#he’d probably have a power point presentation too

[peachdues]

KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR

WIND AND MOON • Sanemi x tsuguko!Reader

A/N: or, Sanemi nearly murders Maeda to protect Reader’s honor, featuring Reader getting to wear Sanemi’s haori.

A snippet from an upcoming chapter of Wind and Moon.

CW: MDNI • light strangulation (deserved) • implied past sexual assault against Reader (not described) • implied assault of Sanemi’s mother (not described) • protective Sanemi • soft Sanemi • ust kiss already jfc • violence

Sanemi Shinazugawa was never particularly keen on visiting the Corps’ tailor. His hatred for the bespeckled seamster was no secret among the slayers, nor was his reasoning. Most of the Corps disliked Maeda — particularly those female slayers forced to endure his unwanted attentions, who, when presented with too-small and too-short garments, saw his feigned incompetence for what it was: perversion.

Sanemi, however, was the one of the only few who’d ever called him out directly for being a lecherous asshole. And he certainly was one of the only ones who Maeda genuinely feared — enough so, that he became remarkably adept at his job whenever he heard so much as a whisper of the Wind Pillar’s presence.

And yet, Sanemi knew that their previous encounter — one that ended with Maeda pissing his pants while begging for forgiveness Sanemi had been in no position to give as the female slayer he’d groped stood nearby, red faced and humiliated — didn’t seem to have inspired the tailor to make any permanent changes to his deviant habits.

So no, Sanemi was already not in the best of moods as he stalked through the hallways of the Butterfly Mansion, in search of the fitting rooms where Kocho had informed him Maeda would be fitting his new tsuguko — you — for your final uniform.

He was wryly optimistic that the lecherous tailor wouldn’t try anything knowing who you were and of your proximity to him. But still, Sanemi didn’t like that he’d left you alone with Maeda for any period of time, and he was eager to get you suited up so the two of you could return to training.

Training. Sanemi had been warned that your breathing techniques, though powerful, were about as stable as a barrel of gun powder near a lit match. He would need to prioritize your precision, your control, before moving onto anything to do with your actual movements and fighting abilities.

He scowled. It would be a long day, he knew. You had an attitude and a smart mouth he was fairly sure couldn’t be beaten out of you, and grudgingly, he thought he might have to just endure it. You’d probably spend most of your time bitching; of that he was certain. But unluckily for you, you’d been assigned to the Hashira with the least amount of sympathy when it came to training; one whose disdain for complaining was rivaled only by Iguro’s.

At least he only worked his trainees to the point of vomiting or passing out; Iguro tortured the poor bastards, and he relished doing so.

And so, Sanemi began mentally tallying up the various exercises and tasks the two of you would undertake as he rounded the last corner leading to the fitting rooms. He would start with breathing techniques, he decided as he reached for the doorknob. Breathing techniques, and then physical exercises — pushups, planks, perhaps even over a bed of tacks for motivation, and then —

All of the Wind Pillar’s internal planning ground to a halt the moment he swung the door to the dressing room open. In an instant, all thoughts of endurance and strength-enhancing regiments dissolved as Sanemi’s vision turned crimson at what lay before him.

His tsuguko; and though you’d proven yourself more than capable of testing his patience, for once, it wasn’t your smart mouth that was making him see red.

It was the sight of you, standing up on a small pedestal before a great mirror, clothed in scraps of fabric that could hardly be called a uniform as the Corp’s perverted tailor circled you like a vulture does a piece of felled prey.

He didn’t need to look at you for long before his vision tunneled in on the seamster startling back from you as though burned, his eyes wide with fear as he stared at the reddening face of the Wind Hashira behind you.

Because Sanemi didn’t have to linger; he’d seen enough to know.

Your skirt hung a solid inch shorter than even the Love Hashira’s, its hem barely extending past the tops of your thighs. Your shirt was easily two or three sizes too small, preventing you from fastening anything but the bottom two buttons.

But it wasn’t the egregiously little coverage of your uniform that loosened the lid he tried to keep on his rage. It was your face. Though your back was facing him, he could see every inch of you — exposed as you were — reflected in that great mirror.

There was a rigidity in your limbs that Sanemi clocked instantly as paralysis; and the empty, haunted look in your eyes as they fixed wide and unseeing at some distant point on the floor coupled with the way you’d hadn’t so much as flinched when the door flung open signaled to him that you were not truly present in that room at all.

You were back at your family’s estate, blood-soaked and half-dead as you were forced to endure whatever it was those bandits had take upon themselves to do.

And Sanemi disappeared from the room right along with you. In that moment, he instead saw the countless other female slayers forced to endure Maeda’s greedy, wandering fingers over the years as they stood exposed under his beady little eyes.

He saw his mother turning rigid under his father’s too heavy, too rough hands as he dragged them down her body. Ma, who would force her mouth into that distant, practiced smile she always maintained in front of her children who were too young to understand why Kyogo dragged her by arm out the back of their home as he barked at them to stay inside until she returned.

He saw you; broken and bleeding in the snow, your clothes askew, unable to be left alone even in death; used.

Red. Red. Sanemi could only see red as his feet carried him across the floor.

“M-Master Shinazugawa!” Maeda squeaked as he began trembling; loud enoufh for his voice to carry down the hall, a futile effort to alert any nearby Corps members of the rage burning in Sanemi’s eyes as the latter advanced on him. “How w-wonderful it is to see you a-gain —!”

With nothing but a faint buzzing in his ears and an anger-numbed mind, Sanemi’s hand snatched the tailor around his throat before he could think the better of it.

“I thought I made myself pretty damn clear the last time I saw your ugly mug of the need for you to keep those filthy fuckin’ hands to yourself.”

Sanemi’s voice was a barely more than a growl, low and dangerous and vicious. “And I thought I told you what would happen if I caught you makin’ a mockery out of our uniform again.”

The seamster’s cheeks were rapidly turning purple as Maeda sputtered. But Sanemi only tightened his hold around the tailor’s throat, lifting him from the ground until his toes only scraped along the floorboards.

“Y’know, I’ve had to hold my tongue for far too fuckin’ long about you.” Sanemi cocked his head in consideration. A slow, wolfish smile stretched across his mouth, all sharp teeth and a vicious promise that he could and would rip out his throat. “But you’ve got some balls for someone who’s too much of a rutting coward to fight the demons we give our lives to exterminate.”

A crowd of curious and horrified junior slayers had gathered out in the hall, nervously watching as the Wind Pillar threatened to squeeze the life out of the Corp’s sole tailor.

Behind them, you remained frozen on the pedestal, though your eyes had shifted away from the floor, focusing instead on him.

Sanemi wrenched the tailor closer until they were nearly nose-to-nose, his fingers digging harshly into the soft, fleshy portion of the tailor’s neck. “And you dare make a mockery out of our uniform? You think I’m okay that you’re putting female slayers at risk by not giving them proper protection? What sort of person does that to their comrades?”

Sanemi’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. “You’re not even fuckin’ human. You’re no better than a god damn demon.”

The muscles in the Wind Pillar’s forearm rippled as his fingers crushed around Maeda’s throat. “And we’re required to put demons outta their fuckin’ misery. So, whaddya think that means for you, shitstain?”

There was a distinct wet dripping against the floorboards as Sanemi remained there, Maeda suspended before him.

Sanemi didn’t need to look down to know what it was; its scent alone was enough of a give away.

Urine.

That feral grin of his only widened. Good, Sanemi thought savagely. The bastard should fear for his life. And who gave a shit, really, if he took out the creep right then and there. It didn’t matter that he was the only tailor in their ranks capable of manufacturing their uniforms with speed and precision. Sanemi would trade his sword in for a needle, if it meant wiping away the stain that was Maeda.

But Sanemi’s wild, murderous rage was tempered by the sudden arrival of the Insect Pillar, who had appeared in the room in a blink of an eye, her small hand wrapped harshly around Sanemi’s wrist.

Her voice was hard and severe as she ordered, “Shinazugawa, stop!”

Sanemi only snarled in response, his hand squeezing tighter and tighter. Just a little more pressure and it would be over, Maeda would never harm another woman again —

Kocho wrenched on his arm once more. While her strength wasn’t enough to force his grip to relax, it did jostle Sanemi enough that he looked away, just long enough to catch the pair of eyes that watched him closely in the mirror.

Your eyes.

Sanemi found himself unable to look away as the two of you stared at one another in the mirror’s reflection. And though that haunted look remained, there was a newfound tightness in your gaze.

Pain, he recognized. There was pain in your eyes, too. And suddenly, Sanemi became all too aware of the fact you were still exposed, only now in front of a greater number of your comrades than before.

Sanemi held your eyes for one more moment before his hand opened around Maeda’s throat.

“Pissed himself like a little bitch.” He sneered, dropping the lecherous tailor to the ground where he crumbled like a napkin.

Maeda sputtered and heaved on the floor, color rapidly returning to his face as he gasped for breath.

Sanemi only looked after him with disgust.

The Butterfly Mansion’s mistress turned sharply toward the entryway. “Away.” She ordered before she turned back. But the instant the word left her lips, the gaggle of junior Corps members who had congregated in the hallway dispersed.

Sanemi cut his eyes to the Insect Hashira and saw a cold rage simmering in her eyes. Eyes that were not looking at him, but were instead glued to the sniveling mass on the floor, whimpering into a puddle of his own urine.

“P-please, forgive me, Master Shinazugawa! I must have packed the wrong uniform — I will sew a n-new one right away —“

“Save it,” Sanemi spat. “And get the fuck outta my sight.”

Though he wanted add in a kick for good measure, Sanemi held back. He was likely in deep enough shit as it was, once word reached the Master about what he’d done. He knew better than to continue testing the Corps’ limits.

Kocho inclined her head back toward the Wind Pillar. “I will see to it that a new uniform is prepared for her immediately.”

She made to step primly over Maeda’s shuddering form, but halted.

Kocho crouched down, low. “I think we both know that you’re better off keeping this to yourself and never mentioning it again, hm?”

Maeda turned his reddened face up toward the Insect Pillar and shrank under her withering glare.

Kocho’s answering smile was nothing but poisoned honey as she dropped her eyes to the wet stain that soaked the front of Maeda’s trousers. “If you wish to hold onto what’s precious to you, that is.”

She narrowed her eyes coldly, as though squinting for something, before she rose with a faint scoff, her threat hanging over Maeda like a cloud.

The Insect Hashira turned back to Sanemi. “I trust you will see yourselves out?”

Sanemi felt a rush of gratitude toward his comrade — likely only one of two among the Pillars who wouldn’t rat him out to the Master — and curtly nodded his head.

Kocho only gave him her usual, practiced smile. “Until next time, then.”

With that, the mistress of the Butterfly Estate departed. The moment the edge of her haori flapped around the corner of the doorway, Sanemi dropped his attention down to Maeda.

“Fuck off.”

The tailor made not a peep as he scrambled to his feet and he left the dressing room without a word.

——

Finally left alone, Sanemi turned to you.

“Y/N.”

You blinked, surprised. He’d addressed you by your first name — something that, until this moment, you’d been fairly sure he hadn’t known.

You made some noise in response, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, exposed as you are.

Shinazugawa didn’t seem to mind. “Let’s go.”

While you were just as eager to get the hell out of the dressing room and away from the Butterfly Mansion, you remained rooted in place upon that platform.

Not a moment had passed since Maeda had first unveiled your new attire that you hadn’t been acutely aware of your own exposure.

You gulped and cast your eyes around the room. You found the neat pile of the clothes you’d worn for the trip here folded in the corner of the dressing area. While Shinazugawa had made a point to keep his eyes on everything but you, you couldn’t fathom having to wear the scrap of a uniform you’d been given for the entire journey back to his estate.

But nor did you want to change again; you couldn’t, not when that would require you to be left alone, a possibility that seemed nearly as daunting as having to brave the trek home in little more than a loincloth.

You agonized over your options, especially as you felt Shinazugawa’s impatience mount. You shifted anxiously from foot to foot, arms wrapped tightly around your chest in a desperate attempt to keep your breasts concealed as you struggled to make the words — any words, really, dislodge from where they’d become stuck in your throat.

Annoyed by your lack of inaction, Shinazugawa looked back into the mirror. In its reflection, you saw him open his mouth, ready to snap at you, but the moment his eyes connected with yours, it closed.

An understanding passed between you right then, as heavy the silence that hung between you.

Shinazugawa considered you for a moment before his hands went to the front folds of his haori. A strange shyness fell over you while he shrugged out of it, causing you to drop your gaze as he rounded the pedestal, haori in hand.

He shoved the ball of white fabric at you, though he kept his gaze fixed pointedly at the ground. “Here. Use this to cover up.”

Timidly, you plucked the Wind Pillar’s haori from his outstretched hand and quickly turned away.

Though it sat cropped on him, the hem of Shinazugawa’s haori extended past the laughably short one of your skirt, providing your backside with a bearable degree of coverage.

It was warm; and to your surprise, it smelled nice, a familiar, grassy sweetness washing over you as you pushed your arm through one of the holes.

Shinazugawa had turned his back to you, his hands notched firmly on his hips as he waited. You tested the reach of his haori, relieved to find that you could wrap it around your front and hold it easily in place by folding your arms across your chest.

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror. The white fabric reached a good three inches down your thighs, all vulnerable areas sufficiently covered.

It would do, you decided. At least until you returned to the Wind Pillar’s estate.

“I’m ready.” You said softly after a moment. Shinazugawa only looked back at you and nodded, before the two of you quietly made your way through and out the Butterfly Estate, setting down the path that led home.

Neither of you spoke for the entire journey. Instead, you were left to stare at the broad expanse Shinazugawa’s back.

The Wind Pillar wore a slightly modified version of the Corps’ uniform, you realized. His top was sleeveless and without the presence of his haori, you saw that his biceps and shoulders were just as solid and well-defined as the rest of him.

No wonder he’d been able to lift Maeda so easily from the ground; Shinazugawa’s biceps were huge. Though, you noted with some mild interest, the skin of his arms was just as scar-specked as the rest of him.

Idly, you wondered whether the scars dotting his face and body were products of his years with the Corps — a tapestry of battles hard-won, or whether they, like yours, were part of a past he wished he could forget.

You arrived back at the Wind Pillar’s estate shortly before sunset. The moment he set foot inside the gate surrounding his manor, Shinazugawa turns to you and holds up a hand.

“Wait here.”

Without another word, he disappears inside of his manor, leaving you alone in the courtyard, slightly bemused.

The Wind Pillar returned a few moments later, a familiar, dark green fabric draped over his hand.

“Here,” he held out the material to you. “Still had one from when I was a Mizunoto. Might not fit you properly, but it’s better than nothin’.”

You accept his offering and then it over in your hands, eyes running over the crisp white destroy sewn into the back. Below the shirt is a pair of pants, in the same, dark-green tinted hue as the shirt.

“I know it doesn’t mean much,” Shinazugawa’s voice was gruff as he spoke. Curious, you lifted your eyes to find him rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “But if I’d’ve known what he was gonna pull —“

You shook your head. “Don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Truthfully, you didn’t want his apologies. To apologize meant there’d been an expectation, and expectation meant there’d been some trust he’d broken. While he may have been your master — while he may have been the one whose face you could not forget from that day — nothing about either of those things meant he owed you anything.

Shinazugawa looked like he was going to argue, but he closed his mouth and turned away.

Good, you thought. At least he knew to pick his battles.

“We’ll start training once you get your uniform in.” He said after a moment, turning away to retreat into his estate. “Get settled here and once it arrives, we’ll start.”

You nod, your fingers clenching tightly around the front folds of his haori. Though you know you’re safe out here, that Shinazugawa has no interest in overstepping any of your boundaries, you still feel too exposed.

More than anything, you want to retreat to your small room at the back wing of his manor, and disappear under your covers.

The Wind Pillar seems to know, for he only gives you a curt nod, before he turns back to the great, sprawling Estate, and takes the entry stairs up two at a time.

You wait a moment before following. You’ll have to figure out how to return him his haori, you realize. Perhaps you’ll drop it off at his room later in the night, when he’s likely to be asleep, or maybe you’ll wait until breakfast —

“Y/N.”

Your foot halted mid-air as you lifted your head to him, waiting.

Shinazugawa lingered on his engawa, though he kept his back to you.

“I won’t leave you alone with another man again. That’s a promise.”

You wanted to snap at him that he shouldn’t do this — he shouldn’t create obligations that he couldn’t or wouldn’t keep. That was the only way this transaction between the two of you would work; Shinazugawa would train you and once you’d gathered enough of a grip over your own abilities, you’d fuck out of his life and pursue your own, greater ambitions.

That’s what you should say, and yet, his words strike at something soft in you. Reminds you, once again that for whatever reason, he is someone you can rely upon; someone you can trust.

The exception.

And it’s because of that, you only respond, “Thank you.”

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (i)

SUMMARY: Despite appearances, you’d learnt Soldier Boy was, actually, capable of being a good man. Somehow, you’d wormed yourself into his good books, and had the rarest privilege of seeing him without the suit, the drugs, the ego, the everything. Just as things were going good, his heart somehow getting even warmer for you, the world separates you in the cruelest way.

PAIRING: Soldier Boy x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3573

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Sexism (set in the 1980’s), typical Soldier Boy behaviour, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, questionable morals (peer pressuring drug use), sexual content, eludes to smut, Soldier Boy may be a bit OOC at times, gore.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Becoming a world famous supe was never something you’d ever wanted. Sure, you’d grown up with their photos on your bedroom walls, your father telling you stories of when the first ever supe came to be, insisting he fought alongside the Soldier Boy in the war

The people around you seemed to idolise them. These… mostly regular people in tight suits, pretending to be better than everyone else.

You knew better. You knew enough. Enough to know supes were dirty, and corrupt, and definitely not the heroes they presented themselves to be. That their hands were more blood than they were skin anymore.

And, frankly, you wanted nothing to do with Vought or Payback — or whatever the fuck those shitty, useless superhero teams were called. (Seriously, what did they actually do? Except sit in their pretty tower and take the peoples’ taxes?)

Your father, however, had different ideas.

So, at 18, you woke up in the hospital, after an ugly head collision, with superpowers you’d never had before. A miracle, the doctors called it, a supe whose extraordinary powers had been hidden for her whole life. When you got home, you forced the truth out of your father. Compound V, he called it, a new chemical made by Vought.

No one was born a supe, he admitted, it all came from a liquid in a vial. The truth hurt you, as much as it didn’t really surprise you. Chosen by God, my ass.

This wasn’t supposed to be your life.

But it’s certainly what it turned out to be.

Payback were as shitty, if not more, than you’d originally thought. Each of them had… many flaws. Soldier Boy, obviously, was the worst. If the Devil reincarnated himself, he’d look and act like Soldier Boy.

Simply talking to the man made you want to shoot yourself.

Well… it did at one point.

Two years down the line, things had changed. Soldier Boy was still insufferable, sexist, arrogant, and a major asshole. But… he wasn’t so much a dick directly to you, as he used to be. In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was actually somewhat nice to you. As much as his macho heart could manage, anyway.

You noticed it the first time when he saved your life on a mission. He’d grabbed your waist when a grenade clinked at your feet, whirling you around and to the ground, squashing you against his firm chest, using his shield to protect you both from the hot blast. He’d shrugged it off as nothing; as something any leader would do for his team. Then you watched him hit Gunpowder about for not following his order to a T, and realised… maybe he did treat you different.

It was undeniable these days.

You were the only person on Payback that Soldier Boy could remotely tolerate.

“You need’a be more careful.” Despite the hard look on his face, Soldier Boy was staring down at you, as a Vought doctor wrapped clean bandages tightly around your midsection. It was a bullet to the wound; which, with being a supe, wouldn’t be too bad, but you didn’t heal inhumanely fast like he did. “You’re fuckin’ useless when you’re hurt.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for your concern, Soldier Boy.”

His eyes narrowed into a harsh glare. “Ben.” He corrected you, for what was probably the 50th time. Each time he did, he got more annoyed with you. “How many times do I have to say it? Is there a brain in that pretty head’a’yours?“

You grunted, spinning on the bed and hanging your legs off the side of it. “Thanks for the compliment.” Ben rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, not offering a hand as you groaned in discomfort and got to your feet. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be healed up by the time we set off for Nicaragua, if that’s what you’re worried ‘bout.”

Ben just grunted, displeased. “Ain’t happenin’.” He immediately shot that idea down. “We leave for Nicaragua in two weeks. You ain’t comin’. Sit this one out.”

You stared, expecting a joke. Clearly, he wasn’t. “Seriously?” You groaned, unhappy. What was it with this guy? “I’ll be fine. It’s a silly little bullet.”

“I was holdin’ your fuckin’ guts in your body.” He walked away, reminding you of just how bad your injury actually had been. He had, indeed, practically been keeping your guts inside of you as you bled out. “You ain’t going. You’re stayin’ here.” You chased after him, pulling your shirt on as you left the infirmary.

“Ben—“

He whirled around to face you. “I said, you’re fucking staying.” He growled, glaring down at you. God, were you glad you were on his side. This man was terrifying. Six feet of pure muscle, strength and violence. “You’re better off here, using that face of yours to get some PR.”

“And, what? The others will back you up?” You scoffed, grabbing his wrist as he went to walk away again. His expression went cold at your touch, but you didn’t flinch. As much as he tried to scare you, Ben wouldn’t raise a hand at you… probably. You had faith in the man. “They can’t fight for shit, Ben. Gunpowder hasn’t even discovered his own dick yet. You think you’re gonna have your back covered out there?”

He ripped his wrist away harshly. “I don’t need my back covered.”

“Everyone needs their back covered.” You argued. “Even you.”

He chuckled, sarcastic and dry. “You worried ‘bout me, princess?” You gave him a ‘seriously?’ look, as he took a step closer, mouth curled into that ever-infuriating smirk. “I’d perform better if you sent me off with a taste of that—“

“Ben.” You interrupted him, unimpressed. You rolled his eyes at his predictable behaviour. “I’m not gonna fuck morale into you.”

“Shame.” His eyes flicked up and down, tracing the curves of your body. “Bet you’d be a firecracker.” He walked away again, and you threw your hands up, groaning. Ben chuckled as he turned the corner. “Think it over, sweetheart.”

“You’ve got a hand.” You called back to him. “Use it!”

Conversations like that were very common with Ben.

It’d be a normal conversation (as normal as it gets with him) — and then he’d start talking about fucking you against the nearest surface, and all pleasantries went down the drain. Seriously, he thought 80% with his dick, and 20% with his actual brain.

And that was being kind.

But, beneath all of his macho assholery, was his genuine worry. You knew he wasn’t letting you accompany the rest of the team to Nicaragua because of your injury, despite how minor it was, and that he was worried you’d injure yourself further.

You’d never slept with Ben, despite how much he’d tried to charm you into his bed. Your relationship was strange. He flirted, you flirted — there were lingering touches. And, sure, he’d never put his dick in you, but his fingers were a different question. And… oh, boy, could that man use his hands.

It was like being in a relationship, just without the sex. Which was odd, as it was Soldier Boy. But, the way he smiled at you and treated you, it made you feel different to the other women.

He was just… shit it showing it.

Poor bastard wouldn’t know emotion if it slapped him in the face.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

“I am not wearing this.”

Okay… scratch all of that. Maybe Ben was just a dickhead.

He lounged back in his chair, grinning lazily, legs spread like he owned the place. He probably thought he did. “Why not?” He took a sip of his whiskey, ice clinking against the sides, eyes never leaving you from over the rim of the glass.

You held up the fabric. “Seriously?”

It was basically a scrap of fabric, with how much it covered up. You didn’t shy away from showing skin. You quite liked short skirts and pushing the line. Because, as a supe, there was a line. Vought liked it when you showed skin — apparently it made your ratings go up with the male fans, no shocker. But, too much skin on display, the male fans started calling you a whore, and the ratings shot back down.

It was a bit like a balancing game, trying to find the perfect amount of skin to make the boys ogle but also respect you. An impossible feat, truthfully.

And this? This was definitely classed as too much.

“I don’t see the issue.” His smirk said otherwise.

“My tits are not gonna stay in this, Ben!”

His smirk just grew. “Again, I don’t see the issue.”

You groaned and put the dress down. “No. I’ll get my own dress. I am not wearing that.” You tell him, arms folding across your chest. You didn’t miss the way he checked out your tits, and the way the placement of your arms accentuated them.

He rolled his eyes, obviously not happy with your decision. Leaning towards, elbows on his knees, Ben’s eyes took you in. “Why?” His head cocked to the side. “You’d look hot. It’d make your ass look great.”

“That’s not a compliment.” You grumbled, pushing a hand through your hair. Ben made a small grunt of disagreement, but didn’t say anything otherwise. “Listen, there’s a certain line. Alright? If I wear that, every guy out there will be callin’ me a whore. Okay? Imma find something else.”

He hummed and sat back. “I think you should wear that one.” Sighing heavily, you just rolled your eyes at his persistence. “All those assholes will be blowin’ their pants just lookin’ at you, sweetheart.”

“Again, not a compliment.”

Ben stared at you, and silently took another sip of his whiskey. He always seemed to think these crude, rather sexist and inappropriate remarks were compliments. Like commenting on your body. Or saying you’d be a freak in bed. Which were obviously not actually compliments.

You rolled your eyes, rubbing your forehead. “I’ll find another dress, Ben.” You told him, definitive. There was no way he was going to convince you to wear that dress.

“What a disappointment.” He grinned, lopsided. “I was lookin’ forward to seein’ you in that dress.”

“Again,” you deadpanned as he checked you out once more, “you have a hand… use it.”

Ben just smirked, and sipped his whiskey again.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You wore the fucking dress.

The asshole always won. Always.

He looked so fucking pleased, as you walked into his after-party, wearing the dress he’d picked out for you. His smugness was clear, brushing through the crowd with ease to come to you.

Ben hummed, eyes dilating as he stared you down. His eyes lingered on your tits, as they always did. “You look…” he hesitated, trying to think of a compliment that wasn’t degrading, and failed, “fuckin’ hot. If you weren’t such a bitch, I’d bend you over right here.”

Your face pulled together in disgust, looking at him with your lips pressed together “… gross.”

He chuckled. “Drink?” He offered. “I got your favourite.”

And there he goes again.

Being nice.

It did your damn head in.

Accepting his offer, you shivered as his large hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. They all seemed to part like the Red Sea as he came through, a fact that amused you greatly.

Seriously. These women looked at him like he was Jesus reincarnated, when he’d totally call them in a whore in bed.

Ben silently reached out for your favourite alcoholic drink, pouring it into a glass. His eyes scanned over the room, smirking at a few of the women ogling, sending them rushing to their friends and squealing. He merely chuckled and handed you the full glass.

“Thanks.” You murmured, taking it from him. Your eyes stared up at him for a moment, curious, before looking away again.

What was it with him? How could be such an egotistical one minute, and then be nice and respectful the next? It was like a guessing game, trying to figure out what mood he was in.

He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm, but not enough to hurt you. “Come with me.” He guided you through the crowd once again, to the doors in the back. As he pushed through into the room, he flashed you a cocky grin over his shoulder. Dickhead.

This room was far quieter. You noticed, immediately, the only people present were supes and celebrities, not the random civilians that’d been granted a pity invite — or the women Ben thought were hot. This was the main party. There were drugs covering every table, with various big names passed out on the chairs, blazed.

Ben lead you to the corner, where he’d obviously already been busy, if the half-snorted lines of cocaine proved anything.

Silently, he offered you a line, which you gratefully accepted.

You didn’t do drugs before you joined Payback. In fact, you’d avoided them, promising yourself you’d never become that type of person. But it was the norm within Vought. Every supe spent their nights filling their bodies to the brim with various drugs, poisoning themselves. So, you started smoking weed to fit in.

Then Ben found out you only did weed, and decided it wasn’t enough. With enough pressure, he’d gotten you onto any other substance he could convince you to try.

It made you more attractive, in his eyes, as you spiralled into addiction like him.

In fact, it got him rock hard, to snort lines or share a joint with you. It was so fucking hot, watching your eyes glass over as you got higher with every hit, with every line. God, it turned him on so bad.

You snorted your third line of the night, when Ben suddenly pushed you back into your chair. Bewildered, you stared at him, as he snatched up a baggie of the white powder. Your heart leapt to your throat, the moment he moved aside the slit in your dress, revealing the bare skin of your thigh. All breath left your lungs, watching him pour some of the powder onto your thigh.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He was about to do a line off you.

He glanced at you through his lashes, smirking at the shocked and flushed expression you wore. He used his pocket knife to cut the lines, mindful of the sharp blade against your soft skin.

God, this was hot. He found it hot. You found it hot. It’d be a damn miracle if you ended the night with your clothes on at this point.

Your skin tingled as he sniffed up the first line, of his hands roughly gripping the top of your thigh to steady you, his other holding a rolled up $100 bill. He groaned in pleasure, body physically shuddering, head shaking, as the drug made his body run hot.

He did the next line, the grip on your thigh becoming tighter as his pupils began to blow up.

Was it getting hot in here? Or was it just you?

Maybe it was the cocaine in your systems, maybe it was the fact Ben was just… so damn hot, but you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing his hair and forcing his head up as he snorted the final line off your thigh.

He looked up at you, pupils blown, lips parted. Holy shit. This man was sculpted like a fucking God. Your body shivered. “You finally takin’ my offer, sweetheart?” He chuckled, shaking off the immediate effects of the cocaine, raising himself up to your level.

“Fuck me.” You whispered, breathless, practically begging him.

His eyes went dark, almost black, with lust. The smirk on his lips made you squeeze your legs together. “Don’t need to ask me twice.”

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You now understood the hype. You understood why women bent their knees the moment Ben uttered a word to them.

Holy shit, did this man have talent.

Your legs were still twitching, the space in between your legs throbbing and tingling with how many times you’d come on his fingers, his tongue and cock. You’d counted four, before your vision had gone white.

Jesus, he had stamina. A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed it’d been just over five hours since you’d first fell into Ben’s bed. That super strength was better for more than just fighting, after all. This man should be advertised for his abilities. No shocker he was an American sex symbol.

He’d just fucked your brains out.

And now, he was staring at you with admiration, laid on his side, in the same bed he’d just railed you in. “You feelin’ okay?” He murmured, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah.” You rolled over to face him, a jolt of discomfort and pain in your hips and thighs. You might have to hold back on… doing anything for the next few days, however. “You didn’t break anything.” You joked, soft and breathy.

He chuckled quietly, hand sliding around your waist and dragging you closer to him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to do that.” He whispered, uncharacteristically soft and gentle.

“To fuck me senseless?”

He smirked. “Mm, I have dreamt of that.” Your eyes narrowed in mild disgust at the image of him having wet dreams about you, swatting his chest. He grinned and caught your hand. “No… I meant how long I’ve waited to have you. You’re fuckin’ perfect. Not just your body. Everything about you is so sexy.”

Your brows furrowed, squeezing his hand, and then worming your fingers out of his. “What do you mean?” You asked softly.

He seemed to struggle for a moment. He wet his tongue with his lips, making your body tingle again. Jesus. “Let’s get dinner.”

What.

“Me and you.” Ben smiled, tracing the curves of your body with a featherlight touch. “Real fancy. I’ll pay.” Was he… asking you on a date right now? The Soldier Boy, asking you on a date? Instead of fucking you and tossing you out?

“You’re serious?” You asked softly, surprised. When he nodded, you grinned, biting your lip to contain it. “Okay, Ben. Let’s get dinner.”

His eyes lit up. Ducking his head down, his lips touched yours, gentle and affectionate. His kiss spoke so many words; his hands gently cradling your body, as he kissed you like you were made of glass. The touch was intimate and loving, widely different to the one he’d used when he’d been on top of you.

No, this was completely different. This was him being vulnerable. This was him showing you just how he felt, without the words.

He smiled against your lips and pulled back, just enough to speak, but his words were still brushing yours. “Yeah?” He whispered, in response to your agreement.

“Yeah.” You stared at him with big eyes.

He grinned, almost boyish in its nature. He stared at you in adoration, seeming to be collecting the words on the tip of his tongue.

You giggled under his stare. You sat up, pulling him with you, grabbing the blanket that he had draped over his headboard. It was fluffy and warm, and smelt like his cologne, and you didn’t hesitate to wrap it around your shoulders, cocooning yourself.

If possible, his gaze softened even more. “You’re adorable.”

Quietly, you laughed. “You sure you wanna do this, Ben?” You stared back at him. Ben was nothing if not a womaniser. Settling down was nothing like him. “Get serious with me, I mean.”

“You’re the only one I’d ever want to.”

Your brows pulled together, confused. “Why?”

Ben soothed a hand through your hair, green eyes drinking in the perfections and imperfections on your face. “You’re the only one I trust.” His voice was gravelly, still heavy with the effects of your recent endeavours. His hand travelled through your hair, and then came down to cup your cheek.

Wrapped up in his fluffy blanket, your head rested on the wooden headboard. “I trust you, too.” You whispered, tilting your head into his palm. His skin was rough, painted with callouses and scars. Every scar on his body had a story. And you’d spend the rest of your life learning every single one.

Despite himself, he smiled at you, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “I’d kill for you. You know that?” His words made you shiver. Ben killing people wasn’t exactly new… or surprising. But doing it for you? God, it made your stomach heat up — and other parts. “These assholes don’t hold a candle to you, doll. Countess? That whore is— is repulsive compared to you.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Ben.” You scolded quietly, though not with an ounce of anger.

The supe just smirked, chuckling deep in his throat. “You want me to drop that bullshit PR relationship I have with her? I’ll do it. In a fucking heartbeat. I’ll be with you, publicly, if you want me.”

“You’d ruin your reputation for me?” Now that — that meant something. Ben could say anything and everything; he was a master manipulator. He could get anything he wanted with that smile and his suave words. But, if there was one thing he would always prioritise, it was his reputation. He’d do anything to be the alpha male. Anything.

“I’d do anything for you.” He grabbed your hand within his much larger one, guiding it to his chest. He pressed your palm over his heart, allowing you to feel his heartbeat. “I’ll do anything for you, to be with you.” You felt the steady rhythm of his heart. He wasn’t lying. That, or he was a great fucking liar. “I’m never leaving your side. I’m yours.”

Your eyes searched deep within his. “Always?”

Ben smiled. “Always.” He leant forward, gently pressing his lips against yours in a tender kiss.

Three months later, Soldier Boy died in a nuclear meltdown.

A/N: jesus christ this took me so long to write 😭 but i’m so happy with how this first chap turned out. it’s gonna get so much more fun to write we get to the action 👀 pls lmk if there’s any mistakes, as i will go back n fix them !!! hope you enjoyed <3

banners by @cafekitsune

TAGLIST: @onlyangel-444 @deans-spinster-witch @fumolemon @anundyingfidelity

[bigfatbimbo]

Silly request but imagine helping Bill "groom" his triangle self. Gently wipe him with a cloth. Carefully dip it in the little space between the bricks, can't leave that zone unclean! Alternatively, a classic soapy bubble bath. Silly straws included, what the hell, he's probably drinking the bath water and listing the chemical ingredients back at you while you gently rub him clean. Fun times

The Bug Collector

1.1k words,, Bill Cipher x reader

a/n — Procrastination killed my soul during this, I think it turned out okay, though! Sorry for typos, your girl is tired.

warnings — SFW, post!weirdmaggedon, as ‘fluffy’ as you can get with Bill cipher, he is his own warning, kinda toxic relationships, fluff and bill being pathetic

summary — Reader assists a recently fallen Bill Cipher in self care, despite his general all-mighty asshole-ness.

The exoskeleton of a bug was practical, a water-tight barrier most commonly known for muscle attachments, and its use to shelter and protect the insects gushy insides from its harsh environment. 

The exoskeleton of a triangle was for mostly for aesthetics, as the underneath was far more horrifying than anything in the harsh environment around it. Or so the triangle claims.

You dipped a soapy sponge into the bucket in front of you, as bill propped his feet up on the bathtub. 

“You conquer worlds and destroy planets, but yeah, why not draw the line at cleaning yourself.”

“Please, what better way to make use out of my new human pet— partner, than this?” He corrected loudly and purposefully. Then looking to the side, he mumbled, “And besides, kid, you have no idea how hard it is to clean between the bricks. Euck— So many blind spots.”

The first part was a throwaway reminder that he had far more power than you in this dynamic, something you’d picked up on Bill casually doing in his time with you. 

Being roommates with a butt-hurt demon, given the ending of weirdmaggedon, allowed you the privilege of being more cautious than previous humans were with Bill. For example, you’ve taken to keeping track of his repeated habits and patterns. 

On of which, just so happened to be reminding you how small you were compared to him. 

You jabbed the sponge in-between on of the bricks, “Ow!” He narrowed his eye at you, “Watch it, pal. I’m starting to think you’ve never cleaned a triangle before.”

“I’d hate to give that impression.” You softened your hold on him, “Delicate work, I always say.”

And it was delicate work. After his defeat, he’d been roughed up a surprising bit, powers even weakened. 

Weakened.

“Not too delicate,” he shot you glance. Guess he’d heard that thought process. 

Although, most days he’d seemed to be in a thought process of his own. Weird.

You cleared your throat, “How often does this even need to be done?”

He blinked, “Well, let’s see. Once every—“ he waved his hand around “—few hundred years. Very high maintenance, do not recommend it.”

High maintenance, yeah. At this point, Bill had taken to talking about some other topic, you hadn’t been really listening, something about intergalactic food joints.

Every once and a while he’d bring up something that happened with one of his ‘henchmaniacs’ before getting slightly irritated at the lack of presence in his life now, and changing the subject. 

Bill was interesting to study, you couldn’t lie. His eyelashes curled away from each other, like the mangled legs of a recently dead spider. His hands were very present when he talked, like most people of business. His body flicked side to side slightly at certain moments. 

You became more gentle naturally, taking care of every crevice, and for some reason Bill becomes gradually quieter.

“Something wrong?” You asked, not stopping.

Bill blinked, “Eh, been a minute since i’ve had a human servant. Maybe, I was thinking of other things you can help with!”

You sigh, “Yeah, because i’m your servant. As if.” In your mind, your thinking do the fact he was your roommate, in your house, eating your food. 

“Hey, don’t get all butt-hurt. You’re all ants to me, buddy, nothing to be ashamed of!” His eye flicked back and forth between you and the room.

Then you stop scrubbing, “Bill, I might as well be your landlord.” You know he can read your thoughts, so you make a point to justify yourself. Already weakened from his failed apocalypse, anything other than vague respect for you would land him homeless. Most likely, his response to this would be killing you, but there’s only so much he can do afterwards. 

He’d have a place to stay, but with no electricity or heating, and in his damaged physical form he actively does need those things. And trying to get a new human would be a hassle, and unlike you, no guarantee they’d let him stay there without calling the authorities.

“Yeesh,” Bill remarks, “Buzzkill… You are still a bug compared to me, though—“

You drop the sponge in the bucket, “I think you’re done.”

He looks taken aback when you pull away, “What? Come on, over the bug comment? Jeez, buddy—“

“No I mean you’re actually done,” you gesture to his body, now shining and slick with soap suds. “I got everything, there’s nothing else to do.”

You go to turn around before you feel a small hand grabbing for the back of your shirt. 

“Wait, wait!” He breathes, eye farting from side to side, “… You have to dry me off first.”

He looked slightly panicked, like if you stopped taking care of him now, you’d leave and never come back. Your thought process earlier couldn’t have helped. 

The way he scurried and gasped for you was reminiscent of panicked earwig and a rock is lifted up. The comparison should have grossed you out, but it kinda just made you feel a little bad.

If he was paying attention to your thoughts, he didn’t show it. This would have usually given you the impression he’d wanted you to be thinking the way you were, but he seemed a little wrapped up in his own head. 

“Come on, kid. Don’t tell me you’re gonna kick me out because I asked you to dry me off. One last thing and then you don’t even have to talk to me the rest of the night! Sounds like a good deal, right?” 

His slightly desperate looking sales pitch was met with a sigh, you picked up a dry towel and began to pat the soap suds off of him. His body slowly breathed in, making it look like he was sighing, but no noise came out.

You wondered then if he was actually touch-starved, but cut your thoughts there because this time he had nothing better to do then pay attention to what you were thinking. 

“Ouch, i’m not that desperate, pal.” But he was.

His exoskeleton was dry, but you didn’t stop patting him down. His eyelid shut slowly, and the spider-legs on them curled into each other once more. 

The exoskeleton of a bug was practical, but one of a triangle seemed to simply be for aesthetics. 

However, on some rare occasions, it possesses the same desire for love as human bodies. Only, when very desperate, of course. 

[verstappen-cult]

ATTENDING THE ERAS TOUR WITH THE BOYS | F1 GRID

★ — LANDO NORRIS (4)

lando suggests you wear matching outfits because he’s seen how everyone dress up so cool to go to the concert and he wants you both to experience what it means going to the eras tour, from start to finish. he blares all taylor’s albums while you get ready and in the car ride to the stadium, he knows probably half of the lyrics but his excitement is so cute you don’t tell him how he’s singing pretty like a devil instead of grinning like a devil.

★ — CHARLES LECLERC (16)

charles doesn’t consider himself as a huge swiftie, of course he knows a few of taylor’s songs but that’s it. however, when you asked him if he’d be your date for the concert, his high rate went up to the roof. seeing the taylor swift live? for the first time ever? and at the eras tour? he tried very hard not to show how happy and excited that made him feel and he was… not too successful. he sings with you during the concert, and happily listens to you talk about your favorite part while you drive back home.

★ — OSCAR PIASTRI (81)

when oscar bought you the tickets, he was expecting you to go with one of your friends, not to hug him and kiss him and practically scream how excited you were to attend the concert with him. oscar knows nothing about taylor swift, he’s heard a few songs because who hasn’t? so a few days before the big day you sit him in front of the tv, a power point that reads ‘all you need to know about taylor swift’ on the screen. if by the end of the presentation he goes to spotify to listen to reputation, that’s his problem. he spends the entire concert looking at you, he knows taylor is a big deal to a lot of people but he couldn’t care less when he has you smiling and shouting and looking so happy by his side.

★ — MAX VERSTAPPEN (33/1)

you and max started dating thanks to a taylor swift song, so when he learnt about the eras tour he didn’t hesitate, not for a second, and bought the tickets. it was meant to be a surprise for your birthday but he couldn’t keep the secret and told you the same night. he’s not good at keeping secrets, okay. what’s he’s also not very good at: arts and crafts, so he simply sat down on the couch, pressed play to miss americana and watched you make some friendship bracelets. his favorite was the one you made for yourself with his racing number on it. he spent such a good time at the concert, and got to trade a bunch of friendship bracelets too.

★ — ALEX ALBON (23)

alex is a swiftie thanks to you. one day he asked you who she was, the next one he was being introduced to the whole taylor swift lore. it was only fair that he stayed up all night trying to buy tickets to the eras tour with you. alex spent the weeks leading up to the concert listening to you talk about how excited you were. and if he’s honest, he was excited too. taylor is a big part of your life together and knowing that you two share it and can enjoy it together makes him feel pretty lucky.

★ — DANIEL RICCIARDO (3)

who was more excited to go to the eras tour… you or daniel? hard to say, really. he cries during all too well, even though he doesn’t admit it, he has something in his eyes right at that moment; believe him. daniel gets a lot of compliments for his outfit and goes viral, because what is a formula one driver doing at the eras tour wearing a sparkly suit? daniel doesn’t care about anything but to enjoy with you and kiss you when she sings lover. and love story. and enchanted.

★ — MICK SCHUMACHER (47)

mick is like a puppy. if you tell him something, he’ll do it right away. he can’t say no to you, not when you have those big and pretty eyes looking at him with that look that has his heart melting. mick is very nervous the day of the concert but when you ask him what’s wrong he just tells you he’s excited. you don’t ask again because next thing you know taylor’s on stage and the whole stadium is going crazy. when taylor sings ‘he knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring’ everyone around you goes crazy, and when you look to the left there he is, your boyfriend, kneeling on the ground with his pretty smile and a ring.

© VERSTAPPEN-CULT ⎯ do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

[dollwrites]

— ⟡ dizzy drabbles disclaimer !!

all dizzy drabbles are written when i am extremely high ( or, dizzy ) and they don’t contain a trigger warnings list. if there’s no indication by the request, you can assume that the fic is nsfw + probably dark-leaning, if not blatantly dark. noncon, dub con, and other triggering content may be present, read with caution ( enjoy your experience <3 )

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tartaglia was panting in your ear. repeating the affirmation in weak, happy moans, his breath hot waves crashing against the shell, sending your hair to stand on end. listening to him mewl for you was almost as fun as watching him chase the high that hides in your core. so, you didn’t mind too much that he was hiding his face from you. the face that you knew was screwed into a look of pure nirvana, and tinted rosy across his cheeks and his nose. “You feel so good, you feel damn good. I’m losing it in here, cutie. F-fucking losing it.”

another couple of deep, hard thrusts into you, sending your back arching off the bed and your eyes rolling back, and you knew what he meant. you could feel it— his neediness— in the force behind his fucking, and the depths that his base instinct yearns to reach, that he was close. beyond that, his cock was twitchy, the pink tip painfully swollen as it jabs at your spongy nerves.

he was about to cum.

“Ch—“ you hardly find a gulp of air, but it’s stolen almost as soon as you swallow, fucked out of you. “Childe!” your body reacts to his mercilessness. your cunt clamps down tighter around him, and your ankles lock against his lower back, spurring his body closer to yours, as if begging him to breed you.

“Feel that,” Tartaglia grunts, his thin brows stitching closer, his teeth grinding against each other like he was keeping the urge to bite your neck at bay, “feel you right now. My cute, little vice—“ one of your hands jerks at his ginger roots, nails scraping his scalp, while the other claws at the bed below, desperate to chip away that the immense pleasure building with each time his hips slammed into yours, now. “I’m going to cum, and this little pussy starts hugging me tighter. What’s the matter, cutie? Don’t want me to pull out? Finally going to let me put a baby in you?”

it was only mildly humiliating. after weeks, nay— months— of his incessant want to procreate and your vehement protest, you were weak to the prospect. maybe he’d worn you down, or you were swept too far out into a sea of ecstasy to care about the consequences, the reason didn’t really matter. your eyes struggle to stay open, your breathy heavy and ragged as you try to wet your whistle enough to speak without it sounding needy and raspy. it does, anyways. “D-don’t talk about it, just— d-do it!”

his forearms sneak beneath your body, cross-crossing against your back to jerk you upwards and to his chest, cradling you like a precious treasure, but the caress was merely a means to an end— to capture you in a position where he held all the power, and keep you there. “That’s a good girl,” he swooned, ignoring your plea to not humiliate you further. with his face buried in your neck, the sweat clinging to your roots stuck your hair to his face, and his lips dragged and smeared over your hot skin, teeth grazing your pulse point as he speaks, “being such a pretty, little baby oven for me, so warm and inviting.” Tartaglia growls for a moment, a harsh rumbling as he’s nearly crossing the finishing line. “This is going to be a big one, haaa… I’m going to fill you up, that okay, cutie?”

heavens, was it ever.

you nod, now groping his fiery tendrils with both fists. each lock was slick with sweat and slid through your fingers, but you grappled constantly stimulating him further with the rough treatment.

he gurgles out a happy moan in the back of your throat. “Good cutie,” he whispers, “You want to give me lots of sons and daughters to spoil, I can tell. You’re so desperate to have my babies. And believe me— I am so fucking desperate to give them to you. Hold extra still, baby girl, here it comes!”

[introverting-rn]

would like to think that edgeworth’s cravat/jabot/frilly white thing has the perry the platypus effect. like he can go to steel samurai conventions without anyone going “hey isn’t that the guy who tried to prosecute will powers?” just cause of course it isn’t that guy! that guy was an entirely seperate human being who doesn’t have a neck! THIS is a different one

and then at some point he’s probably accused of another murder or some shit and edgeworth is resigned to hanging - not because he did it or because the defence job was too hard, but because he knows full well that his only alibi is buying merch at a steel samurai convention and there is no world in which he’d confess that to the court. however, phoenix gets his grimy little hands on the security tape footage and, having SEEN edgeworth’s neck for reasons i think we all know, he presents it triumphantly to save edgeworth’s life…

and then the judge penalises him and tells him to stop presenting irrelevant evidence and he goes ???? and he zooms in on edgeworth in the footage and the whole court is still going nah lol stop being an idiot

so phoenix wright, ace attorney and dropout art student, prints out a screenshot (the entire court accompanies him to the printer to make sure he’s not tampering with evidence. they all stand crammed into a room and staring at this ancient printer as it slowly chugs along. the judge sits on top of the printer so he can be taller than them) and draws three white lines on the edgeworth image. this is intended to be the start of the drawing but suddenly the entire court gasps and shrieks and falls off their chairs / printers in shock because THAT’S THE DEFENDANT RIGHT THERE HOLY SHIT

and edgeworth is just fuming over on his bench and turning beet red and hoping to be framed of another murder so he can die right about now

[wisteria-lodge]

I LOVE the version of Lucius in your fic Prison of the Phoenix. He's different from a lot of portrayals I've seen. Why did you decide to write him how you did?

A lot of the fun of writing a book-accurate fix-it fic comes from taking the events of the book, and removing JKRs (simplistic, misleading, sometimes just weird) narrative framing. Slytherins = baddies, Gryffindors = goodies, you know. 

This is especially fun with Lucius Malfoy, who just like… isn’t very evil? Chamber of Secrets is his most villainous book, and I’ll get to that, but otherwise? He tries (unsuccessfully) to get the animal that attacked his kid killed. He donates to hospitals (but in like, an evil way.) He is a hilariously incompetent Death Eater, and then he's Voldemort’s punching bag. 

That’s kind of the point of Lucius. He looks the part. He commits to the aesthetics of the thing, with the hair and the peacocks and the snake-wand-cane. He likes the mystique of walking into a room and knowing that you know (but can’t prove) he’s a dark wizard. It allows him to be… kinda lazy. He can coast on his family name, money, reputation, privilege. I really think that if you sat Lucius Malfoy down and asked him to walk you through all the wizard-supremacy talking points he wouldn’t be able to do it. He’ll toss around words like “mudblood” and “mudblood-lover” no problem, but in the end he doesn’t really care. Lucius is not a true believer. The way the world is set up benefits him tremendously and he doesn’t want Voldemort back. That’s just text:

“Use your brains, Ron,” said Bill. “If they really were Death Eaters… I bet they’d be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they’d ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives… I don’t reckon he’d be over-pleased with them, do you?”

Lucius and friends had too much to drink at a sporting event, put on the old outfits (again with the aesthetics) and started levitating muggles. Which obviously isn’t GOOD, but they’re not killing or torturing, or furthering any kind of agenda. It’s important that Barty is so insulted and pissed off by the way they’re basically playing Dark Wizard that he casts the Dark Mark to “show [them] what loyalty to the Dark Lord meant, and to punish them for their lack of it.” Which kicks off most of the events of the book. 

Prison of the Phoenix is going to have a companion, parallel fic told from Harry’s POV (tentatively titled Harry Potter and Malfoy’s Suspicious Interest in Werewolves.) Lucius does show up in that one, and I was honestly surprised by how much more frightening and intimidating he is when filtered through Harry’s perspective. Because with a Severus POV… when Severus is used to spending time around Voldemort, Greyback, Bellatrix, honestly Dumbledore and Sirius Black…. Lucius is not scary. Lucius wants to buy presents for his son, go to high-profile events with his beautiful wife, and wear a variety of snake-themed accessories and extravagant hats. 

I wanted a kind of college-roommates-who-stayed-friends feel for the Severus + Lucius relationship, because they are friends. Sirius calls Severus Lucius’ “lapdog,” and Narcissa calls him Lucius’ “oldest friend.” Lucius is also part of the welcoming committee when Severus is first sorted into Slytherin. He’s five years older (I think Jason Isaacs is the only Harry Potter adult the same age as the character he plays), which would have affected the dynamic between him and Severus a lot in school. Personally, I think it makes sense for Lucius to be a little protective of this brilliant half-blood kid with no money. And as an adult, there’s some guilt mixed in there as well. Severus probably would not have been sucked into the Voldemort thing nearly as deep or nearly as fast if it hadn’t been for Lucius, and the war kind of destroyed him. Lucius remembers a younger Severus who was modding potions, inventing spells, coming up with cheeky nicknames for himself, and that person is gone. That’s a big part of the reason he’s so invested in the Severus/Remus relationship in Prison of the Phoenix. Something about Remus has managed to wake up parts of that younger Severus, and Lucius thinks that’s fantastic.

I also think Lucius might be the character who knows Voldemort the best. He’s one of the only Death Eaters who Voldemort calls by their first name (Bellatrix, Severus, and Draco are the others) and he’s weirdly familiar with his “slippery friend” Lucius, addressing the whole speech about how/why he returned to him, for some reason? Anything that helps Voldemort make sense as a person I’ll take, and to me it makes sense that young Tom Riddle charmed Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius’ father, first. The dates are right, and he’s exactly Tom’s type - rich, pureblood, probably easily flattered (let’s be honest) and sitting on a pile of magical artifacts. It’s very Hepzibah Smith vibes, is what I’m saying. And rich, posh, popular seventeen year olds don’t join cults. But if Lucius’ father was already in a cult… 

It also makes sense to me that Tom Riddle got sort of stuck when he killed Marvolo Gaunt, and made his first horcrux at sixteen. He has this fascination with sixteen year old pureblood wizards (so Barty, Draco, and Lucius would have fit this profile.) He sort of wants to be them, but also sort of wants to break them? It’s messy, and complicated. It’s creepy and compelling, that Lucius is aging but this spectre that’s dominated his life isn’t. 

And so when Lucius gives Ginny the diary in Book 2… it makes sense that he’s just trying to get rid of it. He was just at Borgin and Burkes selling dark artifacts, but knows that the diary is worse. He needs to make sure it can’t possibly be traced back to him. So he gives it to the daughter of the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. (It is an enchanted muggle artifact, after all.) If Arthur Weasley finds it and deals with it, fine. If Ginny is discovered with it in a way that blows up in Arthur’s face, also fine. If it does get to Hogwarts and does open the Chamber of Secrets - well Draco is going to be fine, and it might undermine Dumbledore. If it was really important to Lucius that the diary rid the school of muggleborns… he would have given it to Draco had him use it. Or given it to Draco, and told him to leave it somewhere for an enemy to find. But Lucius doesn’t do that, because he doesn’t want Voldemort back and his politics just aren’t that important to him. 

The one trait I did give Lucius that doesn’t go back to the books is just being madly in love with Narcissa. Lucius is an unrepentant wife guy. (And I mean… it doesn’t contradict anything. There isn’t anything in the books to suggest that he isn’t a wife guy.)  I honestly did that for structural reasons. I’m writing a romance with Severus, who has the emotional awareness of a stack of roofing tiles. He just really, really needed a friend he could ask for relationship advice. 

[gravitywonagain]

Inquiring Minds

holy shit, i finished a thing. well, a draft of a thing, but still counts!

based on this post about wwx being just dead enough be susceptible to the compulsion of inquiry

--

It was, in retrospect, the stupidest possible way to be found out. Wei Wuxian will readily admit that. Unfortunately, the level of stupidity was not a determining factor for the level of reality — as was the case for so much of Wei Wuxian’s life.

It all happened because one of the two dozen Jin disciples who bothered to show up to the war got a little drunk and a lot prideful and ended up starting a fight he couldn’t finish. Or, that was the going theory, anyway. The Jin leadership — such as it was — wanted an investigation done. As if they had nothing better to do. As if there weren’t reasons to be conserving spiritual power and not wasting it playing Inquiry for a guy who had decided to pick a fight — hopefully, hopefully it was a fight — with a Nie disciple who, granted, did not have the startling musculature of some of her shixiongs, but was still a fucking Nie disciple! 

This guy was not worth their time. This guy was not worth Lan Zhan’s time. Or his attention, or his spiritual power, or the stress it would put on his guqin strings— okay, maybe Wei Wuxian should have taken a moment to purge some of his resentment before walking into the tent. 

But he didn’t. This is important. 

Because then Lan Zhan began to play. 

And there was this strange… tugging sensation in the pit of Wei Wuxian’s gut, right where his golden core was supposed to be, pulling him toward Lan Zhan, or toward the empty space in front of Lan Zhan. 

Wei Wuxian shouldn’t have ignored it. He gets that now. He does. But he always wanted to be near Lan Zhan, and his body had been doing all kinds of weird shit since he’d had his core cut out, and who was to say this wasn’t just another weird side effect. 

Well. It was. A weird side effect. After a fashion. 

But that’s not the point! 

He should have noticed then. He should have left then. But he didn’t. 

The melody changed and the tugging sensation stopped. Which was great! 

Until something else started. It felt like a kind of drunkenness, light and hazy in his head, loose around his tongue. Three or four bowls in. 

He shook himself to dislodge it, but the motion only drew a sharp glare from Jiang Cheng. 

The tent was full of spectators. At least two representatives from each major clan were present, plus several “close friends” of the victim -- like four of the fifteen total Jin disciples -- who probably just wanted something else to do outside of eat, sleep, and fight. Wei Wuxian couldn’t blame them, exactly, war was remarkably boring most of the time, but it was getting awfully stuffy in there. 

Lan Zhan changed the melody again, something almost lexical about it. Wei Wuxian could almost hear the question being asked, even before Zewu Jun’s voice chimed in, translating for anyone who didn’t know the qin language — which was pretty much everyone else in the tent besides the Twin Jades — “What is your name?” 

Wei Wuxian caught his own response between his lips, pressing them together tightly, as the guqin sounded three distinct notes which Zewu Jun reported as Jin Zixin. 

So, good. It was the right guy. That was great. Nothing weird at all. 

He should have left then. He didn’t. 

Lan Zhan played again, and again Wei Wuxian thought he understood the phrase, the question, even before Zewu Jun said for the tent, “How did you die?”

Wei Wuxian felt the answer fly to the tip of his tongue and bit his teeth around it, through it. His cheek bled with the force of keeping quiet. 

It was weird. So weird. But maybe, Wei Wuxian justified to himself, maybe it was just an effect of holding a secret inside for so long and having someone actually ask the question out loud. Maybe, it was just the same automatic reaction of answering with your name when someone asked for it. Maybe he was just too fucking tired, and the resentment under his skin just wanted something to laugh at, something to entertain itself with. Like the five of ten Jins standing in the back of the tent. War was boring, okay?

The notes from Lan Zhan’s guqin hung in the air, resonant and waiting. The moment seemed to stretch out too long. It dragged and Wei Wuxian gradually felt the words stop fighting him to escape. 

But the Jin ghost didn’t answer either. 

When Lan Zhan played the same phrase over — “How did you die?” echoed on Zewu Jun’s tongue — the compulsion was much stronger. This time it was like Wei Wuxian could feel Lan Zhan’s spiritual power pouring through him; the strongest of wines, several jars of it. 

He couldn’t fight it. 

His mouth opened. 

I fell. I fell. I fell. 

“I fell.”

All eyes in the tent turned to him. 

Jiang Cheng’s elbow caught him in the ribs. He didn’t even bother to glare. He said, “Not you, Idiot.” 

The qin sounded and everybody looked back to Lan Zhan and Zewu Jun, waiting to hear the Jin disciple’s answer. 

Zewu Jun hesitated for the barest of moments, stuttering into the start of his translation before finding the confidence of his voice once more, recounting whatever it was that the ghost had strummed out. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t hear a word he said. He was, instead, pierced on two sides. 

On one: Jiang Cheng muttered to himself, “Wait,” and then his eyes went wide as he looked back at Wei Wuxian. 

On the other: Lan Zhan’s fingers froze above the strings of his guqin and he turned to stare over his shoulder at Wei Wuxian with something like horrified understanding dawning within his gaze. 

Wei Wuxian finally realized he should fucking leave. Immediately. 

He wanted to run. He knew better. Knew what that would look like. 

Instead, he was going to simply walk out of this tent as he had walked out of so many already during this campaign. Gravel crunched under his heel as he turned. 

But his brother knew him too well. Jiang Cheng’s hand clamped tight around Wei Wuxian’s bicep, his grip unyielding. With his golden core, Wei Wuxian might have been able to break it. But the real bitch of it was that it was his golden core that was holding him in place. 

Jiang Cheng tensed as if readying for a fight, but Wei Wuxian already knew how that fight would end. So he let himself be restrained. 

He turned back to face the Inquiry. 

Lan Zhan was still staring at him when Zewu Jun finished speaking. He was still so stuck in place that his brother had to prompt him into finishing the ritual. Which he did, with all the grace and skill expected of him. He really was just so beautiful to watch. 

All the while, Wei Wuxian listened to the music and bit through his tongue to keep it silent. The questions continued to drag at him -- “Do you know who killed you?” Wen Chao. “Do you have any last requests?” To leave this fucking tent. -- though the pressure to answer eased significantly as the Jin ghost became less stubborn about it. Wei Wuxian settled for reciting the answers to them in his head until they no longer felt pressed against the thin seam of his mouth. 

It took approximately sixteen-hundred years. 

All seven Jin disciples supporting the war effort left the tent after the ghost had recounted his final moments. The attempted sexual assault was not unexpected, judging by their faces, but still disappointing to hear about. Clearly not the entertainment they were hoping for. Luckily for Wei Wuxian, they were apparently too wrapped up in their Jin nonsense to realize new entertainment was fidgeting in the corner and trying not to sever the tip of his tongue completely. 

The Nie, represented by Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang, left shortly after the ritual concluded. If Nie Mingjue had to tug his brother away, Wei Wuxian was too busy keeping his mouth shut to comment on it. 

And then there were just the four of them. Plus the corpse. But they were like six months into a war, so the corpse didn’t actually seem to bother any of them. It hadn’t even started to smell yet. It was still pretty intact, too, and now that it was verifiably a criminal, Wei Wuxian wondered idly if the Jin would let him use it in their next battle. Probably not. 

His idle wondering ceased abruptly as his brother’s fingers bit deeper into the meat of his arm. 

“Wei Wuxian,” he said, all of his surely filial worry for his gege boiling over into a spitting, incandescent fury. He never had to say he loved his brother, Wei Wuxian could always tell. It was the teeth gnashing that gave him away. “What the fuck do you mean you fell?” 

Right. 

Wei Wuxian played it as cool as he could with a definitely-not-bleeding tongue. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jiang Cheng.” He shrugged, but his arm didn’t move very far. 

“You answered Inquiry,” said Lan Zhan. Succinct as ever. 

“No!” Wei Wuxian said, maybe a little too loud, but not at all childishly. 

Zewu Jun narrowed his eyes and pulled out his xiao. Wei Wuxian tried not to flinch about it, he did. But Zewu Jun only played a short, non-Inquiry melody, and a shimmering, blue barrier manifested around the interior of the tent. 

“No,” Wei Wuxian said again, this time at a totally normal volume. “I was just… messing around. You know how I do that, Lan Zhan. Always a rule breaker.” He grinned, desperately trying to play it all off. Realizing faster and faster how very badly this was going for him. 

Lan Zhan surprised him, then, saying, “Not when it matters.” 

“What?”

“Wei Ying doesn’t break rules when they matter.” 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know where the fuck that was coming from. But he couldn’t say he hated it. 

Except that he did, because it was going to be a problem for this whole I’m just a silly rascal defense he was setting up. 

Jiang Cheng still hadn’t let go of his arm. His fingernails were starting to split the fabric of his sleeve. And worse, his eyebrows were scrunched together in the way they do when he’s thinking through all the angles of a problem. 

Zewu Jun still had his xiao in hand, and he was looking at Wei Wuxian like he was deciding whether to perform an exorcism or an execution. 

But Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan hadn’t moved from his seat on the mat. He had turned his body so that he was facing Wei Wuxian, giving him his full attention, and was looking up at him with… pain in his eyes. Shining, wet pain. 

“You died?” he asked. “Are you dead?”

“I don’t…” Wei Wuxian trailed off. He couldn’t find the words. 

He didn’t know. Which was, possibly, not the best sign. 

“I can’t be dead,” he said, looking over at Zewu Jun, Jiang Cheng, then back to Lan Zhan. “Can I?”

Zewu Jun, still wary, said, “You responded to the compulsion in Inquiry. Inquiry is a song that speaks to and compels answers from the dead. It does not generally work on the living.” 

“Well--” Wei Wuxian started, defensive and scared. But again, he didn’t really know where to go with that. 

“Where were you, Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng asked him. “Why didn’t you meet me at the bottom of the hill?” 

Lan Zhan and Zewu Jun shared a look. They didn’t seem to know what Jiang Cheng was talking about. But Wei Wuxian really, really, didn’t want to get into that whole mess. If anyone was going to see right through him and his flimsy tale about suddenly remembering the location of Baoshan Sanren’s mountain, it would be Lan Zhan. Actually, Zewu Jun would probably figure it out, too. And then maybe even Jiang Cheng. Now that he wasn’t all broken and desperate and gullible. 

Fuck. With the way Jiang Cheng was looking at Wei Wuxian, the way his hand released some of the pressure around his arm, he might already have. 

Wei Wuxian laughed, hoping it came off more smoothly than it felt in his chest. “Ah, Jiang Cheng.” He brought his own hand up to lay over his brother’s. “What if I told you--”

“No,” Jiang Cheng cut him off. “No more bullshit. Where were you?”

The mirth, false as it was, drained out of Wei Wuxian as he saw the pain building behind his brother’s eyes. 

There was movement in his periphery and then Lan Zhan was standing on his other side. His fingers wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s other arm with a much gentler grip than Jiang Cheng’s. Something imploring about the touch. Like he was seeking confirmation to a theory, or maybe proving to himself that Wei Wuxian was actually there. 

“I…” Wei Wuxian trailed off. 

Zewu Jun’s gaze was hard as steel, but aimed, it seemed, at Lan Zhan’s hand, rather than at Wei Wuxian in general. 

“There was a rumor,” he said in slow, even words, “that Wen Chao had thrown you into the Burial Mounds.” He waited a moment after he finished speaking, as if trying to reconcile the words himself, before he looked up to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes. 

Of course, Wei Wuxian didn’t want to meet Zewu Jun’s eyes. He didn’t want to meet any of their eyes. He wanted very much to be out of this tent and away from knowing gazes altogether. 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t quite figured out how to teleport using resentful energy yet. So in the tent he remained. 

He looked down at his feet. His boots were crusted with dirt and blood and other bodily fluids. War really was super gross, in addition to being largely boring. 

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, still looking down. “Everyone knows that nothing leaves the Burial Mounds.” 

Lan Zhan’s hand tightened around Wei Wuxian’s arm. Jiang Cheng’s loosened, but didn’t let go. 

“Yeah,” said Jiang Cheng, like an accusation, “it would be impossible.” 

Wei Wuxian still didn’t look up from his feet which meant that he missed whatever silent conversation happened between Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan that had both of them tightening their grips on his arms just before fingers were pressed to the pulse points of his wrists. He struggled, flailing as much as he could, but against Lan Zhan’s golden core and his own, he stood no chance. He could barely budge them. 

He screamed but the sound only reverberated inside the tent. 

The only thing he could think to do was to call up the dead. The dead man still lying in front of them. The Jin. Rapist. Criminal. He could use that wicked corpse to fight off the people holding him down, taking his secrets. Smoke curled out of his sleeves and he--

He stopped himself. 

It was over anyway. 

Even if they couldn’t read his spiritual energy, or lack thereof, his fighting them was confirmation enough. 

He went limp in their grasp. His knees buckled. 

It really was the stupidest possible way to be found out. 

“Where is it?” asked Jiang Cheng. But it was clear from his voice that he already knew the answer. 

Lan Zhan was silent. 

Zewu Jun looked to his brother for an answer, not understanding what they had just discovered. 

“His golden core,” said Lan Zhan. “It’s gone.” 

“Wen Zhuliu?” Zewu Jun asked. 

But Jiang Cheng made a sound that was somehow both a laugh and a sob. 

Wei Wuxian regained control of his arms. He sprawled himself out on the tent floor, exhausted from his struggle. He laughed, too. “After a fashion.” 

Jiang Cheng fell to the ground next to him, hands cradling the place where Wei Wuxian’s core now spun. “What the fuck?” he said, quietly, to no one in particular. Then, loudly, to Wei Wuxian in particular, “What the fuck!” 

His cheeks were wet. Jiang Cheng’s, his own. He looked over to confirm, and yeah, Lan Zhan’s too. Zewu Jun had nothing to cry over, except maybe confusion, but he was too cool for that, so he just stood in the middle of the tent, shocked, presumably, as his brother, another sect leader, and a demonic cultivator broke down around him. 

Wei Wuxian stared up at the tented canvas ceiling and cursed himself for not leaving the tent when he first noticed something wrong. 

“Jiang Cheng,” he started, but Jiang Cheng cut him off with a wet yell. 

“Why would you do that, you fucking idiot?! What the fuck were you even thinking?! How did you-- How--” 

He seemed to lose steam trying to figure out what happened on “Baoshen Sanren’s mountain” and potentially also why Baoshen Sanren’s voice sounded so familiar. 

Zewu Jun’s voice was remarkably calm for a man witnessing-- whatever he made of what he was currently witnessing. He said, “Wei Wuxian, I believe your Sect Leader would like to know how you lost your golden core.” 

Wei Wuxian laughed at that. Because yes and no. 

“No, Zewu Jun,” he said, still laughing. He tried to stop, but it was just too funny. “No,” he said again, slightly more sober, “he wants to know why and how he now has my golden core.” 

He didn’t really mean to say it. He felt drunk again, like he did when Lan Zhan was playing Inquiry. Ready to spill all his secrets at only the slightest provocation. Zewu Jun could probably ask him just about anything right now -- Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng too, for that matter -- and he would answer it. It wasn’t exactly a safe mindset to be in. But he couldn’t really do anything about that now. 

At least there was some kind of privacy barrier over the tent. 

Zewu Jun stood. Speechless. 

Lan Zhan’s tears fell silently. 

Jiang Cheng glared, hands clutched tight against his lower dantian -- whether to hold something inside or to tear it out, Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure. 

Wei Wuxian felt light as a feather. Drunk and dizzy with it. A weight had been lifted, he supposed, but one he was never supposed to let go. His laughter died down to the occasional press of his lungs. Tears collected in his eyelashes until everything was blurry. 

Emptiness yawned inside him, but it was gentler somehow. As if the secret itself had been clawing away at his slowly healing wounds. 

“Fuck,” he said with a hiccup of a laugh. And again, quieter, “Fuck.”

He really should have left the fucking tent. 

Also, wait. Was he dead?! 

--

(7/18/24: now on ao3)

[xxsabitoxx]

Experience

Kishibe x Fem! Reader

Warnings: large age gap (reader is in her 20s but it’s unspecified) and Kishibe is 50, car sex, hand job, degrading, praising, smoking

A/N: this was meant to be a short 1-1.5k Drabble but it turned into a mini smut instead (my brain is weird so some of y’all may still consider this a Drabble or you may consider it a full fic… idk man) anywho here he is :)

Word count: 2.6k

“You… you can’t be serious, oneechan.” Denji was staring at you with an udon noodle hanging between his lips. You chuckled at Denji’s constant use of calling you “big sis” — Aki had reprimanded him forever ago about using formalities with you. You had told him senpai was far too much and that calling you oneechan was fine. Still, it made you chuckle that it was the only nickname he ever stuck too with no bribery needed. Aki still used the gum tactic to get Power and Denji to use the correct terms while addressing him.

“I am serious.” The smile never left your face, watching as Denji slurped his noodle the rest of the way. “But why? He’s so old! Hell he’s over half your age! Ain’t he like 50 or something? And you’re like 20-something? I doubt he can even get his dick hard!” You rolled your eyes, laughter bubbling in your chest as Denji’s clear shock at your crush on his mentor. You’d known Kishibe since you joined public safety a few years prior, having worked alongside Aki when it came to training under the man’s brutal regime.

“Oh I doubt that. Kishibe is a man of experience, he probably has over 30 years worth with women.” Denji still couldn’t see how that would appeal to you, if anything he thought it should be a turn off. “That’s 30 years of use. You’ll probably catch a disease.” At that you couldn’t help but snort, putting your cigarette to your lips and inhaling. “Just think about it for a second, Denji. Wouldn't you want a woman that knows what she’s doing? One that would know how to take care of you?”

“I mean yeah, but maybe a woman that’s only a couple years older than me. You’re going after a man that was well into adulthood by the time you were born.” You shook your head, finding it rather funny that Denji was seemingly peeved by this. “That’s real bold coming from you, Denji-kun.” The blonde quirked his eyebrow, eyeing you suspiciously as he went in for yet another helping. “You and your crush on Makima? The fact that she seems to reciprocate your advances? Kinda a similar situation… but mine is legal.”

You shrugged your shoulders, blowing the smoke you had inhaled. “Yah, whatever… go for your creepy old man then.” He stuck his tongue out as you rolled your eyes, a victorious smile still present on your lips. “No really…” he drawled softly “he’s right there.” You froze, head whipping around to the direction Denji had motioned to. Sure enough, Kishibe was sitting at the bar, a glass of whisky in front of him… typical. You turned back to Denji, utterly mortified. “You don’t think he heard us, do you?” The blonde shrugged, a shit eating grin creeping up his face.

“Denji!” You whisper yelled this time, face growing warm. “Huh?” He spoke a little louder than necessary “I don’t think he heard? What’s the big deal anyways? Ain’t you want him to know? So you can like…actually do something about ya crush?” He drawled loudly, enough to draw a few wandering eyes to your table. “N-not the point! Shut up!” You were snuffing out your cigarettes on the underside of the table seconds later, ready to make a quick escape before Kishibe could even notice you there.

The problem being, you knew your old mentor fairly well. It was more than likely that he was already aware of your presence. Not only that but you were nearly positive he’d probably heard you and Denji talking about him. You wouldn’t be able to escape him unless you put a conscious effort into sneaking out of here. Even then, he’d find a way to corner you and ask you what the hell was going on. “Eh, whatever oneechan… at least I have the guts to go for the people I like.” Now you knew you were done for.

If Denji was going to make this a game of confidence, you’d have to do your “big sister” duties and simply one up him. “You’re a pain in my ass.” You scoffed, watching the grin return to the blonde’s face as you pushed your chair out. “You can thank me later.” Was all he said, returning to his udon as you made your way to the bar. “Captain Kishibe.” You fought to keep your voice steady. Kishibe turned to look at you, the usual stoic expression on his face.

“Come to talk to the creepy old man sitting alone at the bar?” He chimed softly, watching your face morph into embarrassment as he confirmed your biggest fear. He heard everything you and Denji had said. “Blame blondey over there for that nickname. Guessing that if you heard what Denji had to say you also heard what I had to say.” Your arms clasped behind your back, fidgeting with your fingers nervously as you waited for him to speak.

Kishibe swirled his glass around, watching the amber liquid slosh before he brought it to his lips and downed the rest. “Oh, I did. Not that I’m shocked… you’re far more transparent with your emotions than you think you are, y/n.” You could have melted on the spot, seeped straight into the floorboards and disappeared forever. Instead, you shifted your weight from foot to foot, willing yourself to grow some confidence and test the waters. It didn’t seem he was necessarily shutting you down just yet.

“Well… I guess this was a pretty lame ass way of saying I have a thing for my old mentor.” Kishibe leaned back, eyes shutting briefly as he inhaled through his nose. “You’re just looking for someone to show you a good time. Tell me, have you ever actually enjoyed any of the men you’ve slept with?” His eyes opened and he turned to face you fully now, tapping the wooden top of the bar twice to signal that he was ready to pay his tab. “Truthfully, no.” A breathy chuckle left him, one that sent shivers down your spine.

“I see. I guess that would make it my duty, Hmm? Your old mentor has to show you the ropes… show you the good from the bad. A private lesson, if you would.” You didn’t quite know how to react, your brain working in overdrive to try and process the words he had just spoken. “S-so you’re saying you’ll…” you flinched at your own stutter, watching Kishibe eye you carefully. “That I’ll show you how a man properly satisfies a lady? Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, Sugar.” Your heart jumped at the nickname.

You found it hard to speak, instead you kept your mouth shut and watched your old mentor pay his tab before grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. “I paid for the fool’s meal as well as yours, he’ll get home on his own just fine. Let’s go.” Kishibe was heading towards the door, you waited till he was facing away to shoot Denji a look. The blonde seemed a bit awestruck that you were already leaving with him, you just shrugged as you left. You’d probably have to apologize the next time you saw him.

Before you knew it you were slipping into the passenger side of Kishibe’s car, thanking him softly for opening and closing the door for you. He slipped on the other side a moment later, turning the key so the engine roared to life. “I didn’t think you were the car type.” You commented softly, eyes scanning the amount of gadgets that littered the dashboard. The car’s interior was all black leather, that was at least something you expected from him.

“I’m not but the holiday bonus was nice and I needed an upgrade anyways.” He cracked his window, lighting up a cigarette before pulling out of the restaurant’s small lot and out into the bustling street. You didn’t expect him to be nervous, nor did you expect him to be awkward about the situation. Yet you were practically squirming in your seat, hoping he’d show some sort of nervousness to help you feel less inexperienced.

His cigarette hung half hazardously from his lips, one hand on the wheel while the other came down to rest on your thigh. You nearly choked on your own saliva, heat pooling in your gut at the simple action. “Amuse me, would you? What’s the best thing a guy has done for you, Hmm?” Smoke puffed out around his cigarette, eyes locked on the road as he waited for your response. “Offer to walk me home.” You admitted sheepishly, not quite sure how he’d react to such a lame response. It was true your taste in men hadn’t really benefited you in any way up until now.

He let out a gruff laugh, slowing down as he pulled up to a red light and plucked the cigarette from his lips. “That’s it? Seriously? Where the hell are you finding these bummy men?” You weren’t sure why his clear annoyance affected you the way it did, but you found yourself struggling to not press your thighs together. A small effort to relieve some of the ache, you knew if you moved your legs even a little he’d feel it. Then again, he was driving you back to his apartment to fuck you… would it really matter? “No need to be tense.” He murmured softly, hand squeezing your thigh.

“…’m not tense.” A stupid lie but it made him chuckle so you couldn’t really be mad at it. “Let me help you relax.” The cigarette was back between his lips, hand on the wheel as the light turned green. Kishibe pushed on your thigh, silently asking you to spread them. It took your brain a few seconds to properly respond, spreading them just enough that he could fit his hand between them. “Atta girl…” smoke puffed out around his lips once again, filling your nose in an almost intoxicating way. You were a bit shocked by the praise, nearly letting a whimper slip out.

The man you knew as your mentor was certainly not the same as the man sitting beside you. Then again you doubted he would ever woo the amount of women he did with his mentor attitude. Kishibe’s hand gingerly crept up your thigh before dipping between to cup your panty covered cunt. You mentally thanked yourself for wearing a skirt, giving the man in the driver's seat easy access to where you wanted him the most. He could feel your warmth radiating through the thin material, on top of that he could tell you were already wet.

Kishibe exhaled deeply, forcing himself to remain focused on the road even though he’d really like to look over and gauge your reaction. Truthfully, he had been waiting patiently for quite some time now for you to be the one to make the first move. He wasn’t lying when he said you were transparent with your emotions, but even then he didn’t want to risk creating awkward situations. He was getting old after all, a fifty year old man going for a woman in her twenties would certainly look terrible on his part if the other party didn’t reciprocate.

Maybe he was just a creepy old pervert for thinking that way.

Regardless, it was starting to get hard to ignore the persistent stiffness between his own legs. You’re breathing had hitched, suddenly dizzied by the fact that his hands were already on you. Two fingers pressed against the wetmark on your panties, drawing a sigh from your lips as he rubbed the material softly. “You’re more excited than you let on.” it was an off hand comment, one that had your fingers gripping the door handle to keep yourself grounded. Kishibe’s fingers slid along your slit, settling over your pulsing clit.

“You’ve said no man has ever satisfied you… I take it because he didn’t know where this was…” he pressed down, sending a shock of pleasure through you. Your mouth opened but nothing came out, slowly he began rubbing tentative circles, making sure you keep his fingers on the cloth of your panties. He wouldn’t let you feel his bare fingers just yet. More smoke puffed out, filling the car briefly before being sucked out the window. “I asked you a question, sugar.” you turned to look at him, face warm as his fingers continued to pleasure you. “T-that would be right…”

“Every woman is different, is this good for you?” you knew he was referring to his current action. “Y-yeah but…” you reached for his hand, placing yours over his as you guided him to a faster tempo. Kishibe took the reins again instantly, chuckling softly as you let out a soft moan. “Hmm, that better?” it was low, enough you send shivers through you as your hips jerked into his hand. “Need more…” you couldn’t quite figure out what specifically you needed, you just knew you needed more of him. “I know.” was all he said, fingers working you up continuously as he drove.

Part of you had to wonder if he was even driving you to his apartment at this point. It felt like you were going in circles around the city as he got you off in his front seat. Before you knew it, you felt your orgasm creeping up on you. “S-shit…” you clenched around nothing, the tension in your gut had appeared a lot quicker than usual. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” he teased softly, fingers picking up speed ever so slightly. You mumbled out some sort of ‘yes’, gasping softly as the tension continued to build.

Maybe it was the combination of everything, Kishibe, his hand, the fact that he was doing this almost absentmindedly while driving through the city, everything was edging you on. “Then cum for me. Show me how much of a little slut you are. I mean really, you’re going to cum from me rubbing you through your panties. You’ll ruin them.” You whined at his words, the tension building so intensely that you were certain you’d fall apart. “Atta girl…cum for me” encouraged again, rolling to a stop at yet another red light.

He looked over at you know, the sudden motion causing you to turn to look at him. “C’mon… no need to hold back.” he sneered, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. You felt your lower lip tremble, head turning to look back at the road as your orgasm crashed down over you. Breathless gasps escaped your lips, hand shooting down to hold Kishibe’s wrist as he continued to work you through your ogasm. “…ough… enough…” you squeaked, overstimulation taking over as the light turned green.

He only slowed because of the light turning green, hand never retracting from where it was between your legs. “Here we are.” He commented offhand, pulling into the parking lot of his apartment building. You blinked, the throb already returning. “Hope you’re not worn out… I haven’t even gotten to show you a proper good time.” He pulled into a numbered space, shifting into park and plucking the nearly gone cigarette from his lips. You watched him put it out on an ashtray in his cup holder, turning the car off a moment later.

“Well?” You shivered as his hand pulled away, making you want to chase after him. “Y-yeah…I’m not worn out. Hell, after your training it’s hard to ever get worn out these days…captain.” You teased softly, not knowing where the confidence came from. A smile actually tugged at his lips, hand reaching for the door handle and pushing it open. “I’ll remember that, sugar.” For some reason, you felt as if you had just dug your own grave.

[thewertsearch]

Additionally, his existence is your responsibility.

Hey, Vriska was the one who turned him into a First Guardian. I guess you could blame Jade for his original ascension, but the present that facilitated it was the Pen-Pal's idea, not hers.

...actually, it wasn't even his idea, was it? The Pen-Pal was coerced into sending the bunny by some third party - and at this point, I'm pretty sure English has his fingerprints all over this subplot, too.

Refusing to venture out to destroy the sun in no way spares anyone from my master regardless. It is certainly true that destroying it will end my life. And it is certainly true that The Tumor you will deliver to its location has enough power to destroy it completely.

Alright, maybe it could happen - but you're hedging a little on whether it will happen.

I've been thinking about other ways to neutralize Scratch, in case the Tumor is a dud. Unlike Jack, we can't really trick of manipulate him. Abusing the gaps in his knowledge is technically an option, but they're kind of difficult to plan around. We'd have to know when and where the gaps will present themselves - and I'd advise against using the cueball, considering what happened last time.

There are a few other options, though. Bec was essentially erased when he merged with Jadesprite - and even if Scratch survived a prototyping, his personality would be compromised by whoever he's sharing a kernel with. We don't currently have any spare kernels, but it's something to keep in mind if he's still a problem in the reboot session.

He’d probably also be destroyed if he was present in a doomed timeline when it ceased to exist. Come to think of it, that might be part of why he's so big on Rose initiating the Scratch - because if she kills him via timeline erasure, the Green Sun will remain, and English can abuse it again.

To be honest, I'm still not sure we want the Green Sun gone. I'm obviously not against breaking the game, but we should really know what we're messing with before we start ripping out cables.

Instances of myself have spawned in countless universes, and my objective is always the same. I have never once failed to complete this objective, and I never will.

So there are other corrupted Guardians.

English's attack method is becoming a little more clear. When he sets his sights on a universe, he arranges for Gamzee's code to be injected into a Sburb session there. This code worms its way into the First Guardian's genome, turning it into a HONK Guardian - a corrupted demigod, compelled to summon its master.

...and I was just fretting about Bec's genome getting messed with. Great.

There is nothing noble about taking a course of action you believe would prevent his arrival, because that is impossible.

Are you sure, Scratch? Because it certainly sounds like something that'd get your death tagged as 'heroic'.

Anyway, this 'inevitability' shtick is the same spiel he used to manipulate Vriska. It was dubious then, it's dubious now, and defying Scratch's is only impossible if you believe it is.

Unfortunately, Scratch is a very convincing man.

[caustinen]

for the Hollywood AU,

How would it go down if someone was flirting (trying to) with Gale, I’m imagining at some sort of gala or event. Knowing how weird/creepy some people in Hollywood can be, I’d imagine John is very protective. But I wonder how he’d react, especially when he knows people are watching, and he has to keep is PR face up

Hi anon!! Thank you for this lovely idea, I love jealous/protective Bucky so much and can definitely imagine a lot of hc’s in this universe for them as well 😍 Slight nsfw under the cut!!

hollywood au! jealous bucky <3

You are very right, it’s easy to imagine quite upsetting things from behind the scenes if Hollywood, and I’ll try to keep it lighthearted enough to enjoy 😅 I’d think Bucky would be more stressed than he’d let on at their first few events together, exactly like you said because he has to keep his pr-image in mind but also he knows what kind of people the industry has in powerful places and Gale is absolutely gorgeous and can easily attract attention. He’s constantly holding his hand and tugging him after him when he wants to steer clear of certain people, and while Gale tries to tell him he can handle himself, that he has been to these events before for work he secretly likes it that Bucky is so particular about him feeling safe. Bucky also knows very well Gale is fine by himself and knows how to handle it probably even more professionally than he would he doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable for even a little bit.

They are on the top of the entertainement news for months so naturally they get a lot of attention at events and galas too. Bucky doesn’t miss the wandering eyes and too long handshakes and laughing a bit too loudlys that Gale receives but he doesn’t mind per ce; Gale is always nervous/shy before coming, so it’s nice to have kind faces around him. That being said, he will always have a hand on the small of his back or the back of his chair, and he’s made an art of playing footsie under table cloths no matter where Gale is seated compared to him — they’ve talked about it and he knows that Gale doesn’t find it controlling but comforting to know he’s around as he has to learn to present himself in this new way. Bucky would get super passive aggressive with anyone getting too flirty 😂

One time they’re at a charity gala and somehow Bucky has convinced Gale to dance with him. It’s a slowdance so they’re basically just swinging side to side slowly in what is almost a hug more than proper dance posture. Gale is relaxing into it after a while, almost enjoying himself even, when John nods his head towards the back of the ballroom. Gale looks up at him, confused.

”Have you noticed you’ve been getting particularly many glances today? Espescially from that guy over there?” Gale makes a sound indicating he’s completely lost on what Bucky’s talking about, and the older chuckles and turns them around so he can subtly point out the man who is, indeed, looking their way until Gale turns to look to him.

”… Okay?” Gale is still confused. Bucky rolls his eyes — Gale still doesn’t realize how insanely hot he is effortlessly, and the reactions he gets from people around him. ”He want’s you so bad,” he says conversationally, gaining an eye roll from his partner. But John can feel a familiar burn in his guts, can admit he’s feeling just a bit jealous because of how openly the man is ogling a man who is very publically known to be his fiancé. ”Hm. He wants to take you home and get you out of this sexy little thing.”

Before Gale can give him his worst case of unimpressed expression (he’s wearing a light gray three piece suit that makes him look EXPENSIVE but Gale doesn’t understand how much so) Bucky keeps going (he’s half hard from jealousy and being able to be this close to Buck in public after all these years); ”Too bad he doesn’t get to.” The song has a sped-up bridge and Bucky manages to take Gale by surprise and spin him around, making him grunt but also giggle dispite himself. When he pulls him close again he goes straight back to whispering in his ear, hands dropping to his ass after making sure the dancefloor is so filled with people they won’t see him do so. ”He’s gonna go home horny and alone while I’ll have you sitting on my face and moaning my name so loud we get another notice from the neighbours.”

Gale’s shocked exhale against his neck feels like a reward. ”John.” ”Yeah, just like that.” John can tell from his face he’d be smacked right about now if they weren’t in polite society. Gale looks around them to see if anyone has heard but no one pays them attention right now. He’s the one whoe leans closer to John’s ear this time. ”Was this just your clever plan of getting me to dance with you for another song? Knowing I can’t walk back to the table like this?” Bucky smirks down to him showing his teeth and while Gale pulls his hands up from his ass to more approrpiately up his waist, he presses a slight kiss to his lips too. ”I think you sent your message, caveman. Get your mind our of the gutter and have patience for one hour more or so, then we can go.”

Bucky might come off possessive but really he’s just a simp and the simplest words from Gale are his law; besides, he knows he’s going home with him, so he’s the luckiest man alive.

[i’m so out of habit with writing i hope you liked it anyway!!]

[cerise-on-top]

Playing Stardew Valley

One of my favorite games of all time. More headcanons, this time on what it's like to play SDV with the majority of the main cast. I think these can be read as platonic or romantic too. The only real mention of a romantic relationship is in Gaz' section, but even then it's just a "if you're in this scenario then that happens". SFW and gender neutral, obviously. The characters are the ones I usually write about, so no Makarov, for example.

Price: To no one’s surprise he’s not actually much of a gamer, at all. If the choice was up to him then the two of you would likely be spending your days somewhere outside. However, it’s not too hard to convince him to play with you on stormy days. The game is relaxing, it’s nice, he won’t have to worry about gunshots for once. Despite maybe having heard of it before and nothing else, he’d come to like it after some time. Most of his time is spent on the farm and in town, it takes him some time to find the mines. Loves getting to pat the animals, watering the crops and making the farm look nice. He makes sure that everything is going well so you can go hunt monsters in the mines or mine ore there. He doesn’t go overboard with the money either, so as long as you don’t constantly buy expensive things you’ll always have a good chunk of money.

Gaz: His name is Kyle, it’s in his blood to be a gamer. But Stardew Valley isn’t what he usually goes for in his spare time. However, as long as you’re playing it together you can be sure he’s gonna say yes. Despite being pretty good with money normally, he loses count of how much he has in game and sometimes wants to buy things he can’t afford anymore. But he always promises you that you’re gonna get it back. Gaz is also the kind to bring you all sorts of gifts, regardless of whether you asked him to or not. If you’re dating he’ll call it him “trying to gain relationship points”. His end goal is to marry you, in that case. Despite being resourceful he sometimes forgets to water your crops and pat the animals when he’s in a hurry with a quest. If you don’t take care of it, then you can be sure your crops will wither from time to time. Doesn’t mean for that to happen and will buy new seeds. It’s a vicious cycle. 

Ghost: Rolls his eyes and asks you why when you bring up the idea of playing with him. He’s got better things to do, actually, but he can be convinced to play if you annoy him enough. Afterwards he’ll come to enjoy the game, it is a great source of escapism, after all. Unlike Gaz, he will never forget about your crops or your animals and will always take care of them. Even money-wise it will be you who spends most of it. His favorite activity would be foraging. He knows quite a bit about survival and, if you ask him about it, he’s more than happy to divulge some information and give you some tips if it ever came down to it. Every time he sees your character running up to him with some gift he’ll roll his eyes, but appreciate it nevertheless. It wasn’t often that he got presents when he was younger, so now as an adult he’s quite happy, even if it’s just within a silly game.

Soap: Will probably laugh a little when you bring up the game, but is willing to play it with you. It’s not the most exciting game to play to him, but he gets to chat with you over something easy to digest that doesn’t require him to make a million decisions per minute. However, please let him name the animals, he loves doing so. Yes, they will end up with silly names, but he just tries to get you to laugh. Soap does get attached to them, though. Loves being in the mines and slaying the monsters there, he gets to feel powerful as he cuts through slime and mine some ore. Every once in a while he’ll fall unconscious, though, because he forgets about the stamina bar. During those few seconds of loading screens he loves to annoy you. Or when he’s already in bed for once and waiting for you to do the same. Poking you, throwing popcorn at you or something else, he can be a nincompoop in the most loving way possible.

Alejandro: Because he has such a high rank, there’s a chance you won’t get to see him that often. And during those few and short times you do get to see each other? He’s more than happy to indulge you in anything you like. You wanna play a funny farming sim? Of course you can! He loves it because of the setting. A pretty rounded guy, he does just about anything, except maybe fishing. He’s not a big fan of that minigame at all. Everything else is fair game. Once you have the kitchen unlocked he’s more than happy to make you a home-cooked meal every morning so you won’t run out of stamina on your adventures. The game makes him very happy, so much even that he’ll make the suggestion you play together eventually. It’s his mission to pet the animals every day. Please let him discover giant crops, he’ll love it and try to get as many as possible. Gets very into the game and its domesticity, but he’ll leave the decoration of the farm and the house to you.

Rodolfo: He’s a bit skeptical at first since he isn’t much of a gamer and the game sounds somewhat boring to him. The first few days actually are to him, but once he’s gotten the hang of it, he loves the game. Every day, he hopes you’ll ask him to play it with you. Heck, if he has the time, chances are he’ll invite Alejandro to play it with you two as well. Another all-rounder, he does everything he is asked to do, except he loves the fishing minigame. He’s also insanely good at it, the legendary fish got nothing on him. While he does simply follow you around for the most part, especially if you’re in the mines together, he has a good time doing so. Plenty of gifts from either of you for the other, you try to make sure the other feels appreciated. For the most part, he forgets that you can eat to replenish your stamina and will sometimes complain about it running out so quickly, until he discovers he can simply lie down in bed. His favorite activity is fishing with you while you’re talking about anything and everything. Loves playing into the night with you if neither of you have anywhere to be.

Valeria: Scoffs at you when you bring it up. However, once you’ve bought her the game she’ll at the very least give it a try. It’s surprisingly nice to her. Valeria can be a bit competitive, however, so don’t be surprised if she mentions how much money you suddenly have. On those few days she actually has some downtime for once, she’s willing to play it with you. Be warned, though: She has looked up guides on how to be successful in the game and make lots and lots of money. She may be a businesswoman, but she does try to purchase all the upgrades she can for you. Yes, she calls you out on using a lot of money, yes, she’ll also wring out every piece of gold she can find to get you that lovely little couch you want. Go ahead and make her some food every once in a while. It may just be a game, but she’ll remember that gesture. Do that regularly enough and she’ll just take you out to eat at a fancy restaurant, with her paying, of course. If she finds out about giant crops on her own without guides, she’ll simply stare at the cauliflower for a good two minutes before laughing a bit. For some reason, she finds it funny.

Graves: Has heard about the game, refuses to play it because he deems it childish and boring. Tries to dislike it and complain about it while playing with you, but once he sees how much you enjoy it and how much heart and soul has actually been poured into it, he’ll seem neutral, but likes it in secrecy. Like Valeria, he tries to make as much money as possible to show off how competent and good he is at the farming game. While he tries his best to get as much iridium ore as possible, the thought of cleaning up his farm doesn’t cross his mind even once. The animals get to roam freely, the crops will usually be fine, though. He loves having lots of silos, coops and barns because it seems home-y to him. He’s from the south, he grew up with animals and thus loves them, which is why he also enjoys having as many cows as possible. The fact that they look cute is just an added bonus. While playing, his cocky demeanor disappears a bit and he becomes more smiley as well. Point it out to him and he’ll outright deny it. He likes the game, but he’d rather be put in the electric chair than say that out loud.

Alex: The game seems fine to him, a lovely little break from having to worry about getting shot at any moment. He’s more than happy to play it with you and needs no convincing whatsoever, you just need to tell him what the game is about. He immediately falls in love with it and the very first thing he does is try to get a chicken coop. He saw them and knew he needed ten. The joy he felt when he found out he could name his chicken things like “Sweetie” or “Honey” was something else. He gets creative with those cute names too, especially if you like them as well. He’s a bit lost on what to do at first since he usually carries out orders others give him, but if you tell him to explore the map he’ll report back on his finds with excitement. He’s also fairly keen on befriending the townsfolk and tells you about all the events. Another thing he’s rather attentive to is the soundtrack. Once he’s heard the fall themes he’ll listen to the OST when doing the dishes or cleaning. Unlike Graves, Alex will outright tell you how happy he is that he gets to play the game with you. He loves it and he’s glad he gets to spend this time with you, doing simple farming chores.

Farah: For the sake of this we’ll pretend she’ll actually have the time to play the game with you every once in a while. It’s calming, it’s distracting, it’s escapism in its purest form. Farah needs fairly little convincing to play the game, especially if you bought it for her. It’s worth a try in her eyes, if she doesn’t enjoy it she can just tell you. It’s a bit weird to her at first, she’s so used to there being death and destruction all around her pretty much all the time, she’s just waiting for something to happen. But when you assure her that the worst thing in the game is the dragon enemy, she relaxes. Even while playing she tries to be efficient. Someone needs to tend to the crops, the animals and the townsfolk while the other goes foraging, fighting monsters and mining. I think she would enjoy the forest farm the most. Urzikstan doesn’t have the most flora, so it’s a nice change of scenery for her. The more she plays, the more she relaxes, but she does give you orders from time to time. As mentioned before, she likes spending time with the townsfolk and helping them out when they need it. The community center is finished within the first year as quickly as possible and the following cutscene warms her heart. Needless to say, she likes the game and likes playing it with you.

Laswell: Some convincing is needed in her case, but once you tell her about how it’s your favorite game, regardless of whether it’s true or not, she’ll cave in. While she has heard about the game every once in a while, she didn’t think she’d ever play it. Despite knowing nothing about it other than its premise, she’s actually pretty good at it from the get go. She always keeps an eye on her stamina, she always takes some food with her, and she gains money fairly quickly as well. Other than that she’s also fairly lucky, finding diamonds and prismatic shards comparatively easily. Despite getting the hang of the game quickly, she cannot do the fishing minigame to save her life and will openly complain about it. While you’re working on the community center she’ll leave all the fishing up to you. But other than that she loves the soundtrack as well. She won’t listen to it outside of the game, but if she ever hears any of the songs she’s immediately reminded of your small gaming sessions together and smiles. Laswell also found the giant Junimo plushie in the bushes on accident in spring of her first year without consulting any guide and to this day you don’t know how.

Nikolai: He knows about the game, plenty of people he knows play it, but it was never something he was interested in. Then you came and asked him to play it with you, and who was he to deny you such an innocent request? He may not be a gamer, but he’s confident enough in his abilities to suggest you two choose the monster farm. A lot of his time is spent slaying enough monsters to get all the rewards, that’s his goal. While he doesn’t do a lot of farming, he barely even buys any seeds unless he has to or you ask him to, he’s always somewhere on the map, exploring and foraging. His pockets are usually filled to the brim with stones, ores, gems and monster loot. His favorite challenge is getting to floor 100 in the Skull Cavern. He knows about the staircases, but he doesn’t use more than 10 of them. He can be a show off, he wants you to know that, despite not being the youngest anymore, he’s still very capable. Your animals bear Russian names. No Cyrillic used, just the way the words are spelt in Latin letters. If you don’t know any Russian, then he won’t tell you what the names mean. If you do know Russian then you’ll find that the chicken is simply named “chicken”.

[stormblessed95]

Okay so I’m on my fourth watch of the travel show

It gets better the more you watch, they are just so much fun

They have me smiling from ear to ear the whole way through

I know there is a lot of conversation about the car conversation but seriously, apart from Jungkooks beautiful ‘finally’ (and I’m glad that is in English so we hear it without mistranslation), what struck me upon this watch, is that he could actually mean them being in content together. 

Hear me out, but the kid spent the better part of the first half, and even to a degree still asking in the later half, of 2023 begging to go live with Jimin, inviting him over on lives. Including the bed begging live days after this filming, and now I’m framing it that he was probably thinking they have filmed this show, why can’t they have a live? I know that the show wasn’t going to be aired straight away but I can totally see him going with that thought. 

But it just struck me, he’d been asking and probably denied so many times, whereas Jimin had gone live with Yoongi and Hobi etc during work promotions, but denied JK. This was his olive branch, his two birds one stone, a trip for them to spend time together when free, but also for them to be alone in content (albeit airing a year later atp). If we remember too that they could not leave SK without work and a permit, the chicken and egg, hence the show. Jimin had the time at that point to plan it with the company, it makes sense he pushed it, though I’m sure Jungkook was involved too. 

People are moaning about Jungkooks attitude and they are so wrong and miserable, not to mention they misunderstand him. They guy is glowing with his Jimin, he’s being cheeky and kids around and it’s so beautiful to see it. To see their dynamic, as they are. 

Seeing them say they hasn’t planned another trip in NY, and the Forbes article said this too, they must have thought it a success enough to plan jeju and so on. I think a post from another blogger here also helped frame this for me, bc at the end of the day they talked about and proposed the show, just the two of them, to the company and needed a deliverable product. This involved planning to a degree, scouting locations and a vague idea of activities. They definitely had more freedom than Bv, and they had to rely on their natural chemistry, which is there in spades, but they still had to deliver/ this is where Jimins panic comes in when he is sick, bc he has to power through to make the show work, hence the are you sure? It’s so logical when I think about it all in that framed way. 

And mainly I think this also because they do not present as people who had had a falling out, or massive distance, or had issues, or something more ridiculous people are proposing. I mean logically do we really think Jimin (sensible Jimin) would even think it a good idea to do this if there was bad blood or feelings. Exactly, he would not.  There was no tension there, not that I saw anyway. They just vibe with each other. They present as pretty domestic, in tune and loveable goofballs. 

Also when you think about MS application being a month after this, they had to have seen and spoken to each other, it’s a complete reach to think they didn’t. Also, it’s their habit, Jimin literally said the same sentence in the very brief restaurant scene, that JK says to him in the doc and we know that was a complete fib. Also I feel the way JK looks at the camera in that scene and in the hand holding scene is very telling about how he felt around the cameras at first, especially when Jimin touches his throat, like he hesitated. 

I also hold in mind that at the end of the day we got about 5/10% of their time on screen, the rest is on the cutting room floor, and also probably not even filmed (esp given Jimins condition). Leaving them plenty of time for them. 

Just my thoughts. 

.

[hxhhasmysoul]

Hey, I read your analysis on yuuji sukuna and i loved it and i was craving for more so do you have anything more to add into. Like why sukuna is being this handsy to yuji Or keeps talking to yuji although yuuji mostly ignores him.. It reminded me how gojo was trying to do the same thing to sukuna but didn't get much response yorozu too But in yuuji's case their positions have been reversed to the point I am feeling embarrassed on his behalf. 😭😭

I think being embarrassed on his behalf makes sense. He’s really showing his emotions like that.

Sukuna didn’t respond to people who didn’t challenge his convictions.

He was used to being challenged by other sorcerers in the Heian era, they even ganged up on him then to defeat him and it seems like they failed then. And it seems that back then, like in the modern times the cult of strength was what governed the sorcery world. 

Sukuna was surprised that Gojou wasn’t the boss of the modern jujutsu world but Gojou actually misled him about that in a sense. Because Gojou kinda was the boss of the jujutsu world, not the official one but he could do whatever he wanted. Maybe what happened to Riko and Getou made him think that he shouldn’t take over by force. Maybe it was paired up with the thought that if he kills the elders he’d actually need to do some administrative work and take some responsibility for his actions which he avoids at all costs all the time. 

So maybe his plan to train devoted child soldiers to take over the jujutsu world stems from his laziness. Maybe getting Megumi as his first child soldier made him think he hit the jackpot because Megumi has the personality ripe to be turned into a professional bureaucrat. 

Sorry for the tangent, back to Sukuna. 

Sukuna was also revered in the past, like Gojou in the present. He also existed kinda on the side of the official power structure. Crowned the strongest and feared and worshipped, but not exactly in charge. Probably also because he didn’t care about ruling, he preferred to look down on everyone, like Gojou. 

Unlike Gojou he wasn’t worshipped from the day he was born. His mother was likely poor, she possibly was scared of him when he was born and abandoned him. Or the people around her forced her to abandon him. 

And he still ended up on top. He still became worshipped. He’s very much “what’s your excuse” towards the weak. But he also has no illusions about those who are strongish from his point of view. Those people suck up to him, want to add him to their power, want his attention and acknowledgement. He doesn’t respect that. He has no interest in their selfish goals.

Yuuji doesn’t care about him, so he feels like he needs to get to the bottom of that. Also Yuuji is now becoming a serious threat to him in ways that none of those selfish people ever were. 

Yuuji is of his bloodline but so different from him. He is something Sukuna surely has potential of being. 

I think Sukuna has always seen himself as the peak form of being Sukuna. That after absorbing his twin and possibly locking his soul inside himself, he has then perfected himself. He’s got exceptional knowledge of jujutsu rivalled and possibly surpassed only by Kenjaku’s and Tengen’s. His body is very strong. He’s an amazing strategist. 

But Yuuji has the potential of being more than him. And the difference is in personality. Kusakabe may dis Yuuji all he wants and pretend Yuuji has nothing special to him. But the fact that Yuuji is still sane after so many body swaps, or how quickly he’d learned everything before they figured out that he can be swapped into. Sukuna wasn’t fucking training him. Sukuna was doing everything to break Yuuji’s spirit. 

And he failed. The whole jujutsu world threw everything it could to destroy Yuuji and they failed. 

That’s why he’s so focused on Yuuji. That’s why Higuruma briefly caught his interest, because Higuruma also had convictions that weren’t in line with the jujutsu world’s norm. That’s why Maki also interests him, because she a) is curious for his jujutsu nerd side, b) she has also persevered and achieved incredible strength despite being rejected by the jujutsu world. The world that elevated and worshiped him, that bolstered his philosophy is crumbling in front of him and the people who are challenging him truly are the antithesis of that world. And Sukuna is nothing but curious. Especially of this kinda version of him that’s the first person that’s actually hurting him badly and is actually close to killing him. 

As to being handsy. 

What I think the canon reason to be: Sukuna is drawn to Yuuji and wants to see how he hurts Yuuji, wants to see his suffering but also wants to study him, understand him. 

What my shipper heart says: he’s missing how close they used to be and he subconsciously wants to be close again. 

[bamjammy]

My Billford friends. I present you: Will Wood. This is song is them. Not up for debate, thanks and I’m correct. Analysis below. Also TBOB spoilers probably

This is a lyric by lyric analysis about why this song is them. Most of (if not all of the song) is Bill’s perspective in my mind, Will Wood definitely captures his weird chaotic energy. Not every lyric matches. That’s ok, I’m just gonna skip those. The song is still them. Lyrics will be in quotes, analysis will be in parentheses and also a different color.

“Why do you wanna kill me?”

(I also hear this as “what are gonna do, kill me?” sometimes cause it’s a little hard to understand him. I feel like both fit a bitter/cocky Bill talking to Ford in the pyramid)

“Say you're still her, the woman you were, and you haven't turned into someone who never could love me again”

(Ok obviously Ford is not a woman, we can just ignore that part. The point of the lyric is the narrator, in this case Bill, wanting reassurance that he is still loved, I feel like this would be more subconscious on Bill’s part, but that denial is absolutely palpable during weirdmaggedon/TBOB)

“'Cause you never broke my heart, no, you fixed it, and now it works, but only enough just to suffer that hurt. Whoa-oh-oh-oh”

(Ok I fucking love this line especially in this context. This is literally their entire dynamic like, c’mon. Bill, up to the point of meeting Ford, had been manipulating people all throughout human history. It really feels like Ford is the first one he got so deeply attached too, so much so that he would want to convince him to join him in ruling over everything as an agent of chaos. Ford was captivated by Bill the moment he met him, believing him to be a higher power capable of provisioning him with what he needs. As their relationship progresses they sort of have a reversal of roles, Ford comes to despise Bill and fear him, Bill comes to be obsessed with Ford. He NEEDS him. God I love this line)

“What can I say to convince you to slip back into my arms again? I won't do you no harm again. Let me tell you that I'm sorry and that-”

(I don’t think Bill would ever say sorry out loud unless it was specifically to be manipulative, but after reading TBOB there is clear regret at losing Ford. Even if it’s not remorse you can tell he wishes he’d gone about things differently even though he refuses to admit it. Also the “slip back into my arms again” thing, again I associate with him trying to convince Ford to join him in weirdmaggedon.)

“I'm just a little bit crazy about you, Just a little bit out of my mind, Just a little insane without you”

(Bill’s always been a little insane by nature of who he is, but he goes to such extremes to get Ford to stay with him (see TBOB missing journal pages) and then STILL tries to convince him during weirdmaggedon after he’d already been rejected and despised. He makes him CRAZY. It’s kind of sad)

“Please come back and be just a little bit mine- Just a little bit mine”

(He wants him back soooooo bad it’s really just pathetic at this point)

“I never thought, and if I did, I forgot while blacked out in love”

(I don’t think Bill thinks through much of what he does to Ford in those desperate moments if at all. They’re just that- desperate. Can also be interrupted as Bill possessing Ford, when he “blacks out” and finds himself harmed or in danger, he obviously can’t remember those moments when Bill takes over. Bill interrupts this as “blacked out in love” either to justify it to himself or to convince himself Ford still loved him. I think that’s a fun interpretation)

“That what's only starting would've come to an end but now, I'm hungover and hung out to dry, and I'm giving it time”

(Time passes faster for Bill, it should feel like a blip in his life but it consumes him. The “hungover” part, see TBOB “Losing Sixer”. It’s the best page)

“Does not knowing the truth turn my words into lies? Whoa-oh-oh-oh”

(I could see him absolutely trying to play dumb in last ditch attempt to get Ford to trust him again. Fucking loser lmao)

“What can I say to convince you or do to make you agree with me?”

(Again, desperate. See all my previous allusions to the weirdmaggedon scene)

“I don't need you to be with me, Just try to remember what you'd see in me”

(I feel like this line could be a breaking point for Bill, where he’s desperately grasping at anything to make Ford continue his work, including harming, threatening him, etc. I know a lot of these lines have come back to the same thing but it’s just. The vibes, y’know? I feel like this is specifically the part where Bill tries to call Stan, which scares Ford into actually reaching out to him, Bill inadvertently causing his own demise. That’s from TBOB btw. I warned you about spoilers)

(Cut the chorus since I already analyzed it)

“I'll be here singing 'til our heartbeats might slip back into that rhythm again”

(Bill waiting for the right moment to strike. The moment Ford steps out of the portal Bill sees an opportunity, he’s done biding his time. You feel me?)

“Whether it is or isn't the end, Who cares? God knows that I could use a friend!”

(Bill is living in so much denial it’s suffocating. I mean, it’s not even just Ford, it’s his whole life. He’s in denial about how people in his home dimension treated him, he’s in denial about the fact that he’s not all powerful, he’s in denial about how similar he is to humans, and he’s in denial about Ford not loving him (and also in denial about Loving Ford). There is no end because he refuses to accept it, but then tries to brush it off like he doesn’t care, because he’s in denial about caring. My boy, YIKES!!!)

Cut the rest of the song cause it’s just the chorus again but longer. Anyway yeah the point of this is Bill is a desperate freaky ex with weirdo Will Wood energy, Will Wood’s music is good and I love it and you should listen to him if you haven’t, and I’m not normal about them and their weird fucking dynamic. Enjoy and eat well my strange creatures

[ohnococo]

Be My Valentine | Gojo x F!Reader

Gojo decides to tell you he likes you, with a handful of gifts on Valentine’s Day no less, but a few doubts creep in…

WC: 865 // SFW // under the cut for length

Gojo is hopeless. So hopeless he didn’t even know he was hopeless at first. He thought it was easy: he likes you, so he’ll tell you that. Valentine’s Day is the perfect excuse too, he’ll buy you gifts, be a little romantic, and you’ll swoon because of course you will, girls like this kind of corny stuff, right?

Except, when he gives Shoko a sneak peek at the giant white teddy bear and gaudy necklace with a cluster of sapphires shaped into a heart surrounded by a halo of sparkly gems, she gives him that look. Which he ignores, smiling as he shows the necklace off.

“Cute, isn’t it?”

“Do you not see the look I’m giving you?”

Gojo pouts, “That’s just what your face looks like… what’s wrong with it? Everyone likes teddy bears…”

She knows he likes them, she’s seen the little bears won at many a claw machine kept on his bedside table like he wasn’t one of the most powerful people to ever walk this earth. That’s beside the point now though, “Gojo, not the bear, that thing.

She gestures at the necklace in the box, and Gojo just looks confused. “You don’t think she’ll like it?”

“Have you ever seen her wear anything even remotely like that?”

He thinks, and Shoko rolls her eyes as she realises this is probably the first time he’d even considered that part of the whole thing. He shrugs, still not seeing the issue with his choice, “It was the most expensive thing there.”

Shoko sits back on her heels, closing her eyes and sighing, “Gojo just tell her you like her.”

She turns to leave, and suddenly Gojo is full of doubts he did not have before.

Doubts so bad that now he’s actually stressed. Walking into a few shops and asking for the biggest, most expensive thing there was easy - especially with salespeople willing to prey on those with big wallets this time of year. The consideration that you might not like it, made things much more complicated.

Coming up to you empty-handed feels wrong, but Shoko was only a pit stop on his way to where you were sitting in your classroom, waiting for Ijichi to bring your students back to campus. Besides, he’s already set on having this talk now, so he pockets the necklace, and decides that Shoko didn’t technically say anything about the bear being a bad idea.

As he enters your classroom, you’re happy to see him, then you’re just confused as you take in the 5 foot teddy bear hooked under his arm.

“Hi… Satoru…” then your smile is tinged with a knowing glint in your eye as you realise, but give Gojo the opportunity to say it outright, “who’s that for?”

He plops it on your desk, total disregard for the papers he sends sliding off and onto the floor, singsong voice accompanying his hands waving at the bear in a small presentation, “It’s for you.”

“Oh!” You stand to meet the bear eye to eye, taking in its appearance. Soft white fur, light blue plastic eyes, large paws holding a silk pink heart with a ruffle around it and the words ‘Be My Valentine’. You smile wide, looking over to Gojo, “It’s you.”

You laugh, and he does too, then an awkward silence befalls the room as he realises he’d been so caught up in the gift-giving part of it all that he hadn’t even thought of what he was going to say to you.

“Well…” you break the silence first, grabbing the bear from the table and hugging it in your arms, “thank you.”

He nods, looking from the bear, then to you, and seems unsure of himself for the very first time since the two of you met. It makes you chuckle, like you have the upper hand, and you can’t help teasing him a little. “Jealous of a teddy bear, Satoru?”

The playfulness of your words lessens his worries and lightens his mood, and he stops being mired down in his newly found concerns at saying the right thing, returning to himself with a happy sigh - after making a mental note that Shoko was possibly not the person to go to about these things. He respected her too much to cast her opinion aside when needed. And he liked you too much to come in here acting cagey when he really just wants things to be how they always are with you, just with that little bit more.

This time, his pout is fake, exaggerated with his lower lip poked out, “Maybe…”

You feign pity, hugging the bear to you tighter, even giving it a kiss on the nose, “I dunno, this bear is the one asking to be my Valentine, not you.”

“In that case,” Gojo rounds your desk to stand next to you, leaning close and tugging his mask down with one finger to lock eyes with you as he finally asks, “Be my Valentine?”

It takes you a second to respond, wit momentarily lost at the rare occurrence of seeing those beautiful eyes so close, but then you’re smiling anew, and pressing a kiss to his nose instead. “Yes.”