, he was setting the scalpel down. He was told it didn't matter how rough he was with the parts of the body that didn't need saving, but something just felt wrong with it when he brought a bone saw up to her ribs. The high-pitched buzz of it filled the room as he turned it on, carefully cutting out a majority of her ribs to keep them out of the way. He watched as he somehow expected her to take a breath, to flinch, to do anything but be completely without response.

Once most of her ribs were removed, he carefully grabbed a different scalpel, bringing it down to delicately cut one of her lungs out. It was soft and wet on his hands, able to feel it and even through the gloves it felt... interesting. The man went and set the scalpel back down before he moved to pull her lung out. Soon enough, putting it in one of the larger jars.

He screwed it shut before repeating the process with the other lung, letting out another shaky breath as he did so. Before long, he was moving to the most important piece, her heart. He had to be extremely careful with this one because they never had enough of a supply of them.

Perpetua had to will his hand not to shake at that, making careful and precise cuts to try and keep the heart as intact as possible. He stared at it as he took in another deep breath before finally picking it up and transferring it to another jar and sealing it. He wasn't excited for this next part, though. He was going to have to rearrange her intestines so he could reach the other organs.

Letting out a soft whine, "I hate this..." He huffed, moving to reach his hand in to try and grab a handful of them. He weaved his fingers between the folds of it, about to grab it before he paused. No, wait, that was a terrible idea. He couldn't, could he? They never needed intestines, so they weren't something they cared about.

Before he could even rationalize the insanity of the idea, he could feel his pants growing tight. This was wrong, and he shouldn't. He didn't stop himself when he pulled his hand out of the body, though, nor did he when he was taking his gloves off and digging for a condom in his bag. He didn't even seem to process what he was doing until it was on his cock and he had climbed onto the table.

The man had shook his head fast when he looked down at her face. Any hint of life was gone from it. "Wh-What the fuck am I-" He started to back track, but then his eyes travelled down, seeing where his cock was perfectly positioned above her guts.

His brain practically short circuited at the sight, and before he could stop himself, he was pushing it between the folds of the organ. The sudden coldness that enveloped the tip of his cock, his hips twitching with a soft groan.

The man did not stop until his hips pressed uncomfortably against the organs, and then he was slowly pulling back to see the juices of the body having covered the condom. Good decision on his part. And then he was pushing in again with another groan.

He could feel as it shifted under his movement, looking down to be sure none of the more important ones nearby weren't hurt. They weren't. Carefully, he set a slow pace, eyes focusing on how his cock was pulled in and out of the body.

The sound was new, and his brain couldn't decide if he loved it or hated it. It wasn't long until it decided he loved it, pace soon enough picking up even further. He was getting lost in both the feeling and the urgency that hit him to not get caught. He had no idea how frequently others came and left, and the last thing he needed was to get caught like this.

It didn't seem to matter for him very long though, because suddenly his orgasm was arriving fast. His pace was picking up even further, groaning loud as he allowed himself to get lost in his pleasure. Before long he was cumming hard with a stifled moan, trying to not alert anyone's attention from outside.

Breathing hard, he stayed there for a long moment, before finally pulling his cock out and moving to stand up. He looked down to see what mess had been left, the condom covered with juices, and practically impossible to see through. He pulled it off and tossed it in the trash, making note to himself that he had to take a shower either way. "Fucking hell.." He breathed, pulling his pants back up and fixing his outfit.

And then he was looking at the body. He didn't have to look for more than a few seconds before realizing he'd made her stomach burst, the acid leaking out of it. Panic quickly consumed him, realizing that now he had to not only save the other organs but also that the stomach was useless now. "Fucking hell..." He huffed again in a much different tone.

[ceasarslegion]

I am asking for the list of weirdest things you have found in passengers' bags 🙏

Yippee!

Just off the top of my head:

-a panel from a satellite array that took up the entire bag

-10kg bucket of peanut butter (asked her where the hell she got it, she said costco)

-one time we called emergency on what turned out to be a custom build gaming PC that the passenger had stuffed her old breast implants INSIDE of. When we asked why she would put them there, she said "I didn't know where else to put them." Please note this PC case was not a thumb screw panel, we had to unscrew it with a proper screwdriver

-heated coffee mug that looked exactly like a pipe bomb on an x ray image. I ended up making the call to search it instead of calling emergency because too many red flags were missing. Passenger told me "the officers in Vancouver called the cops on me for that! :))" SO WHY DO YOU STILL TRAVEL WITH IT

-amazon-bought acupuncture machine that looked exactly like a bomb on an x ray. We thought we were being punked because the real thing would never be that obvious. When I say that even the most untrained, inexperienced eye would go "that's a bomb" i mean it.

-actually, a lot of things that look exactly like bombs on x ray images exist. You'd be surprised

-this isn't the item itself but a guy from Toronto asked for a selfie with me holding the empty bullet shell he forgot in his shirt pocket after his buddies took him to the shooting range. I told him he was damn lucky we found it in this backwards country province and not in Ontario where'd they'd call the cops on him

-found a taser in this lady's purse and in a moment of utterly incomparable genius I proceeded to make sure that it really was a taser before I hit the police button by pointing the prongs directly at my face and pressing the on button. You could see the YouTube buffering wheel pop over my head in real time after discovering it wasnt charged

-a guy tried to conceal a box cutter in the lining of his bag and then proceed to claim it was an essential medical device when I asked him why he was trying to hide something that could be used as a weapon from us. Man I was born on a Wednesday but not LAST Wednesday

-lady screamed for my supervisor when I wouldn't let her ancient laptop go that was missing every key the battery panel was duct taped together, she refused to turn on, and it was stuffed full of some strange inorganic ashy material coming out of all the ports. Ma'am I don't think anyone wants whatever the fuck this is on the plane so if you can't turn this on and show me it's a functioning laptop I'm not comfortable letting it go 😭

-had a guy in stanley cup season who had a bag stuffed full of Florida panthers merchandise and when I told him I didn't know anything about hockey he turned to his livestreaming phone and went "I GOT THE ONE GUY IN THIS WHOLE PROVINCE WHO DOESNT CARE 😭"

-and perhaps my whole weirdness crowning achievement: the guy who had multiple ziploc bags full of room temperature breast milk with no wife nor baby in sight. What the fuck

[gargusscp]

When She Was Just-

(More fanfic of @zal-cryptid's Misfits in Toyland comic. Contains size stuff, so reader beware.)

“So you just sit on down, get yourself comfy, and I’ll be right back to start our playdate!”

Easier said than done, Beau thought to herself, squirming on the spot for a decent position on the couch as Dolly flop-skipped out the room, singing a tuneless babble.  If Toyland had one notable disadvantage - once you exhausted the obvious grievances with losing your old life and existing as a plaything for probably all eternity - it was the lack of halfway decent furniture. Chairs and beds made to fit a doll weren’t exactly designed with human comforts in mind.  Little give to their rigid wood and plastic frames, cushioning a sliver-thin strip of foam at best, too often ever so slightly disproportionate for all except one user.  Beau herself could hardly roll half a turn either way in her own bed without risking falling out, let alone find a non-cramped spot on Dolly’s ratty wool sofa.

Granted, Beau took issue with her proportions in nearly all matters.  A porcelain-figurine of a shepherdess, she towered over most other folk in Toyland.  The Barbie doll down the lane claimed she felt no perspective different at twelve inches from her 5’6” human height; Beau, once 4’11”, felt quite the substantial difference at eighteen.  That Barbie girl barely measured to the bottom of Beau’s chest.  Her life as a vanishing slip ended the day she kicked her way from her arrival box and felt the dimensions of her new form , a figurine sculpted for detail over function, garbed in a needlessly voluminous lace gown triple her natural width.  Actions major and minor all the day came with overbearing reminder she was, all told, huge.

Waking in the morning?  Bumps and bonks reaffirming her playset of a home was hastily retro-fitted to just barely accommodate her bulk.  Passing other toys in the public square?  Snickers about her heavy trod and long shadow.   Chatting with friends after a day in the fields?  Oh God, how her voice so easily overwhelms the group.

One such chat started her path to this damnably undersized couch, why oh why won’t her dress gather without bunching and bulging in the small of her back?  “You seem real tense lately, Beau.”  “You spend too much time tending your flock, Beau.”  “I didn’t know you could micromanage sheep.”  They had a point, she did feel wound up, and without any mechanism to blame.  Absolutely nothing to do with her work, they simply didn’t understand how much it meant to her, but a point on the mark is a point on the mark.  Even so, she felt reticent about visiting Dolly when the subject inspired some… less than altogether pure remarks.  “Oh, a playdate with Dolly is just what you need, big girl!”  “Yeah, I hear she’s got the magic touch, pushes all your buttons if you got ‘em.”  “I dunnow, seems more adventurous than Beau’s used to.”

She sulked in her home for some hours after, twiddling the too-small business card in her spindly fingers, torn between offense at their implications and genuine curiosity.  The language Dolly used in advertising her services left anyone a smidgen past pure childhood innocence little room to ignore the barely-hidden meaning.  Chance was right, she generally wouldn’t entertain those sorta transactions.  On the other hand (flicking the card from one to the other), despite the crude jokes around “playing with Dolly,” the ragdoll seemed plenty friendly whenever Beau had occasion for brief exchanges to and from work, and those who did partake never so much as hinted at anything untoward.  Just the surface-level meaning any halfway literate could take from the text.

Which posed some trouble when Beau hoped the rumors were true.  Knew her frustrations ran deeper than simply too much time in the Arctic sun standing over sheep who, strictly speaking, needed no herding.  Wanted to come right out and ask for the weirdest sort of help resolving her deepest set issue with life in Toyland.  Yet if she guessed wrong, if Dolly’s play sessions were half so wholesome as suspected, there’d be zero chance of looking her straight in the button eye for a long time coming.  Beau felt flushed, but her skin remained its neutral painted shade as she fiddled and twiddled, thinking long into the night.

After a week’s protracted thought, Beau had worked a free afternoon into her schedule, left a note on Dolly’s doorstep announcing her visit and available hours, spent a sleepless night cursing the inventor of packing foam, and squeezed into Dolly’s residence at the appointed time.  The way she figured, best to play it cool, wend her way to the point roundabout as she can manage, and hope against hope Dolly gets the idea, and moreover, approves.  If not… well, running away isn’t exactly difficult at her size.  Though she may crack a doorframe or two in the rush.

So she sat, or rather shifted and bounced in vain with sitting a fleeting incidental matter, trying to distract herself from a welling panic in her breast by focusing on the details of Dolly’s foyer.  No need to run if she busied her eyes studying the cardboard cutout of a flame in the fireplace, crayon scribblings of yellows and oranges subtly shifting in a dance implying warmth she could not feel.  Why question her purpose in coming here when she could examine the conversation pieces on the coffee table, seemingly alphabet blocks with notably peeling paint and assorted accessories from mismatched doll lines chipped in odd places?  Oh God, this was a bad idea, but don’t think about that, think about the imitation-wood wallpaper, or the paper-printout throw rug in the corner, or the approaching sound of rags on smoothed balsa wood!

Beau templed her hands over her face, pinching her nose so hard she risked shattering it and index fingers alike.  You can do this, she thought, screwing her eyes shut.  Just ask like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Alrighty!  I’m… ready!  How ‘bout… you?”

She blinked, turned, and looked down.  Dolly shuffled backwards through the entryway, dragging a gallon-size ziplock full to bursting with cotton balls in her wake.  “Sorry I took my time!  Had to think’ve… something we could use for… sheep!” she beamed.  “Didn’t… phew… didn’t want to ask yours to come in!  Gotta keep things private, y’know!”

Funny the things you notice when forcing your thoughts away from undesired conclusions.  As Beau sat ramrod stiff, hands still hovering before her mouth, her gaze darted all over Dolly, taking in aspects of her person as substitute for the chant oh, Oh no, oh no no no, she really does just want to play at counting sheep, this is bad, get out, abort, abort!  The polished button eyes which twisted about and pressed on her face ever so slightly to distort the surrounding area into expressions.  The rosy patch circles on her cheeks Beau swore sometimes grew and shrank in size with Dolly’s mood.  The faded candystripe pattern of her burlap dress - shorter than her usual outfit, or just Beau’s imagination?  The… well, the slightness.  Dolly stood somewhat taller than most humanoid toyfolk (if still a few inches shy of Beau’s height), but being a cotton-stuffed ragdoll made her seem so insubstantial.  Hardly any klumphing from her step, a wavering quality to her gestures, so light that the occasional jostle when passing her could knock her several body lengths away.  Not a rigid or heavy thing about her.

“Sooooo…?”

Beau flinched.  She should probably say something.

“I’m… sure they wouldn’t mind, if you asked…”

“Naaaah, don’t be silly!”  Dolly waved off the notion, wrist bouncing every which way.  “I see you in the fields, acting all Miss Bossy Lady with ‘em, hardly having any fun!  All they’d do is get you doing that again!  Sure, if you wanna invite, I won’t say no, but as Toyland’s first ‘n’ best professional playmate, I gotta say you’re better off with THESE sheep today!”

She hefted an armful of cotton balls, cradling them back and forth while bleating, “Baaa!  Baaa!”

Beau coughed.  “Well, you know, I… it’s the right way of doing things.  A shepherd, well… she tends her flock and… makes sure they go where they need to…”

“Plus!”  Dolly scampered over and tugged at Beau’s voluminous dress folds, encouraging her to come over to the “flock.”  “Plus, I’ve heard you talkin’ all the time!  Who could miss it?  You’re usually SUPER confident and forward.  Don’t give anyone a turn until you’re done!  Being all ‘uh’ and ‘err’ and ‘well..’ ain’t like you!  Trust me, if you’re here and being Miss Hem Haw instead of Miss Bossy Lady, you NEED this!”

For her stature and composition, Dolly pulled surprisingly hard, prompting Beau to rise and at least begin hesitantly stepping towards the cotton pile, lest her dress tear under enthusiastic hands.  “Right, but the thing is… I don’t exactly w-”

“So!”  Dolly plopped herself down on the floor, busied beyond hearing with her ideas for the next few hours.  “We got your sheep here, right?  And you’ve got your you, and since you’re the shepherdess, you’re gonna do shepherdess things for them!  EXCEPT!  We aren’t gonna do your boring herding stuff, we’re gonna have fun!  Name the sheep, get to know them, let ‘em scamper around, jump some fences, do some counting, maybe a nap in the middle if it makes us sleepy!”

“Dolly…”

“That’s all for later, though!  What’d you think THIS little sheepie’s name should be?”

“Dolly, may I please say something before we start?”

She wished she still had a tongue to bite.  The request wasn’t meant to come out quite so impatient, barking.  If Dolly minded the sudden shot of aggression, it only evidenced through her face going neutral for a moment or two before breaking back into a wide smile.  “Sure thing!  Whatcha got?”  And then her head lolled to the side, resting angled cross her shoulder in a way Beau always found offputting.  No matter how much she knew this as Dolly’s I’m Listening I’m Hearing Honest pose, the limp stillness in her manner creeped a body out.

With a heavy sigh, Beau gathered her skirts and lowered herself cross-legged to the floor, intent on getting this right.  Steady and honest, she reminded herself, tucking and checking the fabric for comfort.  Wend your way in, give the full picture, keep your head, hope for the best.  Right.  Here goes.

“I am sure you have heard me tell how I came to the island, or at least heard from another who has,” she began, voice low and level as manageable.  “Short, skinny little Beau used to flying under everyone’s notice, suddenly so big a toy she’s practically eight feet tall compared to all the rest.  I am not stupid, I took one look at myself and figured a good rough version of why I came here - and a bit of talking to my neighbors cemented it.  All those years dodging attention, dodging responsibility, shirking duties for increasingly ephemeral reasons until I wasn’t taking proper care of my own health, let alone the people I might have helped if I took a tiny bit of interest in my life?  And now I’m a shepherd in Toyland with a flock waiting?  The message was pretty clear: shape up, adopt this duty, learn some discipline and make some proper commitments for once.”

A pause, to glance at Dolly for response.  Absolutely none, as expected, blank-eyed and still.  When she listens, she does literally nothing else.

“So I did what was expected.  And it helped, it really has, I like being shepherd for the sheep.  I do not know if they’re toyfolk themselves or just extensions for my punishment, but I get up, I tend them however long they need tending, and then I go home.  That is my life, and I think it a good life.  I live on a clock where I let hours slip, I’m assertive where I let others step on me, I’m a responsible person with a point to her life instead of a slacker doormat of no worth or use.  All to say… I just do not think playing cotton ball sheep is what I need here.  My job is playing the person I’m supposed to be, so there is no need to replicate it.  Right?

Expecting Dolly’s continued silence and mentally readying a third leg to her spiel, Beau jolted hard when the ragdoll’s head shot up and said, “Okay!  We don’t gotta play sheep!  What do you wanna play, then?”

With a shudder, Beau steered towards her main point.  “Right.  The reason I came here today… the REASON I came here today is because I have felt one.. one major problem the entire time I have lived here.”  Good Lord, could her speech be more stilted?  “Not something you would expect most to complain about, probably too silly for consideration, I should just g…” She promised herself.  No running until outright rejection.  Say it.  “I do not like… I want… well…”

“Your clothes?  Do you wanna play dress-up?  I’ve got some-”

There go the floodgates.

“I hate being so much taller than everyone!  It’s not just bumping my head and knocking people over and never finding anything in my size, that all sucks but I’m sick of being so BIG overall!  I woke up in my box and I looked around and I thought oh my God, it finally happened!  Because I was always short, right, and I had a THING for it and wanted to be even smaller, smaller than possible, and here I was under two feet and telling myself well, you’re not a person anymore, but you’ve got your dream, that’s something at least.  And then I wander into town and what do you know, they’re all shrimps compared to me, I’m practically a living colossus compared to everyone, and I have to learn how to be responsible and punctual and outward while living in THIS body?  THIS gigantic freak of a thing?  I’m the runt I always fantasized about and I can’t even feel it and it’s just too much and I want.. I want… I…”

Beau could not remotely account how, lacking lungs and all, she winded herself spilling her secret in one prolonged babble.  Regardless mechanics, she sat there on the floor, huffing for breath, fully aware she looked an enormous fool in figurative and literal terms.  Somewhere in her rant, Dolly’s head had lolled to the side again, which gave Beau the impression she could, perhaps, sneak out without further embarrassment.  The other toys sometimes said Dolly’s true self fugued away years ago; maybe if she made the door before Dolly straightened out, she wouldn’t be mis-

“Oh!  Ohhhhhhh!  I get it now!  You wanna play Big Girl/Little Girl!”

-ssssssssssssssssssssssss-

“You be the little girl and I be the big girl, right?”

-sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-

“I can do that easy!  You shoulda said when we came in, we coulda been at it ages by now!  C’mon, up, up, just gotta use your imagination for this one!”

-sed.  Through mentally sibilating, Beau let Dolly’s mitten-like hands grasp her overlarge yet slender digits and guide the towering shepherdess to her feet, passively swaying on the spot.  From where she stood, she could not possibly imagine how Dolly meant to fulfill the roles as proposed.  Half due to still whirling through panic at her shame being so readily accepted, half due to standing some six inches higher than the doll’s crown.  Gazing through doubled vision at the knots and kinks of black yarn hair, Beau tried to picture Dolly as the taller of the two, and failed as her mind blanked.

“It’s alright!” Dolly piped up, rags still grasping porcelain.  “This is to help you relax, but you gotta do that at least a little to get going!”  She stood there, neck considerably craned and mouth brightly curved until Beau adjusted her stance, an honest effort at playing willing participant rather than shellshocked statue.  “Great!  Now, I’m just gonna…” Dolly shuffled herself back and forth, producing a light scuffing whenever she bumped Beau’s dress. “...and a bit of…” Her head bounced about, hair bobs threatening to shake from their bows.  “...aaaaaaand!”

A rag foot went lightly fwuph upon the floor.  “Hi there, little girl!” she giggled, looking down.  “I’m big girl!”

The air in the room hung still as seconds tip-toed by.  Beau measured her options.  Responding as Dolly clearly expected didn’t feel right.  Walking out ran the risk of Dolly telling someone later.  Screaming felt undignified.  She settled, somewhat reticently, on polite suggestion.

“Uh, Dolly?  I am not entirely sure if you have noticed but… I am… I’m up here?  Would it help if I laid down?  You might look pretty tall then…”

“Huh!”  Dolly kept her eyes fixed firm on the floor between them.  “That’s weird!  I definitely see little girl Beau down there!  She’s sooo tiny!  Hi there, lil’ Beau!”  Her hand waved carelessly about for a few pendulations, until her forehead wrinkled, her arm slowed, and she asked, “Wait… you’ve never played like this before, have you?”

“Well, I might have roleplayed online some in college, but… look, are you sure I should be standing for this?  I don’t want to tell you how to do your job or anything, but if we’re being open and honest about this, you could try uh… stepping on me to get the point across?”

“Nahhhh, that’s Dommy Mommy, we don’t need to make pretend for that! I mean like… really played!  Like when you’re a kid.  Tried and tried and tried until you actually believed for a little bit!  Here, look, close your eyes and think, ‘I’m real real real real little right now, and Dolly’s suuuuper big,’ and then when I stomp, look up!  Give it a try!”

Features blank and uncomprehending, Beau did as she was told anyhow.  It felt stupid: if she looked up, she might see the poorly painted roof to Dolly’s foyer a few inches from her face, lit by a weak heat lamp behind a fake cardboard fire, standing on cheap balsa wood, but not Dolly.  She was down there, Beau was up here.  At the least, she could humor her host.  So she leaned her head back and set a mental intonation.  I’m small.  I have been small since I got here.  I am like… like a minifig.  Everyone look like mountains.  I need friends to carry me everywhere.  I can’t tend the sheep because they’re practically mattress warehouses compared to me.  That’s me, a pipsqueak, a speck, the smallest girl in Toyland.  And I like it this way.

“Okay!”  One more, Dolly’s foot went fwuph, signaling Beau to open her eyes.  Only this time, several factors shifted radically.

The ceiling, seconds ago so close she might reach to scrape away the peeling paint, now seemed a mile off, details lost in the distance.  A steady crackle sung from the fireplace, which flooded the room with a warmth before sorely lacking.  Those flimsy strips of balsa felt firm and sturdy as proper oaken hardwood.

And Dolly’s stomp made the whole house shake.

Beau stumbled off her feet and hit the ground hard, yet kept staring upward, mouth agape, verbal expression utterly useless to capture the sight before her eyes.  Impossible though it ought’ve been, she now splayed before a great black mound, dust particles still settling round its base.  Another, twin to the first, lay some distance to her right, and from both jutted pillars of pure brown fabric, stitchings the length of Beau’s entire body at quick estimate running along the sides of each into… void.  No, not a void, merely deep shadow; scootching herself back some, Beau noted a ring of alternating off-whites and dulled-reds, which in turn coalesced into candy cane striping drawing her higher, higher, higher.  Past trunklike arms, past a flowered ruff that could drown her home, up to a familiar mouth quirked into a smile, cheek patches glowing more intensely than she’d ever known, button eyes wide, magnified beyond all reason, and trained directly on her.

“There you are, little girl!  Told ya you were down there!  Hee hee!”

Shrank me.  She actually shrank me, Beau thought.  Inching back further for a better view, however, she found her understanding of the situation very quickly challenged via her back striking something.  What, she couldn’t tell, for when she twisted herself about to check she found only the open expanse of the floor, her frame so small as to readily slide under the couch.  Yet, from the scratchy coarseness against her back, tangible even through her considerable layers, Beau knew for a fact she was now pressed firm into Dolly’s sofa.

A deafening coo from above forced her eyes Dollyward again.  “Hey, hey, don’t worry!  Gonna seem a bit weird, but it’s all part of playing pretend!  Long as you and me both think you’re tiny, you actually are, sorta!  Big Beau’s still here, she didn’t go anywhere.  It’s just you’re ALSO Little Beau now, which means I can do-”

Scrabbling for comprehension, Beau experienced two wholly contradictory sensations at once.  In the back of her mind, she dimly perceived Dolly crouching down, scooping both arms underneath Beau, and hefting her up with considerably less difficulty than she handled the far-lighter bag of cotton balls.  In active sight, though, clear as day and solid as anything, she watched helpless as Dolly crouched, gently slid a single mitt towards her, brushed her aboard with the other, and tenderly rose back to her full stature.  The rush of air nearly knocked Beau flat once more, but she held her ground best she could, no matter how much said ground felt like ever-shifting cotton stuffing just beneath a layer of old cloth.  Maybe the existence of proper flooring in top-side reality helped her stay balanced?

Only, no, Dolly didn’t have proper flooring, she lived in a bargain bin dollhouse!  That stuff practically bounced under every step on the way in!

But, if Beau was still standing on flimsy balsa wood, how did she keep her footing s-

No, wrong, she wasn’t even standing, she was in Dolly’s arms.  On Dolly’s palm.  In Dolly’s house, which Dolly now vastly outsized.  Only it wasn’t Dolly who was big; Beau was just very, very small.  Except…

“-THIS!” Dolly triumphed, shaking Beau from her reverie.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” she murmured to herself, irrespective her lack of stomach.

“Well if you WANT to while playing pretend, you can!  Though I wouldn’t like it very much, so please don’t unless you REALLY need to!”

“Okay… okay, okay, alright, so…” Beau did her best to gather her thoughts.  Dolly made this somewhat difficult as her enormous hand hovered nearby, gently prodding the miniature shepherdess to and fro (or at least tapping her regular-sized face for similar effect), though Beau found no will to ask Dolly stop.  With every bump and subsequent stumble, it became marginally easier to tune out what was really happening, stop thinking of it in such terms.  While she could still see and feel the awkward weight lifting job necessary to simulate her palm-bound station, the sink of her feet into the hidden fluff seemed softer, the slight must inherent to ragdolls of Dolly’s vintage permeated deeper, the boom of Dolly’s giggles and the warmth in the room and the sense of having dwindled next to nothing inching towards total believability as her only reality.

“Tiny.  Tiny like I always wanted.”

“Yep!”

“On your hand.  Like some kind of bug.”

“Uh-huh!”

“Except n-”  No, actually.  Beau bit back the words, acceptance and embrace seeming easier than interrogating denial.  If she pushed too hard, the perceptive spell might break, and she might not find the will to go back.  Instead, she shuffled on the spot until Dolly asked a question of her own.

“How do you like it?”

The answer came far easier than expected.  “I- I think it’s wonderful.  Can all the toyfolk do this?”

“Oh yeah, all the time!  For sleeping and eating and washing and all sorts of stuff!  But fun stuff like this, you do need two making believe together at least!  It can’t do stuff like make you hhhhmmmmmmmmnnngngn, but you can see and feel and do all sorts of things!  It’s really really neato!”

Beau opted against asking about the sudden mushmouthing, and instead asked, “And… do you like it?  Me like this and you like that?”

Dolly tossed her head in a prideful swish, enough yarn to smother the town square flouncing in reply.  “As Toyland’s first and best professional playmate, I like anything my guests wanna do!”  Then she leaned in close, so close Beau almost scented something like candy-sweet breath, and added in whisper, “But also you’re SUPER cute like this!  Hee!”

With those words, whatever reticence Beau felt melted entirely.  She pulled herself to her feet, rushed forward, slammed herself into Dolly’s cheek, and spread her arms to squeeze them against the ragdoll’s cushy face wide and tight as she could manage.  “Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you so much I love it I should have come here months ago!”  Mid-nuzzle with a stitch broader than her torso, she caught herself, realizing what must have happened topside with her sudden movement, and coughed, “Oh, uh… sorry if I, you know… bulldozed you there.”

“Don’t worry!  I put you down while we were talking!  You’re just standing there, still ‘n’ sturdy!  Didn’t move an inch!  Not that you can unless I want you to~.”

Beau blinked.  She achieved total immersion and hadn’t realized.  A broad smile lit her face.  “Oh, this is going to be so much-”

“FUN!!!”

Dolly’s exclamation sent Beau tumbling backward head over heels.  And so - with the quick establishment of safe words and signals - they were off.

As show of gratitude, Beau let Dolly take first point with whatever sorts of games she’d normally prefer.  To no surprise, her instincts trended towards childish games, though the sheer size disparity made these more engaging and enjoyable for Beau than had they tried beforehand.  Marveling at the seemingly overlarge ragdoll’s deftness as they played patty-cake, bulk slab hands gently bumping against her own and clapping just softly enough to only produce a minor sonic boom.  Now and then, Dolly timed her claps to close around Beau, enveloping her playmate in muffling dark and snickering as Beau squirmed within, doing her level best to keep the rhythm while ensnared.

Jumping rope wouldn’t work quite so well under normal circumstances - Beau had no chance of clearing Dolly’s skips, and the idea of Dolly registering Beau’s twirls was laughable.  Instead, she placed her mite of a partner in her hair, and told Beau to hang on while she tried at besting her record.  At first, Beau found the rapid swish of corded rope overhead and the wild tangle of Dolly’s hair a little frightening, but after the first fifty skips she came to appreciate the experience as a kind of thrill ride.  With the right wriggling, she could tuck herself between a few yarn strands, ensure a secure position, and appreciate the doll’s talent for speed step and criss-cross.

All the same, she asked for a game more accommodating her size next, inspiring Dolly to a round of hide ‘n’ seek.  This suited Beau quite nicely, though not because she proved a particularly adept hider.  She found her options severely limited by where Dolly placed her and how far she could scurry within even a deliberately molasses countdown, which made her discovery inside a minute practically inevitable.  Rather, it made a delightful opportunity for exploring the room from her miniaturized vantage point, breath taken away by the cavernous space under the couch, the monolithic quality of knick-knacks on the mantle, the all-swallowing dark of an otherwise light shadow in the connecting hallway, all of it so incredibly convincing through new eyes.  If she woke up here with no further context, there wouldn’t pass a second she thought it anything other than a full-scale home.

(One round did go in her favor.  She tip-toed her way under the slight heel rise in Dolly’s shoe, and spent several minutes shuffling along with its tread while snickering to herself, grateful Dolly found the act of pretending so natural she never once thought to nudge Beau’s actual body for a hint.)

I Spy proved mainly an excuse for Dolly to walk about the room humming and erring to herself in mock consternation over what to choose, her path always hewing within relative inches of catching Beau underfoot, then spinning about in “sudden” inspiration with, “I spy a cutie pie!”  Obviously Beau could not replicate the same effect, especially not while blushing from the compliment (actually, properly blushing, she realized, real heat from her cheeks gone flush); she instead alternated between playing legit and spying “the biggest doll ever.”  Either way, Dolly knew her home and herself too well to fail a guess.

They did find time for a brief round of play sheep tending at Dolly’s suggestion, a transitory game to ease Beau into control of their activities.  True to her word, Dolly made sure Beau kept from her usual controlling, overly-mannered habits, prodding verbally and physically if she showed signs of slipping.  Really, it only took a few of these before Beau conceded entirely and the game turned into one of plonking into cotton balls thrice her height for warmth while Dolly shuffled the others about, generating heat and bleating to herself.

Maybe I should just relax with the sheep from time to time, Beau pondered, her face sinking another half-step into the fluff.  If their wool feels half so cozy as I’m imagining, it might do us all some good…

The task of calling time suddenly fell to Beau, alongside Dolly’s head when she slumped face-first into the cotton pile, having put herself to sleep counting cotton ball sheep.  A gentle smile on her face despite the sudden jar, Beau pattered on over to shove at Dolly’s cheeks in hopes of rousing the giant.  No good, alas.  Rule of play made counting sheep dangerous business if one believed in its narcoleptic sway, and nobody on the island adhered to its tenets firmer.  Girl was plain out like a light.

Beau contemplated her options.  She COULD will her perspective back to normal and wake Dolly in her full-sized body.  Or…

She had a much, much better idea.  Scuttling at top speed, Beau made a beeline for Dolly’s thigh, half-exposed beneath the folds of her dress.  Fortunately the doll’s awkward pose compressed her dimensions somewhat, else Beau would have quite the long run before her.  As it were, a mere minute’s running brought her before her destination, a great unmoving wall.  The sight could take her breath away, were she not already winded from the sprint over - voluminous dresses did not make good exercise gear.  After affording herself a moment’s awe at the sheer expanse of something she thought remarkably slender and floppy just this morning (and to catch her breath), Beau cracked her fingers best she could without breakage, and set to dancing them across Dolly’s rags in a tickle.

At first, no result.  Not shocking, for even imagining Dolly’s leg as smooth warm flesh rather than sewn cloths, Beau could only stimulate so much surface area.  Movement was necessary, which meant sidling her way inwards, towards hopefully more sensitive patches.  Gliding her arms up, down, and in circles on her approach, the hem of Dolly’s dress passing by overhead and necessitating a small adjust in step underfoot, Beau half-hoped Dolly would wake before she pressed too much further… then mentally slapped herself for such idiocy.

“Just snooze long as you like…” she grinned, sliding one step further in, and then another, and another, and another, closer and closer and closer to…

Exactly how deep she went, Beau could not say.  When Dolly finally registered the caressing strokes, the lack of unfiltered light and those enormous pillars kicking all about conspired into complete disorientation as Beau was mercilessly thrown about, eventually tumbling out the dress between Dolly’s feet.  In spite of the indignity of her situation, Beau found herself laughing alongside the giantess, pounding the floor some at the thought of what she just did until Dolly scooped her back up, and kept on for some time after at that.

“Guess.. hahaha… I guess there goes any formality about my taking point!” she chirped, spreading out on her back and gazing up at Dolly’s staring face.

“Hee, yeah!  Being spontaneous can be just as fun as planning things out!”

“...Dolly, did you put yourself to sleep on purpose to see what I’d do on my own?”

“Won’t tell!  But it felt good anyways!”

Beau stuck out her tongue, marveled at the fact she could, then stretched and heaved a long sigh.  “Do you know, since we went there, I have wondered something about this whole imagination distorting reality thing since we started.”

“Oh?”

“We can make me smaller after a fashion by making believe, but… can we also make you bigger?  If both of us pretend really, really hard, like you said?”

Hardly a moment after she posed the question, Beau got her answer, as Dolly simply expanded outward.  Attention still fixed on the mini-toy in her hand, smile unwavering as ever, the ragdoll became, unceasingly, more and more.  All in their imagination, of course, but Beau’s shrinking happened instantly and involved no changes beyond herself; this was Dolly’s legs crowding her furniture against the wall, Dolly’s back blocking the entryway and sliding along the ceiling as she hunched over, Dolly’s free hand covering and smothering the fireplace in a groping quest for free space.  The fact of a process Beau could stand and witness in real time made the already impressive growth near-overwhelming.

As she kept on, the room groaned and the foundations creaked.  Beau distantly recalled her observation about Dolly’s weight as insubstantial, realized her contribution to this particular bit of make-believe rendered the ragdoll just so heavy as her size implied, and felt her higher functions black out.  From feeling like a mite to a veritable dust speck, she rode out the change, reveling a little every time Dolly shifted on the spot to gain more room or produced a worrying crack at her feet.  Whatever this looked like in proper reality, Beau couldn’t give two spits.  This was glorious, and that was enough.

If Dolly wasn’t quite human-sized within a minute, she certainly challenged the room’s maximum mass capacity as she tapered off, grunting some in mild discomfort from awkward positioning.  Surprising for her composition, yet Beau supposed someone so bendy and soft must too have their limits.  Or rather, she would suppose, were her eyes not lit with the delighted sparkling of an entire night’s sky.

“Oh my God, you can, you can actually get bigger, cripes, no, wait, this changes everything, I was expecting you to say no, oh my fffff… Dolly, Dolly how much bigger can you get?  Let’s do it, let’s keep going, I want to see it, I wanna climb in your collar and watch you burst this stupid house and go stomping around the island, give everyone the shock of their lives, bigger shock than coming here ever was.  Oh, oh, hey, if we get more toys to see you like this does that make it realer?  Can we make it more real than your actual body, can we make this permanent?  Get you like, fifty feet tall, or whatever that would be proportionate to us?  First and best and BIGGEST playmate, can you imagine it?  Oh my God oh my God oH MY GOD!!!”

Hyperventilating, Beau let her thoughts run wild in a way she hadn’t entertained since college.  She woke up this morning expecting humiliation and disappointment, and now THIS door opened wide just for her?  Heaven from straight out hell!

Tragedy, alas, came crashing about her head when Dolly spoke, alongside serious earache from the raw volume of her voice.

“I can, actually!  Although, even if it is all pretend, there’s still enough really happening to be uh… a little bit worried?  I’m trying super hard to not crush my couch right now.  And if I keep growing, I might just sorta appear outside without any damage, or I might break my roof.  So… can, but prooooobably shouldn’t?”

 Beau sat there, contemplating.  She came dangerously close to suggesting all caution go stuff itself in the wind, consumed by overwhelming desire to glut on her deepest fantasies and see this place smashed to splinters as revenge for their inhuman state.  Thankfully, a new life of self-discipline paid dividends beyond dragging herself out from bed in the morning, and cooler-headed reasoning prevailed.  To face the entity responsible for repairing any beyond-the-pale damage and explain WHY Dolly’s house had a great big Dolly-sized hole in would prove too too much.

“Mmnnnnngh, alright, fine!  No ragdoll rampage unless we start another one of these playdates outside.  Just… can I have a uh… a kiss before you shrink back d-”

“SURE!”

Escape velocity g-force didn’t compare with the pressure pinning Beau to the spot as Dolly pressed hand to face.  Any chance to account why she asked for a kiss when she knew perfectly well Dolly’s mouth was a pasted-on detail with no depth or lips vanished the instant she smashed directly against the red semi-circle.  Mwah!’s of thunderous amplitude boomed from every direction, Dolly indulging the request many times over, giving Beau the space necessary to conjure something other than fabric around her person.  Same basic principles as all other forms of play, of course, just a matter of picuting what you want to see and feel…

With some effort, the rags morphed.  Warmth crept into their fibers, their flat surface splitting and expanding into new volume, a texture like the finest gloss spread over naturally smooth flesh.  Beau imagined the twitch of tiny facial muscles pursing and puckering, stretching across micrometers that may so well be miles at her scale, to catch her in the cleft and pull her vacuum tight with the slightest suction.  A pop louder than any sound in history as she’s released, only for the phantom process to repeat again, and again, and again. 

She leaned into it, thrilling at the tangible contrast between present and imaginary, the hints of plain stitching on those lips and the taste of proper breath intermingling with cotton.  Some small (VERY small, all told) part of her wondered again how far she could push this, whether imagining Dolly sucking an infinitesimal bit harder to trap the shepherdess in her mouth would actually transport Beau inside the doll’s head, to mingle with nonexistent teeth and tongue and saliva, the threat of swallowing looming ever closer.  And then to properly go through with it - impossible when this wasn’t her real body, but if it WERE, lost in Dolly’s stuffing, forgotten and insignificant as any other piece of debris.

Eaten by a ragdoll.  Wouldn’t that plain beat all?

Fortunately, Dolly had her fill of mock-smooching a practically empty palm before Beau could make serious headway on imagining an unaware vore scenario.  Or seemingly unaware, as it were.  With their minds modestly intermingled for the game’s sake, Dolly sensed Beau’s intentions, and figured it best they move on before she took any rash actions requiring surgical intervention.

“While you recover down there,” she said, voice returning to mere deafening rumbles as she imagined herself back to a sensible size, “we can do something a little like me being big big big BIG girl!  Only gotta go the other way round!”

For her part, Beau was less recovering than indulging a passing sulk.  Can’t watch Dolly wreck the town, can’t feed herself to Dolly, and now the colossal palm upon which she laid shrank back to mere enormity.  S’not fair, this was supposed to be the part where she got to do whatever she liked.  If they had to obey rationality and precaution, where was the f- f- ffffffff-

Beau’s mind once again stumbled on drawn-out consonants as she noticed the spatial distortion of her immediate environment reversing polarity.  Dolly resumed her usual size, yet her hand, which had seemingly collapsed in on itself, now stretched away from Beau’s central location, at rapid speed and seemingly more gigantic than before.  She was shrinking again, in moments as tall to her first shrunken height as it stood against Dolly, and then the same for her second tier, down down down…

“WE CAN GO A LOT MORE EXTREME LIKE THIS, I THINK!”

Porcelain chipped from Beau’s face, the statement slammed her so hard.  Yeah.  Yeah, that’d do as compensation.

To her mind, she lost days wandering the now-continent of Dolly.  Because none of this was strictly happening, her waves and foot-taps for attention were always met with an obliging pinch ride, her requests for another location heard and fulfilled without trouble; but even so, on deposit at her new destination, Beau let time slough clean away.  Those candycane stripes represented plains a dozen miles wide and countless miles along, ideal for thoughtless wandering as Dolly lay upon her back.  The simple curve of black leather on her shoes became ascent up a slope worthy any seasoned mountaineer, magnificently challenging for a size-obsessive like Beau.  She walked the shadow of a single stitch, her hand run along its rim to enjoy the microscopic imperfections bumping through her fingers; she had Dolly bend the flowery ruff round her neck to transform it into the ultimate downhill zip-ride a few too many times over; she closed her eyes, let Dolly select a random patch of rags within the dress, challenged herself to figure where she stood, and blushed quite ferociously when the answer coalesced.

(She figured it only proper to not ask after the meaning behind the massive “S” on a field of red.  Breast tats are a private matter, after all.)

The head alone offered endless possibilities.  Eyes like a frozen sea on a moonless night, so dark they swallowed all ambient light, so slick Beau practically glid over their surface, the thread holes chasms into an underworld.  The forest of yarn-hair at her old size now an endless Amazonian expanse, the weave’s logic lost to miniscule chaos of discarded fuzz and imperceptible shifts, like the environment malforming itself into a maze just to challenge Beau.  Bows of a silky softness approaching angelic, tempting sleep everlasting in their flamingo tuck and fold.  Cheek patches, radiating mid-summer desert heat, near-intolerable at this size past a single minute, yet how delightful and special a thing to roast in the glow of another’s affection.  As to the mouth… well, Dolly wouldn’t let Beau near the mouth again.

A thousand locales upon a doll scarcely over a foot high, so many seemingly identical, yet all stirring in their own unique ways.  Between major hot spots, Beau simply stood, immersed, let herself be.  By the loose reckoning of time in her head, she must have spent so long upon Dolly that her host got up to attend other matters, looked after her own feeding, sleep, other clients, whole daily cycles interrupted every so often by her adorable germ asking for a new location.  Sense dictated Beau should detect Dolly moving about while curled in the crook of her knee, feel gravity shift as the doll changed positions.  To think elsewise would render Dolly more than a mere continent - an entire world unto herself, population Beau and no other.  Clung to a thin cloth skin, needing and knowing nothing save her new home.  Such thoughts flitted through her hollow head, then vanished into wordless euphoria.

As with all things, it soon came to an end.  Happily, this ending announced itself via a pleasing rumble.

“HEY, CUTIE!  HATE TO SAY WHEN YOU’RE SO COZY, BUT WE ARE ALMOST AT YOUR THREE HOUR LIMIT.  YOUR NOTE SAID YOU NEED TO CHECK ON YOUR SHEEP AFTER THAT, SO WE’VE GOTTA GROW YOU BACK.  SORRY!”

Though too at peace for the words to seriously disturb her, Beau felt minor confusion at the reminder.  “Drat, you’re right, I did set a limit.  Except, wow, has it really only been three hours?”

“CLOCK SAYS TEN MINUTES TO GO.  I JUST THOUGHT YOU’D NEED SOME TIME TO ADJUST BACK INTO BIG BEAU.”

“Feels as though I spent a lifetime down here…”

“Aw, that’s just how playing pretend gets!”  Already Dolly’s voice softened to near-intolerable levels, in tandem with Beau regaining her starting shrunken size.  “So, if you close your eyes and picture it real hard, we’ll bring you back up to full size, and then-”

“W-wait!”  Beau cried, flailing her arms in a desperate bid for reprieve.  “Ten minutes can be practically forever in playtime, right?  We have enough left for one last thing!”

Dolly tapped her chin in consideration.  “Oh yeah!  When you thought we were playing Dommy Mommy, you asked me to step on you!  I can do that, hang on!”

“ACTUALLY!”  She coughed, shuffling on the spot, eyes cast downward, goading herself into asking plain ‘n’ direct.  “It is… it’s a little more than that.  Would you mind… if it’s not too much… I mean…”  Beau gestured uselessly towards the couch, then groaned.  “Dolly, can you sit on me?”

The smile that followed could turn deepest midnight to a midday blaze.  “I thought you’d never ask~!”

Imagination served Beau’s reactions well.  Breath caught in her chest as Dolly carried her to the couch.  Skin ran with prickling goosebumps as Dolly set her down perfect center.  Nerves screamed in anticipation as Dolly turned about.  Sweat pricked her forehead at the sight of Dolly gathering her dress to draw it tight about her backside.  An entire nonexistent system of biological impulses and reactions took in the sight of a perfectly flat, rectangular spread of cotton-stuffed fabric leaning back over her position, compared it against the expected list of sexually exciting imagery, ruminated for the briefest of instants, and ran back a report: “Yeah, no, this is still stupid fucking hot to us too.”

Beau squeaked.

WUMPH.

All shape and sense fell away.  No chance she’d ever think Dolly slight after this.  The only sensation Beau processed was unrelenting weight - Dolly’s complete nothing of a frame crushing her into a flat surface whose wool texture vanished beneath the fact of a single pound turned poundage uncountable by a simple difference in scale.  Some part of her wanted to believe Dolly shifted herself back and forth some, rubbing in her position of dominance, but in the moment, the difference between supposition and reality was practically nil.  Dolly might do anything up there, and all Beau would know is compression, and paralysis, and weight.

A particularly eager voice in the back of her head had demanded she repeat something like her trick during the earlier kiss, summon up the sensation of a proper person’s rear to enhance the sensation.  Run it through a dozen dozen body types to smother herself beneath every manner of human Dolly she could imagine.  Completely impossible, now, stupid to have assumed any choice.  She was undoubtedly underneath a doll, at the mercy of as sexless a humanoid thing as you please, impressions of curved flesh totally denied by hand-sewn, unendowed textiles.  And God help her if the alienation from anything like the human form didn’t make this ten times better, just by mere association with Dolly.

She tried to squirm.  She tried to struggle.  No use.  If Dolly fell inanimate right now, they’d blow clean past her stopping time, perhaps leave her trapped by this wonderfully unbearable pressure all day, all night, however long until someone thought to check on the ragdoll.  And if they did check, rouse her or pull her from the couch, would they care to notice the speck she ground into its seating?  Could they notice?  Beau wanted to shudder at the thought, but could not.  She did not kick, nor flail, nor much of anything else.  She took the weight, for there was nothing else to do.

(Except, briefly, ponder whether that Barbie doll and her bendy girlfriend might like to try this.  Hard plastic held an appeal all its own…)

And then it was over.  Light and sound flooded from above as Dolly hoped from her spot, leaving Beau to reel back into normal consciousness.  “Alright, we’re inching pretty close here, so we really gotta finish off!  Your sheepies are gonna get lonely if you don’t head out soon!”

Denied the ability so thoroughly for so long, Beau fidgeted on the spot.  “I mean… you did say I work myself and them alike too hard.  Who’s to say staying longer won’t help?”

“Naaaaaah.  Besides, I got me-things to do still! Can’t give Little Beau my attention all day!”

“Little Beau can just sit in your collar while you work!  Or get put on your shelf and abandoned until…”

“Hey.”  Dolly knelt down by the couch, positioning her face on even level with the shrunken shepherdess.  “I get it.  You wanna play all the time, never stop being Little Beau.  And I do too!  It’s lots and lots and lots of fun being the first and best professional playmate in Toyland!  But you gotta stop sometime, right?  Do what you gotta do outside playtime.”

Beau stood, turned her back, crossed her arms, huffed.  “But we agreed being Big Beau is bad for me.  I haven’t felt this happy and relaxed since I came to Toyland!  Why should I go back to acting stuck-up and high-strung all the time?”  To her surprise, the last part came out with a slight whine round the edge.

Her ears heard the rough scrape of fabric on fabric as Dolly rubbed her chin in contemplation.  “Maybe you’re only like that as Big Beau because you never take the time to be Little Beau.  Maybe you spent so much time doing what you think you need to do, you don’t turn off and be what you want.  So Big Beau is bossy and stiff, and Little Beau overdoes it and doesn’t wanna stop.  Maybe you just gotta find the right balance!”

Beau sniffled, reluctant to turn about.

Arms scooped around her, both miniaturized self and true self, the latter invisible to her eye yet right next to her on the couch.  The vertigo of existing across two perspectives clouded her head again as Dolly hefted her high for one last hug.  “You can always come by again whenever you got time in your schedule, yeah?”  She gave a gentle squeeze, warming Beau to her core.  “Little Beau ain’t going away; she’s sleeping so Big Beau can have her turn.  They’re not different people!  Just, y’know… sides!”

Beau did her best to hug back, simultaneously too small and too big to do so properly.  Although she suspected Dolly did not quite take her own advice… “You are right, Dolly.  I will keep an eye open for when I have time.  And cherish what we have done already.  Thank you, so very, very much.”

“No problem!”

The spell broke.

Dolly’s legs wobbled.  Without the power of play rendering Beau’s body lighter than a feather, her cotton-stuffed limbs were not equipped to hold a doll half her height over and thrice her weight so high aloft.  The pair teetered for a moment, then went crashing to the floor.

“...is there any chance you are into being sat on yourself?” Beau joked.

“Not really!  Can you pretty please get up?”

“Fair.”  Uncrumpling her dress and unsnagging strands of hair from the floor, she rose back up, steadying against the suddenly unfamiliar yet already normalizing vantage point of her normal toy self.  “Do I owe you anything for the service?  I know most toyfolk avoid financial exchange unless they have a fondness for Monopoly money, but I figure it best to ask in case…”

“Lemme hang out with your flock sometime and we’re evens Stevens!”

***

Later in the evening, Beau lay awake in bed, echoes of the day’s experiences ringing in her head.

For the remainder of the afternoon, she'd done as she’d planned: stand over her flock, moving them from one end of the pasture to another and back again.  Absent the ordinary pressures and obligations of tending livestock, she spent years engaged in this on the daily out of obligation, obligation and belief fastidious attendance might purify her wrongdoings.  With Dolly’s session at her back, however, today she took a different set of words to heart and tried to have fun with the job.  It was not easy, divorced from such immense gratification (and immense presence…), and she was not sure she did it right, but her sheep seemed appreciative when she let them run free from her command for a time.  Bleated approval and followed when she broke into a spontaneous run.  Stood willingly as she hugged them at day’s end, imagining each a cotton ball.

Her friends took immediate notice at dinner.  Genuine notice, no snark or innuendo, which characterized their original suggestions.  “Good one, Beau!”  “Can’t believe what a difference I’m seeing, you MUST tell me what she did in there.”  “I have never seen you this laid back, it’s a miracle.”  When they partook in a night-closing chaser, Beau actually deigned to stay and take a drink herself - for the first time, she felt the slightest buzz from sipping the empty cup, prompting cheers and claps on the back.

Tipsiness wasn’t the only novel sensation in the hours since.  Her own home seemed friendlier.  The lights provided proper illumination where once they offered dim, faltering glow; the personal effects on her dresser seemed almost serviceable makeup options rather than cheap plastic imitations; the floor no longer groaned under her step, the doorframes accommodated her figure a little more willingly.

Her pillow felt of soft down, her blankets a comfortable fleece.  The rickety, long-hated foam strip masquerading as a mattress: just like the one she remembered back home.

How had she gone this long without a spark of vibrancy in her life?  Convinced Toyland was this dead, unchanging place, cut off from the joys small and large which made a life worth living?  In honesty, likely the same way she went her human life convinced of the same.  Self-isolation, presumption of living as an inherent misery, refusal to look up and see what’s actually there without turning about and running.  She wanted to feel shame at the thought it took effectively a private kink roleplay session to realize one only need want the full scope of offerings to find them all around… but in the name of balance, swatted the thought aside.  Take the good where you can, she thought, that is the real important thing.

And besides.  If she learnt of this aspect to the rule of play any other way, she’d never think to do this.

Eyes laid gently closed, Beau rearranged her perspective.  While the sensation could not match the strength possible with Dolly’s cooperation, she did not need full intensity in her sleep.  Even the faintest impression of her body dwindling until the bed felt sensibly proportioned would help.  Somewhere between the extremes, just enough to fit, and settle in, and snooze.  If Big Beau and Little Beau needs must cooperate to improve both their lots, they can start by making sure Beau Beau gets some good rest.

Beau rolled on her side, and, for the first time since her arrival, felt at peace in Toyland.

[deepdreamnights]

More video tinkering with Vidu 1.5

Vidu hit 1.5 this morning for testing, which I get access to as part of the artist's program. While making raw material for a "Big Professor" project-

(Shown here to establish a 1.0 baseline)

-I nuked most of my credits, I've still got enough to try out the new features and give you all a rundown of them.

First major change is resolution options. Fast, 720, or 1080. Shown here is my first attempt at a 1080 gen, using the same prompt as above. While most vids in this post will be gifs for ease of use, this one is an MP4 to provide full evaluation.

Ignore the odd playback speed, since that's something you'd fix in post. The gif at the start was one of my most stable renderings of Big Professor under v1. Got some minor wonk in the details, little distortion around the prof's claw and the kid in the first half second, but otherwise well above the average of the 1.0 versions I've been working with, especially the clarity on the button text.

The second one is a re-run of the same prompt, minus some detail issues with one shin, the level of consistency is promising.

720 can go up to 8 seconds, 1080 tops off at 4. At present, 1.5 does not have an upscale function. If you're not tinkering to test out prompts I'd generally recommend 1080, even for lower-res projects, for the purposes of being able to crop and/pan.

For most of these, assume I'm using either 720 or 1080 gens.

Multi-Subject Reference-to-Video

THIS is the big winner of the setup. Previously, ref-to-video only could handle a single referenced subject image. The current setup now allows you to reference up to three per generation.

Those can be characters, props, or settings, and it can be used for morphing effects. This is good, because first-frame-last-frame is more finnicky than reference-to-video. The obvious use is to create multi-character scenes, and it works well for that:

But it has other uses. For example, here I used:

And while this one was reversed and trimmed, it displays the potential for using the feature for transformation sequences. The backgrounds are especially helpful, since Vidu's internally-generated toon backgrounds are very modern and digital-painting-looking (the gif of Mrs. Nice turning back and forth into Mrs. Nautilus at the top of the section didn't use a background image reference) and as always, I like it retro.

To that point, using the more comic-booky Mrs. Nice control drawing didn't work near as well as the more period-accurate one:

And while I'll personally be cutting out frames to produce a more accurate 1980s TV animation look, the raw fluidity is bound to appeal to the majority of users, and minor issues like the color of Mrs. Nice's blouse changing mid-transformation are easy enough to fix manually (though if a flaw looks enough like a traditional animation screwup, I might just leave it in)

And another fun feature? Movement amplitude control.

In my last post about it, I said Vidu likes to move, and if you need a more subtle shot, like this one, setting the movement amplitude control to small is your move. (Funny how the robot interpreted the book binding as a mouth.) If something's too static you can up the movement as well, but I haven't had that problem much.

In terms of generation quality, 1.5 is a good but not huge leap up from 1.0. at least in terms of what I've made so far. Aesthetics are very similar, but issues of tearing, distortion, and wonky action are lessened.

And it's way better at understanding triceratops, so thumbs up there.

This is one of my wonk-tests, but man, check that walk cycle. This is why the movement controls are important, sometimes when set to auto a dialog scene becomes a weird chase.

Now, in terms of generation costs (and this can always change), 1.5 seems more expensive but in the end it works out more or less the same.

A 1.0 quality 8-second gen upscaled to max res would be 24 points (16 for the quality 8-seconds, 8 for the upscale), and an 8-second 720 render is also 24 points (as is a 4-second 1080).

Yeah, you don't want to use "Fast" in most cases. While both the 720 and fast versions here both have flaws (Bruce's disappearing popcorn bucket, etc), the 720 res version is substantially more on-model for both characters.

To close out, a bit of fun wonk. To try out the effect, I prompted using a "Specialist Matt Trakker" G.I.Joe/M.A.S.K. crossover figure as a character reference, to see if it could translate a character from toy to live action. And it can-

Though it is very, very literal.

The combination of live action-esq person and accurate G.I.Joe joints is harrowing, but there's potential there for some wild variants on the Toy Story/A Christmas Toy/'Wynona's Big Brown Beaver'-Music-Video-by-Primus concept.

[symbio-ratio-art]

(Frightbite is posed so he's a lot shorter in the drawing than he actually is!)

I finally got back around to fixing that Fredbear line to go with my Springbonnie line from before. These two are called Timiteddy and Frightbite!

Below I added more talk about my mindset when making these guys, some inspiration behind their designs, and some more lore that was too much for their dex entries. These two lines have a "friend to enemies" dynamic going for them and it's impossible to write it all in two Pokedex entries 💀

I chose Fairy-Psychic for Timiteddy because I wanted him to be based around the Fredbear plush from FNaF 4. To this day, people debate if Fredbear plush is possessed or imaginary or just Afton messing with BV. For this I decided on the imaginary friend theory hence Fairy. The Psychic type comes from "Psychic Friend Fredbear" because it was right there. I had to 😂 His design is entirely based off the Hex Fredbear plushie design with a touch of Bite Victim's constant tears. His shiny is a mix of Nightmare and Lefty with grey tears from the dead kids.

Timiteddy's whole quirk is that his entire appearance is deceptive. He gives off the vibe of a weak Pokemon due to his plush appearance, constant tears, and aversion to fighting, but Timiteddy is actually strong by default and a force to be reckoned with. Those tears are the result of an overflow of psychic energy caused by his lack of fighting. They are used for both attacking and defense, and his claws pack quite the punch as well. Timiteddy stays on the defense for than anything however, for the reasons stated above. Lots of Timiteddy can be found around younger children or the Pokemon Hareo. Despite their differences, Hareo and Timiteddy stick together. They're two halves of a duo.

Frightbite is a based off Nightmare Fredbear and the Hex Fredbear plush. He keeps the Fairy typing for the imaginary/nightmare/dream element Nightmare Fredbear is associated with, and the steel typing also comes from Nightmare Fredbear's sharp metal claws and teeth. His shiny is a mix of Nightmare, Shadow Freddy, and a touch of Puppet with the purple tears. His back is ripped open due to his evolution requirement: being defeated in battle by a Bonslaught.

Frightbite's whole theme is betrayal. The evolution is the result of a Timiteddy being destroyed by a Bonslaught, the one Pokemon line they keep their guard down around. Timiteddy are one of Bonslaught's favorite victims due to the manipulation element and the violent battle that comes after the betrayal. The negative emotions from that come from the encounter cause the Timiteddy to lose any inhibitions they had with harming others, leading to the Pokemon evolving into something much bigger and much more visually intimidating. The last remnants of its psychic tears harden into claws and the rest is permanently lost due to his ripped open back.

Some of Frightbite's ripped seams been weaponized by its evolution. The most obvious one its its stomach. While still partially sealed with a button, its chest has become a second functional mouth capable of biting anything Frightbite is able to hold into place. The second is the seams going down his neck. While the first four stitches are able to stretch with ease, the rest can be stretched temporarily to cause a devastating bite for anything it gets a hold of. A Frightbite rarely has to use this heavy of a bite however. His bottom jaw with always curve down when opened due to the lack of structure.

Despite their nightmarish appearance, Frightbite are actually great to keep around kids. They are very careful with their claws and teeth because they know what its like to be on the other side of them. Towns dealing with dangerous Bonslaught often borrow or adopt Frightbites from other nearby areas to help protect any children they have. Frightbites are one of the only Pokemon a Bonslaught will avoid out of fear.

Frightbites and Bonslaught who are raised together still have this instinctive fear and instinctive hatred for one another albeit a lot tamer than in the wild. It is important to always keep an eye on these two if you keep them together, even if they were thick as thieves when they were children. A Frightbite is only caused by a violent attack from a Bonslaught after all, and Frightbites have never been ones to easily forgive and forget...

[shirohige-pirates]

Solicitude

Victorian AU - inspired heavily by @/hannahbarberra162's Hysteria series.

Marco/Reader

Summary: You meet Marco Edward during your debutante ball when you're 17, and marry him shortly after your 18th birthday. Agreements are reached in writing, but you realize quickly how much space exists within the lines. Will you be able to bend within the lines you drew yourself? Or will you break against edges you never imagined?

CW: Dark dark content. Misogyny, age gap, power struggle, dub con, non con, coercion, yandere, kidnapping, abuse, group sex, abuse of power, bondage, rough sex, oral, kink, bdsm dungeon, impact play, degradation, praise, gags, humiliation, you kind of unknowingly sign yourself over for free use and don't realize it until it's too late, mdni, DEAD DOVE YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Chapter 11: Confession

Marco did not bring up anything on the way home from the sanatorium. He wasn’t completely silent, the two of you ended up talking about work, and how much nicer the room you were in after lunch was. You went over a few finer points of the ways your organization was coming along, and how you expected that soon you would have a full plan to provide them.

Dinner was a lighter conversation, as neither you nor Marco were interested in talking about work the entire evening. After dinner he relaxed in the den, and you stepped out into the gardens. Normally, you’d spend time in the library, but since you were spending all day reading records and doing research, you had begun to spend a good bit of your free time enjoying the open air after work.

The gardens of the estate were beautiful. Functional as well, with fruit trees and berry bushes woven amidst the flowers and hedges. You’d been married a season at this point, but you were sure that, aside from winter, the gardens would always have some manner of food on display.

Several stone tables and benches were set through the landscaping, in strategic places to make use of either the fruitful bounty, sweet-scented shade, or overall view. Such functionality wasn’t unheard of, but it was certainly a theme throughout Marco’s home. There was hardly anything that lacked function. Purely decorative items were rare.

You wondered if it was because neither Marco, nor his family, were used to having money. Sure, they’d been flush with funds for some decades at this point, but they weren’t born into it. There wasn’t generations of baubles and antiques and frills integrated into their histories and branches. It wasn’t that they didn’t indulge in the finer things in life; the tea, cigars, food, bedding, furniture and clothes were the highest quality that even an old family like yours could truly appreciate.

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter, but it did make you wonder how much wealth was lost to frivolous things over the generations. If it would have made a difference or not, or if those things had a value that simply wasn’t as obvious. Being able to quantify a family’s worth could often make or break business and political ideals surrounding them.

As the sun began to set you went back inside, meeting up with Marco and beginning what had become your nightly ritual.

Only tonight, the ritual was different.

Marco stands by the bed and begins undoing his cuffs. “Undress yourself, dove.” His tone is easy and relaxed, but the change in the usual process was unsettling.

You don’t question it, however. You were going to end up nude whether by his hand or yours, so there was no sense in voicing your confusion. Marco gets his jacket and vest off, pulling his tie aside before he comes over and helps you with a few buttons that aren’t easy for you to reach. Once you’re able to reach on your own again he takes his shirt off, tossing it aside before he sits down on the edge of the bed.

The blood rushes through you at the realization, but you continue to disrobe as instructed. You barely even hesitate when you get to your underclothes, and the small appreciative hum from Marco has your heart racing.

Once you’re done you turn toward him, eyes averted despite your efforts, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Your hands are crossed in front of you, just below your navel, like how you would set them if you were simply standing around in your dress.

He points to the floor. “Sit on your knees. Feet tucked under your rear.” He instructs. “Back straight, hands in your lap, properly.”

It was a style of sitting that was done on other islands. You didn’t know if it was the island Marco was from, or if someone else in his family was from there, but it was a little uncomfortable at first. The more you sat like this, however, the easier it was.

The first time he had to show you what he meant, and you’d barely been able to keep the position for half a minute before it was very uncomfortable. Your feet and ankles just weren’t used to it.

Getting up, he comes over and walks around you once. The scrutiny was always embarrassing, but when he was satisfied you felt an odd sense of pride. The only thing he seemed to enjoy more than putting you in strange positions, was when you adapted to those positions.

He crouches down behind you, putting his hands on your upper arms, and pulling them back. You let him move you, after three months you knew he would keep your balance for you if needed, and it was easier on both of you if you just let him move you.

Setting your hands flat on the floor behind you, tilting you back so you reach, he moves to your front and pulls your knees open. You can’t help the surprised gasp at the sudden exposure, your body squirming before you settle into the intended position.

You might only be on display for him, but you were certainly on display.

“Stay like this.” He instructs, rubbing his hands against your thighs. “Only move if something cramps, I’m going to draw a bath.”

Eyes shut tight, you nod. Blood is rushing through you, heating up your body, and his fingers dance over your skin, caressing your face before he steps out of the room. Sometimes he would tell you to look at him, or have you say something when he was doing things like this, but he left you to it, and you could hear him begin to draw the bath.

You didn’t cramp, and it wasn’t terribly uncomfortable overall, but Marco did have to help you to your feet when he came back to fetch you. He was as nude as you were when he helped you to your feet, and you expected he would claim his due before anything else.

Instead, he took you into the shower, taking care of, and washing both you and his self. The only words spoken were instructions on where to go and how to move, so he could clean you easier. Between the earlier position and this you could feel the heat between your thighs. A steady need gnawing at you, one you expected to be addressed, since he certainly noticed it.

While his hands idled over your body as you sat and soaked in the bath with him, he never claimed you. Though warm lips left hungry kisses against your skin, he did nothing but press them carefully against your sensitive places. His hands moved over you when he tucked you against his chest in bed, and for a few moments you thought he would finger you and fill you up.

He did finger you, teasing your clit almost automatically, but-

-he fell asleep.

The absurdity of it shatters your thoughts and stutters you for a solid minute. By then the driving need between your thighs has begun to cool, and it would take too long to deal with, so you did your best and after a few long, frustrating minutes, you fell asleep.

When you wake the next morning Marco is already gone. You didn’t know how long he ever actually slept, because he was never in bed with you when you woke the next day. This morning, Tate was already in your room, sitting at your vanity. She has an easy smile on her face when you regard her a little blearily.

“I was told to leave you to sleep, but I wasn’t going to let you go much longer,” she states reassuringly. “Marco says you’re both taking off from the sanatorium today, and I’m to help you dress appropriately for the day.”

You almost groan, but manage to turn the sound into a grunt of exertion as you pull yourself out of the bed. If Tate was helping you “dress appropriately” then that meant you were going to go through the entire prep process. At this point you were sure Tate had seen more of you than you had seen of yourself, which made it easier to accept. She was, also, a nurse by trade, and that had certainly made it easier in the beginning.

Tate makes sure you’re cleaned out, and then uses a lot of lube and puts a small plug in your ass, and a small dildo in your vagina. You don’t question her on the sizes, because it always comes back to the fact that Marco decided it. Except when she was first helping you adjust to the larger and larger toys, since that process had been her discretion.

“What’s that?” You question even as Tate moves you and begins to put it on.

“A chastity belt, technically.” She explains, buckling it into place and taking time to make sure it’s set in a way that won’t cause issue. “But it’s functionally just to keep the toys in.”

Tate gets most of your clothes on after that. Before she helps you into the sleeves of the dress she pulls your arms behind your back, folding one over the other, and begins to tie them up.

“I’m going to stuff your sleeves, and use the bow on the back of this dress to obscure the fact that you’re tied up underneath.” She explains evenly. You’re shaking your head, but she just pats your shoulder. “Relax, Lady Edward, it’ll be okay.”

“Marco will be with you, and he’ll attend you.” She continues to explain, using the rope to complete an upper-body harness, weaving it beneath your breasts and creating some support.

Once Tate was done it did look like all you were doing was holding your skirts up a little, your “hands” lost in the skirt itself. The last thing she put on was a stiff, high-set collar, that forced you to look straight ahead. The posture collar wasn’t uncommon, though most young ladies stopped wearing it before they would have a débutante ball.

You would be at Marco’s mercy the entire day. With your arms bound, and your range of motion limited, there wasn’t going to be much you could do for yourself. Fortunately, Tate helped you eat a small breakfast before she escorted you to the drawing room. Marco was already there, waiting for you both, and the short walk from your room to the drawing room had left you with a terrible realization.

The small toys inside you were big enough you could feel them, and small enough that they wriggled with every step. There was no adjustment you could make to your stride, limited by the chastity belt, that would keep them from shifting. The sensation wasn’t strong, but it was constant.

You could feel them shift, and settle, when you sat down. Not that you expected Marco would purposefully make you uncomfortable, but it was always a relief when sitting down with toys inside you wasn’t awkward.

“Good morning, sweet dove.” Marco says in greeting, giving you a warm, knowing smile before he turns to Tate. “And to you. Thank you, Tate, you can take the rest of the day off. I will tend to my wife directly.”

“Certainly, sir.” She replies with a small bow, giving you a smile before excusing herself.

Marco’s eyes shift from the door as it clicks shut, to you. “Comfortable?”

Squirming a little, you nod as much as you can in your current situation. “I am not uncomfortable.”

“Tate is quite skilled, so that’s a relief to hear.” He says the words easily, emptying a pipe he’d been ignoring since you entered and standing up. “We’ve both spent the last few weeks holed up in the sanatorium, you especially. Hunched over all those records, in dimly lit rooms.”

Marco steps over to where you are, straightening up his suit before holding out a hand. “A stroll through the gardens, and perhaps a spot of tea while we’re outside, should be just what we both need.”

You look at his offered hand and he shifts to help you stand up. “Y-yes, of course.”

“Worry not, sweet dove, Tate will have excused most of the rest of the staff when she left. Aside from a couple maids to assist Colscon, no one else is at the manor today.” He assures you. “Relax. Let me help you through the day, and just enjoy it.”

You tried, you really did. Neither Colscon, nor the two maids, seemed to take any note of your predicament, and the weather outside was immaculate. Enough sun to be warm, enough of a small breeze to stay pleasant. The garden scents were relaxing, and so was the pace.

You and Marco strolled quite leisurely through the garden, and he took the time to speak of the landscaping in detail. Where certain fruit trees and bushes were from, which ones he enjoyed, those his brothers often enjoyed. He spoke about how you would be meeting his family more directly over the next few months. He’d specifically requested that you both have time to yourselves, giving you ample time to adjust to life away from your family, and for the two of you to bond, since you hadn’t had much time prior to the wedding to do so.

He checked on your comfort several times, and carefully helped you sip some tea once you both sat and enjoyed a cup.

The entire time you were slightly distracted, no matter how you tried to focus. Every step would shift the items inside you. Because of the ropes and chastity belt you had almost no actual underclothing on, and the rougher material of your dress was prickling at your nipples, and nipping at your legs. The sensations by themselves wouldn’t have been all that bad, but combined it was difficult to ignore.

Sitting for tea had been a relief, but your body barely had time to settle before you were strolling through the garden paths again with Marco.

There was no way he didn’t know the effect things were having on you. The occasional glance from him was enough to assure you that he knew exactly what was going on. The weather was nice, and the posture collar was actually a relief, because you had been haunched over the files, but the relief wasn’t much compared to the subtle, endless, horribly effective teasing.

Marco assisted you in eating an easy lunch, finger sandwiches and a few petite cakes, and more tea. Proximity prompted Marco to steal a soft kiss, but the contact went straight to your thighs and you couldn’t complain. You wanted more, you wanted relief.

But you weren’t in the bedroom, and you weren’t in his office, and there might only be three other people in the entire manor, but you couldn’t form the words. Beyond small talk and polite offerings of thanks when he helped you eat and drink, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask for relief.

When he suggested one more walk through the gardens you finally cracked.

“I… I would r-rather sit.” You admit, eyes downcast. A finger under your chin brings your gaze up to his on command, and you feel heat rush into your face.

“Have I meandered you around the gardens too much for one day?” He prompts and you shake your head softly.

“N-no, I just… can feel them, when I walk and it’s dis-distracting.” You scramble a bit for a good reason, but you can feel the heat burning against your ears. “Please I…”

“Are you aroused, sweet dove?” He questions pointedly, and when you look away he tugs you back to his piercing gaze. “Answer me clearly.”

You press your lips together for a second and then nod softly. “Yes.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, but after a moment he steps beside you and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Very well. The study gets good light this time of day, so we can sit there and still enjoy the day.”

Marco escorts you to the study, letting you set the pace. Admitting your situation to him seems to have made it worse, and each step sends a sweet shiver through you as things shift. When you arrive, he pulls the curtains aside and throws one of the windows open completely. Setting one of the chairs by the window, he sits down and pats his lap.

“Come here, sit and enjoy the view with me.” He says it like an offer, but you know the command for what it is. You’re on the top floor of the estate, and the study faces the backside of the property, so it’s not like anyone would be able to see you.

You seat yourself as well as you can on his lap, and once you do he easily moves you, adjusting you into a position more comfortable for both of you. Comfort, however, meant that you were leaning against Marco’s chest, your legs on either side of his. He was keeping his legs together, and his hands on your hips for the moment.

“Since yesterday,” he says, his voice calm and steady. “You’ve seemed rather tense.” His hands move as he speaks, and he rubs your shoulders.

“I’m not sure what the cause is,” he admits, squeezing your arms as he kisses the side of your face. “But you seem reluctant to bring it up.”

He begins to unbutton your dress, and you shift against him. “What-what are you-.”

“Hush now, I’m just going to help you relax.” His voice drops, more command than reassurance. Something in his tone licks cold against your skin as your breasts are exposed to the open window. He pulls the material down just enough that it covers nothing you want it to.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” you whimper as his hands cup your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples. The sensation makes you moan, you’re so sensitive from all the earlier teasing that you can’t stop the sudden sweet shudder from escaping.

“Sorry? You’re not being punished, sweet dove.” He hums, applying a little more pressure to your stiffening nipples, and opening his legs, parting yours more. Your skirts have your lower half covered, but the motion is still enough to make you mewl and squirm in embarrassment.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” He prompts and you nod reluctantly before crying out in pleasure when his fingers flick the pert, sensitive nubs of flesh.

“If you tell me what was bothering you yesterday, you’ll feel even better.” He promises, lips and teeth teasing your ear and neck as he continues to fondle your breasts. “There’s hardly anyone here, but who knows when Colscon will come in to check on us?”

Whining, you squirm, and try to wriggle away from the pleasure, but Marco just spreads his legs wider, locking you between him and the chair, holding onto your breasts with his large hands and twisting your tender nipples just to the barest edge of pain, giving the sweet pleasure a sharp edge.

“I won’t force you,” he says, and there’s truth in his words. You aren’t sure how you can be so sure. Maybe because you know he expects, demands, truth from you, and he’s not one to hold double standards in any facet of his life.

Or maybe you just want to believe him.

“But I will edge you for the rest of the day.” His words sink into your skin as his lips press against your neck. “I will bring you to the brink of pleasure and stop.” He punctuates the threat by doing just that.

You weren’t close to orgasm in the first place, but the sudden end to the building pleasure still makes your body curl, and you whimper. He resumes, fondling your chest and shifting his legs, pushing one up, and then the other. It’s a subtle movement, but it makes your hips shift and moves the items inside you.

You’ve been aware of the wet slick between your thighs since you had tea in the garden, and with your legs parted its even harder to ignore now.

“Mmm…” He kneads your breasts, before teasing the tips of your nipples with gentle circles using the tips of his fingers. “Maybe you’re worried about getting someone else in trouble.”

Marco pulls you into his chest firmly, twisting your nipples until you cry out. As soon as the pain jolts into your chest he lets go, continuing his gentle touches again, kissing your shoulders. He hasn’t given you a chance to really try and answer yet, his words woven in between actions that keep addling your thoughts.

“I… I didn’t know how to,” You stammer, unsure of what to say. You don’t want to bring up Tate, but it’ll be obvious if you tell him that she knew as well. Marco promised not to punish you too severely, as per your agreement, but he made no such promises about anyone else. “How to,” your body curls, the attention to your chest muddling your thoughts. “Start, how to start, I don’t-hnngh!”

Marco flicks your nipples, the sensation is sharp, but not painful. It’s still jarring enough to shatter your thoughts, and break you from the building pleasure between your thighs.

“Tell me truthfully and I’ll cover you back up, and take you in the bedroom, as you prefer, granting you sweet relief from this torment.” He nips at your shoulders with his teeth. “Lie to me, I’ll strip you naked and leave you out in the hall, at the mercy of Colscon or one of the maids to let you into our room.

“Or.

“If I find you still in the hall, perhaps I’ll take you to the gardens,” his tone is low, seductive, and dangerous. He wants you to take this option, you can feel it. Eventually, he’s not going to need an excuse to claim you outdoors, but you don’t want it to happen until it’s unavoidable.

“I- I accidentally s-saw you treat-treating a patient.” You manage to admit, shivering against him. He stops teasing you, covering your breasts with his hands and leaving you to continue. “She - I mean - you said that treatment could be distressing, and that-that some patients will reject it.”

“Ah,” he sighs. “That certainly explains the look on your face when I came to fetch you.” He hums, returning to teasing your breasts. “Treatment can be quite intense, what did it make you feel?”

“I was, ah-mm, wuh-worried you were going to ha-hurt her,” you stammer. It was easier to answer him now that you had started, but his attention to your chest is distracting. “When she insulted muh-me.”

“Oh? So Tate saw you then?”

You shake your head. “Please don’t be angry with her, I didn’t want to, to, interrupt you!” Marco tweaks your nipples at the last two words, causing you to shout.

“You were afraid I would be angry.”

You shake your head even more. “N-No, I didn’t know, ah, please, mercy, please Marco, I didn’t know how you’d react and I didn’t—hnnngh!—didn’t want to cau-cause trouble.” You beg as he plays with your breasts until your body is shivering, and you’re starting to sweat from the tension. “And, and then I, I had thoughts, and I didn’t know what to say.”

“Thoughts?” Marco’s hands leave your breasts and he starts to pull your skirts up.

“Please, please don’t, not here, not-not at the window like this, please.” You do your best not to sob, trying to look at him as you plead with him, even with the posture collar’s restrictions.

“Tell me the thoughts.” He commands. His hands are still on your skirts, but he’s not pulling them up.

Taking a few deep breaths, you close your eyes, and focus on the patient rather than yourself for a moment.

“She was restrained so completely, and I just… I can’t stop thinking about it.” You admit shakily. “Being… I mean, not having any, that is, just… just being in that situation. I can’t stop picturing myself-.” You stop when Marco hugs you, leaving your skirts to slide back down to your ankles.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” you say hastily. “I shouldn’t think that way about a medical-.”

“No, it’s…” He breathes in deeply, kissing your neck and teasing your breasts gently. “It’s not uncommon, sweet dove. There’s nothing wrong about having those kinds of thoughts.” You can feel the need rolling off him and it sends a sweet shiver through you.

“Give me some time,” he husks, lips against your skin, and his hands are already pulling your dress off as he stands you both up. “And I’ll indulge every fantasy you confess to me, yoi.”

A strong hand grips you by your hair and he captures your lips before you can say anything. The rush of the action, the thrill of his desire, your own long-simmering need—you barely even protest when he pulls the dress off you entirely.

For now, nothing else exists except him.

Marco’s eyes move around the study as he kneels beside you and undoes the chastity belt you’re wearing. Setting it aside he pulls the small toy out of your vagina easily, steadying you as your legs shiver from the rushed sensation. Taking off his jacket he lays it on the rug, and then lays you down on the jacket.

“You’re dripping down your legs, pretty bird,” he grins, as he pushes your legs back. Your soft gasp at the sudden exposure turns into a keening whine as he slips quickly inside you. Your so wet, and while the small toy wasn’t much it was enough to stop the intense stretch from hurting as he fills you up.

He still for a second once he fills you, his hands flexing against your ankles before he sets them against his chest, leaning over you, he places his hands on the floor on either side of your shoulders, grinding deep inside you for a second, and trying to give you just a moment more to adjust.

“Beg me to stop,” he husks, pulling back and thrusting in heavily. The action pushes the air from your lungs. “Beg me to stop, yoi.” He commands, thrusting in again.

“N-no! Puh-please, I-!” He thrusts in again, pressing against your clit. The moan of pleasure that passes your lips with the rush of air forced from your lungs is heady. “Want it,” you gasp, legs shivering. “I-I want it, please.”

“Please,” you whine when he doesn’t move again, trying to shift your hips despite your position.

“It?” He questions, his eyes holding your gaze. You feel very small, and very exposed suddenly. “What ‘it’ would that be, pretty bird?”

“That’s… I - you - the or-orga, I mean, your, I-.”

He thrusts in heavy again, pushing the air from you and making you moan. “Be clear. Do you want to cum, do you want my cock, or do you want me, yoi?”

You might have been addled and disoriented, but you weren’t stupid.

“You, I want you,” you manage to gasp clearly. “I want you to, to, ah, I…”

“Fuck you?” Marco prompts and you feel your face warm up so much you’re a little dizzy from the sudden heat. “Say it, pretty bird.” He commands, slowly rolling his hips, gently moving inside you. “Say you want me to fuck you with that sweet voice of yours, yoi.”

“P-please, I-.” Marco grabs your face, squishing your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. The feeling of him shifting inside you is driving you mad. It’s worse than the way the toys were shifting while you walked, and it was by no means enough to push you over the edge.

If you didn’t say anything he would probably edge you for who knew how long.

“Pwease fuck me,” you say it quietly, but clearly, despite his grip on your cheeks.

“As you wish, pretty bird.” He hums, letting go of your face and bracing himself against the floor again.

He moves slowly at first, watching your face and drinking in every twitch as he slowly speeds up. It only takes him a few minutes to begin railing you so hard he has to wrap his arms around you and hold you in place, hugging you into him as your legs slip off his chest and shudder in the air from the rough pace.

The first time you cum you can barely cry out, he’s fucking the air out of your lungs with the heavy pace, and the lack of air on top of the orgasm is disorienting. You can feel him fill you up soon after, but he doesn’t even slow down.

You can’t grab onto him, your arms are still bound, and the posture collar is restricting you. His body is effectively pinning your legs in place. All you can think of is the device that the patient was in, restricted more than you are right now, but the idea was the same. If your legs were tied down you wouldn’t even be able to wiggle, not that you could move much like this at all.

You weren’t submitting to him, like when he bent you over the desk and you had to keep yourself in the position he wanted. Right now he was taking you completely.

Your body tenses at the sudden rush and you cry out, cumming hard against Marco, legs kicking as your body thrashes as much as it can. You think you can feel the plug in your ass fall out, the strange added sensation causing you to buck.

“So soon, yoi?” He hums, shifting enough to watch your eyes fill with water as he doesn’t even give you a moment to recover. The overstimulation was licking the edges of pain, orgasming so soon on the heels of the first one.

Marco shifts, grabbing your calf and pushing your leg nearly to the floor. He grabs the other and does the same, pressing your knees into his jacket beneath you. You had no idea your legs would bend that way, the stretch is incredible, almost painful, but your body is covered in sweat, from the teasing to the successive orgasms, you’re tired.

Tired enough your body doesn’t fight him effectively folding you in half.

With your knees on the rug, your hips are pushed up into him. You’re well and truly pinned, and with the posture collar you can’t even move your head that much, the new position is pushing the collar into your jaw and holding your face in place. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not painful, and your throbbing clit is teased by Marco’s torso with every thrust.

“Beg,” he insists, still pistoning into you.

“Please, I can’t, I can’t, please,” you beg as best as you can. He’s not human, he’s a machine, a beast, he’s not even breathing heavy. You’re not even sure he’s sweating. He’s still almost fully dressed, and your hair’s sticking to your skin from sweat.

“Oh no, pretty bird, your chance to beg me to stop is gone, yoi.” He says, slowing just enough to make sure he has your attention.

“You asked so sweetly for me to fuck you.” Marco’s eyes make your heart skip a beat. Cold, blue, focused on you with an intensity that twists your stomach in fear.

“Beg me for it, yoi.” He commands. “Make sure I believe it’s me you want.”