#i did my best to leave it all intentionally vague

[strayed-quokka]

lacking in subtlety || kim sunwoo

» summary: it was a bad idea to like your brother’s best friend. it was an even worse idea to let him into your room when your brother was one door down.   

» pairing: sunwoo x female reader

» rating: NC-17 minors do not interact 

» genre: brother’s best friend, smut, porn without much plot but there’s backstory i guess

» warnings: dominant sunwoo (kinda?), he’s also a bit possessive, i guess submissive reader, oral (m and f receiving), creampie, his hand finds your throat but there’s no actual pressure, vague exhibitionism (?), sunwoo gets caught but he kinda asked for it, the beginning takes ages whoops, open ending cause i’m annoying, one use of good girl and some pet names

» words: 4,738

» a/n: i know i’ve done brother’s best friend before but i’m a hoe for that concept aight deal w it… also i have like… 20+ smuts for the boyz in my drafts i don’t know what’s going on anymore but i’m thinking either juyeon next because hands or a threesome with moonbae because it’s been sitting in my drafts and lord is it wild 

also i know i disappeared but life happens and also people were stealing my work so i wasn’t really in the mood to write anything for anyone but here we are i’m back cause i wanna indulge ✌️

You’d never been much of a risk taker. In fact, on paper, you probably looked quite boring, good grades, a nice set of friends, never misbehaving, all of it lined up to make you rather uninteresting. That’s why when the shift from seeing Juyeon’s best friend Sunwoo, as someone more than a simple acquaintance happened, you simply ignored it. 

He’d never find you interesting enough. 

Though you were friends in a way too. Your brother was comfortable enough with Sunwoo never getting too close to you in that regard, and so the two of you would often interact even if he wasn’t there.

But the conversations were usually rather generic. Exchanges of how your days were, maybe the occasional comment about an outfit the other wore, but never anything beyond that. You still remembered coming downstairs in an oversized hoodie one day and Sunwoo jumping on the question to ask where you got it. He wore the same one in a different colour a few days later, and you swore he knew how flustered it made you.

You knew him, but you didn’t know him in a way that you knew friends. Nevertheless, you were always comfortable with him, even comfortable enough that during movie nights, if you happened to be around, lying next to him or even against him was deemed completely normal. 

You’d done it since you were little, and so even once it shifted from being simply platonic to something that made your heart race as you got older, Juyeon never once questioned it. He never felt the need to and neither did Sunwoo. You weren’t sure if he was simply oblivious or intentionally ignoring the way you felt, but you were relieved either way.

Juyeon never noticed that your first semester back from university, Sunwoo started to get more physical towards you. His arm being wrapped around you wasn’t new, but where he let his hand rest was. You still remembered the first time it fell on your hips, but it stayed unmoving and almost felt like an unintentional accident. 

Though with Sunwoo, nothing was unintentional. He thought you were beautiful and incredibly hard to resist, but he tried. He tried by simply leaving little hints, hints that could mean nothing or everything at the same time, and hints that Juyeon wouldn’t notice or brush off because Sunwoo wouldn’t cross that line. He’d never be so stupid. 

Sunwoo didn’t want to cross the line, but there was only so much self control he had. Especially when you never, not once, rejected anything that he did. 

You’d just finished your first year at university, enjoying the start of your summer break, when things shifted again. Trying to get used to Sunwoo drawing patterns on your hip or nuzzling up to you could never have prepared you.

The weather was terrible, a summer storm looming outside with the sound of rain crashing against the window as a random horror movie played that you lost interest in within the first twenty minutes, and you could tell Sunwoo didn’t care for it much either. Horror movies were Changmin’s thing, and maybe you should’ve been nice and invited your best friend along for the evening. 

You were leaning against Sunwoo, his arm around you and fingers resting on your hip with a blanket draped over your bare legs and a part of your waist.

Juyeon was on the opposite side, a bowl of near empty popcorn on his lap with a blanket around his own figure. 

Sunwoo shifted, the blanket slipping off your body though he caught it and covered you again, and you would’ve likely barely reacted if it weren’t for his fingers moving over your bare thigh. Your breath caught in your throat, and you tried to hide it with a cough though Sunwoo knew better. 

Though just because he knew better, didn’t mean he was about to risk it entirely. 

He’s slow, as if trying to calculate all the risks in the scenario he’s in, including both your potential rejection and Juyeon seeing what he’s up to, so it’s incredibly delicate as his fingers move under the thin blanket and to the hem of your oversized shirt, pushing it up above your hips. 

Your eyes widen, looking down though the skin he’s exposed lies very much hidden over the thin fabric that’s keeping you warm. You feel like you’re burning and can’t breathe, trying to regulate it without raising any suspicion. 

Sunwoo doesn’t feel your rejection, though he takes the time to whisper as quietly as he possibly can, “say stop and I will.”

You look over to Juyeon, but he hasn’t heard. It’s both a relief and a thrill, and you only nod to Sunwoo, tilting your head slightly upwards and to the side, eyes rested on his plump lips that had just hovered by your ear.

His fingers twist around the thin lace laying over your hip bone before he runs his hand down your thigh. He’s meticulous and painfully slow, but the result is that if you didn’t know any better, even you wouldn’t suspect much of anything. And the thrill of it all leaves you embarrassingly wet. 

You’re impatient too, and maybe it’s a mistake, but you push his hand just enough to rest in between your thighs. Sunwoo isn’t stupid either, he knows exactly what you want and exactly what you’re craving, and he’s more than willing to give it to you now that you’ve cleared up any potential misunderstanding of your motives. 

That’s the problem. Sunwoo has always been more than willing to do anything you ask, even when he shouldn’t. Whilst Juyeon had never explicitly stated that you were off limits, he knew that you were. He could have anyone he wanted. Anyone but you. 

And you’re exactly what he wanted. 

He’s teasing you, mostly because he doesn’t have a choice if he wants to remain discreet, but also because he likes it. He likes seeing you react, how you bite your lip and try to push your legs apart just enough for him to have his fingers between without the movement being too obvious. Sunwoo pushes into you as a response, and you can feel his cock against your ass. 

This was bad. You were both stuck here, and you were feeling incredibly hot and desperately trying to be quiet. 

“Are you okay?” he says it loudly, and you can’t believe the nerve he has to ask you right in front of Juyeon. Your brother looks over at you, concern on his face as Sunwoo’s fingers stop right back on your hip. 

“What’s wrong?” there’s genuine concern there, and now you wonder what you look like. 

“She feels warm. Fever?” 

You want to hit him, but the only way you retaliate is to shift around with the way you’re lying, purposely pushing against him. You hear the angry hiss leave his throat, but it’s so quiet, similar to a low growl, so you don’t think Juyeon hears it, or if he does, he assumes it’s because your shuffling around must’ve kicked his friend. 

“Do you wanna sleep? We can watch this another time,” you nod at your brother, for as much as you very much enjoy the lines you’re crossing, the gamble doesn’t seem worth it with him right here. That, and in some way, you respect your brother just a little too much. 

“I’m gonna have a cold shower,” you twist your body up, ensuring the blanket is still on Sunwoo as he lets you go and repositions on his side, “night Juyeon. Sunwoo.”

You hug your brother goodnight, retaliating by hitting Sunwoo’s ass over the blanket, making him yelp and glare your way as you disappear into the bathroom. 

Fucking hell, did that just happen?

You can’t believe it. The immediate guilt sinks in for what you’ve done. It’s obvious to you, just how deep your crush and sexual attraction for Sunwoo has gotten, but a part of you wishes you could still suppress it. 

The water is ice cold when it hits your skin and you let out a squeal, eventually rinsing yourself off and washing your hair, attempting to snap out of the constant daze and addiction that is Kim Sunwoo. But the more you let him be in your mind, the more he refused to leave, and the worse your thoughts got. 

Maybe you just needed to get laid. It had been a while since your ex (who you conveniently enough, don’t think Sunwoo liked), and now you were in a state of such frustration that you were taking it out onto the only man available in the house. 

Though desire was a funny thing. 

It just wouldn’t go away. 

You lay awake for hours, staring up at your ceiling with only one person on your mind. There’s no doubt you’re losing it, unable to sleep for every time you close your eyes, it’s the same thought and wish for a dream over and over again. 

You resort to the only form of advice you can run to. Changmin.

“It’s two in the fucking morning, please,” he groans, his voice rough and tired, and it really doesn’t help your sexual overdriven hormones. It’s not like you were attracted to your best friend, but his rough voice combined with everything else sent you into a near meltdown. Maybe you should just ask him to sleep with you. 

“I want to fuck Sunwoo,” it’s quiet. You’re not sure if Changmin has to think about what you said first before he reacts, or if he just has no idea how to react, but eventually you hear him shuffle around and speak. 

“I ehrm… I’m not sure what you want me to say to that,” he pauses again, clearing his throat, “does Juyeon know?”

“What the hell do you think?” 

“Yikes, you really do need to get laid,” you nearly scream before remembering that any loud noise is going to garner unwanted attention from the two men that are either just downstairs or down the hall from you, so you suppress your agony instead, “why Sunwoo, though?”

“Have you not seen him?”

“I mean… not recently,” you sigh, rolling onto your side to look out the window. The rain seems endless, so you can’t exactly expect Changmin to get up and walk here to keep you company. 

“You’re staying up with me.”

“I’m tired,” he groans, enough for you to briefly feel bad. Though one of your biggest flaws is your stubbornness and your best friend knows that. 

“If I have someone else give you company, will you let me sleep?”

“Who’s crazy enough to come out at-”

There’s an abrupt cut on the other line, and you realise Changmin’s hung up. He either had a death wish or a plan, maybe both, and honestly, neither were comforting to think about.

A knock on the door breaks you out of it, half expecting your brother or maybe both of the boys to walk in, but it’s only Sunwoo. Immediately, you feel the need to wrap your blanket over your bare legs, “come in?”

He finally steps inside, leaving the door slightly ajar as he approaches you. He’s still in the same sweatpants and shirt from earlier, his hair more ruffled and messy from the constant laying down. He looks so inviting, his lips so full and his eyes so entrancing. It’s pure torture. 

“Changmin messaged me,” you pale, and now you’ve decided that he really does have a death wish, “want to explain?” 

He holds his phone out to you, a message from a number you can recite by heart sent just a minute ago. 

Y/N wants to sleep with you. Double meaning implied. Leave me out of it.

“What the fuck Chan-,”

“Is it true? Double meaning implied?” he smirks, and you realise quickly that to him it’s become a bit of a game to see how far he can push and taunt you until you either decide it’s enough or give in. You’re not sure why Sunwoo suddenly got so confident, though you suppose he always has been, the only difference now is that he knows how you’re thinking.  

“You don’t have to cover up. It’s quite warm,” his voice is low, but you doubt it’s out of worry for Juyeon hearing him. He’s right as well. It may be raining outside, but it’s incredibly hot in here, and you let him when he asks to remove the fabric over your bare legs, taking a seat at the edge of your bed. 

“Are you… still watching that movie?” 

“Finished it. And two others. Juyeon went to bed, it’s literally been hours,” you nod, wondering if he really is two doors down from you, fast asleep. Maybe he’s scrolling through his phone or doing god knows what else. 

“And you?”

“Well…” he starts, his fingers moving up along your left leg and causing shivers to run along your skin, “see, I have a bit of a problem.”

You may regret asking, but curiosity gets the better of you and you feel like you’re damned to hell. That, and the fact that maybe you really don’t care at all anymore, about any of the risks, “which is what?”

He grins, and it’s a smile that tells you he has something on his mind that thrills him and intoxicates you. Sunwoo comes closer, resting the palm of one hand on your inner thigh to push your legs apart, his lips right by your ear, “I really need to know how sweet you taste.”

Your resolve breaks. Maybe it was broken before, but it’s definitely shattered now. A whimper falls past your lips and now he’s right above you, watching with eyes like you’re his prey. 

“Am I allowed, sweetheart?” 

It happens fast, the way you grip his shirt and pull him down until your lips meet. His lips are slightly salted, likely from the popcorn, and he’s quickly pushing his tongue between your lips and gripping you harder by your thigh. He’s rough, a little forceful with it, but you like the dominance he holds over you. 

“Fuck, you have no idea how hard it’s been to resist you,” he leaves open mouthed kisses down your neck, one of his hands slipping under your shirt to grope your breasts, playing with the sensitive flesh and hardened nipples, twisting slightly as you mewl underneath him. 

He’s overwhelming you. Sunwoo always has a way for your senses to go into overdrive, but with what he’s doing now, you can’t think.

“P-please,” you sound pathetic, but he’s nice enough to listen. At least you thought he was. 

“Let’s play a game,” oh no. He’s pulling you up, until you sit with your legs over the bed, planted firmly on the floor as your eyes find the still open door. 

You’d forgotten it was open. Sunwoo, however, clearly hadn’t, “what game?”

He’s down on his knees before you, his shirt discarded before you can even blink, and it takes a while to adjust to the naked chest and muscular build he’s always hidden from you. You tremble just at the thought, watching him closely as he repositions your legs onto his shoulder, pulling himself closer to you, “see how quiet you can be with that door open, sweetheart.”

You should be scared. The risk of getting caught has exponentially grown with the factor of an open door, but you feel his teeth lightly dig into the flesh by your upper thigh and you seem to forget everything else. It’s like he’s telling you to pay attention to only him, with each sharp sting of his teeth that leaves your skin red. 

Something about it you love. The dominance maybe, or maybe the possessive nature in which he litters your skin in angry red marks that you want to have, “look at me.”

It’s demanding, but you barely hear it first until his fingers dig into your thighs, pushing your legs just slightly more apart, and you sit up just a little to meet his eyes. He almost looks dangerous, near possessed in his hunger for you, and suddenly you’ve never felt more attractive in your life. 

He makes you feel wanted, and maybe that’s enough to explain why you’ve always been pushed towards him like a magnet. Even if you knew him at a surface level, he’s always been attentive to you in the little things. 

You nearly curse the world the minute Sunwoo delicately lays a kiss over your clothed clit, and it’s frustrating how that alone damn near makes you see stars. Such a simple touch of his lips should not feel like the end for you, and yet it does. You grip his hair before you can help yourself, pushing him between your legs as he chuckles, “are you that desperate?” 

“Shut up,” his nails dig into you harder, a scowl on his face as he nearly drags you down further, and you nearly yelp when your underwear is pushed to the side and his full lips meet your bare folds. 

“F-fuck,” he doesn’t respond to you. Either he’s off in his own world or he’s intentionally ignoring you as punishment for the way you run your mouth, but you’re in heaven, though it feels like the greatest sin that’ll have you sent straight to hell. 

You’d never have said you were a very vocal person in the bedroom. Even if someone made you feel good, your moans were usually quiet, more breathy and whispered than they were loud, but Sunwoo made you want to scream, and knowing you couldn’t made it so much worse.

Sunwoo seemed to know what he wanted, because without much warning, he’s letting his index finger graze your folds and it’s near embarrassing just how much of your juices coat his finger when he does, bringing it up to your lips, “are you gonna be good?”

You nod, desperate as you take his finger in your mouth, sucking on it like you would his cock, the taste slightly sweet while he’s back between your legs. You feel like your senses are going into overdrive, moaning as you take one of your hands and grip his hair, pushing his tongue deeper between your folds, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“S-Sunwoo, p-please,” you want to cum, and it feels like you’re so close, but it’s like he wants to remind you just how insufferable he is as he pushes back the second you feel like you may tip over the edge. 

The whine that releases in your throat is loud and pathetic, and you both share a wide look of shock and worry because what if Juyeon heard it. 

A minute passes, the only noise in the room being both of your heavy breathing, and when Sunwoo decides that Juyeon likely hasn’t woken up, his attention is back on you, “take off your shirt.”

You nearly don’t hear him, too busy staring at his swollen lips that glisten just slightly under the moonlight bleeding into the room, and he looks so beautiful that you feel like you’re falling for him right in that very moment, completely. 

“You need to stop staring like that. It’s not good for my heart,” his words make your head spin just as they put you into action, stripping off the very little you have on until you’re entirely naked. 

Sunwoo just stares first, and you wonder if maybe you should cover yourself but the minute you reach for the blanket, he’s stopping you, “don’t you dare.”

It’s rough, a demand that you listen to, especially when his fingers grip your chin to look up at him, “you look far beyond what I ever dreamed of.”

“You dreamed about me?” 

He grins, leaning down to kiss you as you let yourself go, back hitting the mattress as he hovers over you, “all the time.”

“Tell me,” you wanna hear it. Want to hear what you do to him, when this entire time you just thought that Sunwoo was the one making you crazy. 

“How good you must look with my cock inside you. You’d probably take it so well,” you’re nodding, whimpering slightly as he’s bruising your neck, and your hands are playing with the waistband of his sweatpants, asking without a word for him to take them off. 

It’s a relief to you that he listens, until you’re both entirely naked though you’re the one left salivating at his hardened cock. A little above average but thick, making you feel like you’re going dumb staring at him, “you wanna open that pretty mouth for me?”

You feel him grip your thigh and push you to the edge of the bed again, your face eye level with his waist, and it’s almost instinctual for you to part your lips, the tip of his cock laid flat on your tongue until you take him deeper. 

It becomes clear to you that you underestimated his girth, your jaw quickly sore but you don’t want to accept it either, relaxing your muscles as you swirl your tongue underneath the base of his shaft, moaning around his cock, eyes finding his to see that he’s already staring at you with such darkened lust that you feel like he desires only you, and it makes your head spin. 

“Just a little more, good girl,” his praise goes right to your core, making you shake and he notices, fingers tugging at your hair as you take him just a little more, your mouth so full that you have to release him and gasp for air, but Sunwoo doesn’t mind for a second that you need to pull away. 

Especially not when his patience is running thin with what he really wants. 

You watch him step away from you, making you nearly cry out and complain but he moves to sit up with his back against the headboard, tapping his thigh as if inviting you onto his lap, and you don’t need to be told twice to obey his wishes. He grabs your waist when you’re close enough, and in a way it’s gentle as he guides you, straddling him and making his cock ache against your bare cunt, your juices coating him as he tries to steady his breathing. 

“F-fuck, you sure you want this?”

He looks pained, like he would shatter if he had to stop now, but you also see in his eyes that he’s genuine. That he’s giving you one last out if you want to take it. Fortunately for you both, you don’t want to.

“Yes, p-please Sunwoo?” 

It’s the desperation in your voice that releases something primal in him, the last bit of reserve leaving him as he lifts your thighs with a harsh grip that makes you see stars, aligning his cock against your entrance. He’s careful and slow, which at first you want to cry about, but you quickly realise that he has to be slow or he may hurt you, your body having to adjust to how tight it’s gripping him. 

“G-god, have you never been fucked before?” 

“Not like t-this,” your mouth hangs open, eyes shut as he feels his possession of you grow, and it does things to him knowing that it’s only him that’s got you squeezing around his cock like it’s your first time. 

“There you go,” the praise makes you whimper again, clenching around him and Sunwoo nearly sees stars when he realises how much you like to be praised and told you’re good for him. 

He feels like you’re cursing him straight to hell with the thoughts you’re giving him, something primal in him awakening, leaving him barely able to wait for you to let him move. 

“P-please, m-more,” the open door has been forgotten the second Sunwoo lifts you off his cock before slamming into you, making you nearly scream in pleasure though he muffles it with his hand, alarmed though not near enough to have him stop. He doesn’t think he can, not with the way you feel around him, meeting the thrusts of his hips halfway as you bounce on his cock. 

“S-Sunwoo, m-more,” he groans, eyes falling between the way he disappears inside you and your lips, and he knows he can never return to seeing you the way he did before, not now that he knows he’s gotten his hands on you. 

“I want you to belong to me,” it should maybe be alarming, to hear him lay claim on you like this, but to you it’s the sexiest thing anyone’s said to you, and honestly, you know you already do. 

“F-fuck, yes,” your movements quicken, his hand finding the base of your neck, just to grip onto you but not adding any pressure, but the action is enough to urge you on, like you want to do more for him and he hisses at the way your wrapped around him so tight and willing. 

“Good, y-you do so good,” Sunwoo feels like he’s burning, gripping both your hips when he feels you lose control at his praise, keeping you in place with a vice hold that might even bruise, and you know you’re going not going to last. Not when you see the way his eyes are glazed over and never leaving you, his hair clinging to his forehead and his muscular chest moving rapidly as he breathes.

“Sunwoo, I-”

“I k-know baby,” his voice is smooth, but his pace is feverish and rough, and his neck presents itself to you just as the scale tips and you’re releasing your orgasm, biting into the skin of his shoulder to hide your pleasured screams of his name, the cries and the pathetic way he makes you whimper and see stars. 

The pressure and pain from your teeth and knowing why you bit him just as you grip his cock harder inside your walls has him spilling his cum into you before he can properly warn you, but you don’t seem to mind at all as his lips fall to your shoulder, muffling his own breathing as you both come down from your high. 

His hands find your back, nails grazing the skin gently before he’s just holding you in his arms, wincing slightly from the way you’re stimulating his cock even now, but when he tries to pull away from you, you grip onto him tighter. 

“P-please,” he nearly wants to cry, head falling back against the headboard as he looks up, trying to collect himself and maybe even think about what he’s just done. But all that runs through his mind is how you’re keeping him in place, gripping him, whimpering and willing and his, and he’s forgetting every possible consequence to his insane actions. 

“I’m a dead man,” you laugh, properly for the first time in a while and it makes him smile, and as much as he wants to keep you over him, to fill you up, he’s also a little more than relieved when you fall next to him because he’s not sure he could’ve handled the overstimulation any longer without being the one to beg. 

“So is Changmin,” even if your best friend will likely ask you questions, and likely throw it in your face that he did you a favor, you still very much want to kill him. Sunwoo chuckles, brushing his fingers against your shoulder gently, and the way his eyes are watching you so softly now makes your head spin.

“Kim Sunwoo, put your fucking clothes on or I will drag your naked ass out anyway, you’re dead,” both of you tense, simultaneously looking to the ajar door, though you can’t actually see Juyeon, you just very much know he’s there. You guess it could be considered kind of him to not just barge in, but it almost makes you more embarassed because if he’s not walking in, he knows exactly why he shouldn’t and there’s no way out for either of you.

You expect Sunwoo to be more ashamed or worried, but he sends you a cheeky grin and kisses your forehead before stumbling over to his discarded grey sweats. 

“Well, guess I have to go princess,” and while you’re left blushing, incredibly embarrassed, his bashfulness makes you smile, even when you know that Sunwoo is very much screwed. 

“Y/N, you too. Now.”

And so are you. 

waiting to be chased for the open ending but it just wasn’t important to the story to add what happens there so... 

anyway thank you to everyone for reading, commenting and liking my work even while i was gone :) there will be more cause like i said... moonbae threesome and juyeon hands whoops

on a rather serious note though, please do not plagiarise my damn work. i spend hours on it and while i was grateful to be tagged and made aware of what was happening to me and other writers, it really makes it hard to even have motivation to write and dedicate that time if someone just takes it. i understand similarities in ideas because that happens (like please, as if i’m the first to do brothers best friend), but to copy paste is just beyond disrespectful and i’m tired of it. 

tbz masterlist

[kiame-sama]

Hello, Can you write more yanChrollo with the newly hijacked and autistic reader? Maybe where the reader is not yet used to Chrollo or the situation, And afraid of him and the rest of the members

I would like to make the reader male but if you prefer to make the reader female then I don't mind at all

I am now in my twenties

Thank you so much

Warnings; yandere, yandere relationship, yandere behavior, autistic reader, male reader, mention of kidnapping, less than pleased reader, tough situations, ficlet (not a fullblown fic), somewhat hurt/comfort,

(Despite being a male reader, still using my own autism as a reference)

~~~~~~~~

"Why are we just letting him-"

"Don't question Boss. His soulmate, his rules."

"But why the hell is he just letting his soul mate sit in the corner like that?"

You watched them closely as you sat and stared, trying to keep to yourself as best you could. It had been days but you still couldn't bring yourself to relax among the group of people that had so readily grabbed you off the street. They were much more openly curious than Chrollo- the man they had grabbed you for- and clearly did not care if you could hear them or not.

Chrollo, the man that claimed you as his soulmate, had been rather keen on letting you acclimate to him but also keeping you in his sight. Luckily, he did give you some privacy, but he was never too far away from you even when you were out of his sight. Even when you slept you knew he was somewhere nearby and it only made your stress levels rise.

"No sense in upsetting him more than getting him to me had," Chrollo, spoke with a vague grin on his lips, "clearly I just have to learn how to best interact with him, that is all."

"I can hear you."

"I know you can, my darling (Y/n). However, you are not keen on talking, so there is no point in making you talk."

"... But there is a point in taking me from my home?"

Chrollo turned to you now, intentionally blinking in an attempt to come across as less threatening despite how it obviously didn't fool you. Still, he was learning what unsettled you and what was going to keep you calm. Any progress in relaxing you around him was good progress in Chrollo's eyes.

"Yes. As I explained earlier, we are soulmates. You can distrust me as much as you wish, you will eventually never want to leave my side. Soulmates are connected for a reason, Dear."

You just let out a soft humming sound in response to his words, drumming your fingers against your arm idly. Chrollo continued to smile at you despite your lack of response before returning to his book. The other members of the group didn't seem to feel the same way as they continued to glance at you suspiciously from time to time.

The sounds from the outside wre muffled but absolutely enough to occupy you. Not many cars went by, but there were still the various barks of dogs as others passed the abandoned building you were held captive inside of. Despite the sounds, your eyes stayed fixed on the relaxed figure of Chrollo.

The more you stared, the more your situation began to weigh on you. A very faint sting of salty tears burned your eyes as your throat seemed to tighten with distress. When you finally dropped your gaze, you had to hide your face against your arms and you pulled your knees to your chest. The first few tears fell quickly but you tried your best to remain as quiet as possible to not draw attention to your now sensitive state.

It was while you choked back any sounds from escaping that you felt something drape over your shoulders. Whatever it was almost seemed like a blanket and you quickly took to wrapping yourself in the material. The faint brush of fur against your arms brought to mind thoughts of the coat Chrollo always wore and you gathered just what the item was.

A soft sound of movement next to you made you peak one eye past your arms where you hid your face, seeing Chrollo settle an arm's length away from you. He leaned against the wall as he sat- completely topless- and opened his book back to whatever page he had been on. He didn't even glance at you as you stared at him, trying to gauge what he was doing. Without missing a beat, Chrollo spoke in a soft tone to you, the low rumble of his voice somewhat soothing your anxious heart.

"I know it is a frightening time for you. You're somewhere new. Somewhere you don't know very well. It all is so sudden and confusing for you. I understand. Even if you don't trust me now, I still don't wish to bear the thought of you hurting all by yourself."

Chrollo had that grin again, the one where he seemed to be both bemused and patiently waiting. You couldn't tell if you liked that look on him or not.

"You will warm to me eventually. For now, take comfort in the fact I have quite the patience. I can wait as long as I need to until you begin to trust me."

[katerina-marie]

The Beach Episode (Romantic Sunday)

Sukuna x Reader

Part 1

You and Satoru are supposed to be filming a short ad on the beach, but your blue-eyed costar has a habit of never showing up on time. What happens when a certain tattooed, pink-haired band member surprises you with a visit? You frolic in the ocean of course!

Notes: A celebrity!au that popped into my head while listening to Romantic Sunday by Car, the Garden and would not leave. While this is a Sukuna x Reader fic, other characters do play minor roles and may have brief POVs. This fic is pending in my head as a chapter in a larger work that chronicles reader's and Sukuna's developing relationship and is inspired by other scenarios that come to be while listening to music, but nothing is concrete. Since that's so, Sukuna and reader's relationship isn't explicitly defined in this one, but it’s certainly past friendship.

Word Count: 5.3k

Content: bandmember Sukuna x actor female Reader (referred to as such, but left descriptively vague), no y/n, manager Nanami, bodyguard Toji, actor Gojo (he's picked on, but I love him so it’s okay), other favorites who have small supporting rolls, all fluff, crack, and humor, includes an innuendo or two, but other wise PG/PG-13, out of character Sukuna (he's so fluffy).

P.S. I've used a line from a favorite TV show back in my teen years. Let me know if you recognize it!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

——————————————————————————————————

“Well…you did say you wanted to go to the beach, Kento. Look where we are!”

Your teasing tone and amused grin did nothing to budge the frustrated scowl off the face of your manager. If anything, it drove the furrow between his eyebrows that much further, and you swore a vein in his forehead started to throb. 

“A vacation, actually,” Nanami began, sending you a pointed look that said he knew exactly what you were playing at, “in Malaysia…on a beach…by myself.” 

You tutted at him before giving him a dainty smile and settling further into your makeup chair, “I was only trying to make you laugh, Kento.” 

In your opinion, laughing and smiling was something Nanami Kento seldom did but often should. Whether it was a personal standard he held himself to or some other form of ritual torture, your manager stuck to a strict dress code no matter where he went. Case in point, on a beach in the middle of the summer, Nanami was clothed in his usual suit, tie and dutifully styled hair in tow. The only indication that he planned for the environment you all would spend the day in was the thick white stripes of sunscreen pasted on the sharp angle of his nose and over the apples of his cheeks. Whether he intentionally matched the color of his tan suit to the sand under your feet was anyone’s best guess. You hesitated to ask, a mercy for Kento if you did say so yourself, if only because he looked one wrong word away from throwing himself in the ocean, and not in a way that indicated any fun would be had. 

As if privy to your thoughts, he released a drawn out sigh and crossed his legs in his own chair across from you. He took a quick glimpse at the time on his phone and shook his head. 

Poor Kento. He really did deserve that vacation. And honestly, you did appreciate and acknowledge his dedication to his craft—and you, by extension. 

“I’m sorry,” Nanami murmured, an apologetic softening of his eyes making his whole expression smooth out, “my frustrations are not towards you, I assure you. I’m confident you could guess at whom my ire is directed at currently.” 

You snorted. “Well, of course I c—,” 

“That blue-eyed bastard is late again!” 

The flap of your makeup tent was thrown back with enough force that you were surprised it hadn’t ripped clean down its seam. Your overgrown tree of a bodyguard had a habit of “forgetting” the strength and stature that made him so adept at his job and simply enjoyed his ability to throw any object—or person—around as he pleased. 

You scowled at Toji for interrupting you and watched as he stomped over to stand next to you and Nanami with a pout that pulled at the, frankly, appealing scar at the corner of his mouth. Between that, his eyes that looked as if they knew every secret you ever had and shaggy black hair that probably needed a cut, Toji posed both an intimidating and handsome figure. That was besides the point though and not that it mattered much to you. He had a son that was a friend of your friend and only a couple years younger than you. Not that Toji looked it one bit. 

“Satoru hasn’t been heard from, I presume?” 

Toji and Nanami both leveled you with a deadpan look and answered you at the same time with the same disgruntled voice, “no.”

You threw your head back in exasperation and instantly regretted it when you were reminded of the dozens of pins holding your styled hair in place as they all poked you quite viciously in the back of the head. You winced and raised your hand to rub at the sore spot, only to have it slapped away by a member of the hair and makeup team to prevent you from mussing it further. You crossed your arms with a huff and slouched further into your chair. 

“You look like you’re having fun,” Toji remarked, his smirk full of sarcasm and twisted amusement. “I think they missed a spot with your makeup though.” 

You found no humor in the waving of his hand as one of his fingers circled the entirety of your face in the air in front of it, nor were you concerned with the false insinuation that you looked anything other than well put together. Now, the chance of said makeup sliding right off your face as soon as you stepped into the late afternoon sun? Plausible, but best left to the worries of the experts. 

“Toji,” you crooned, voice cloyingly sweet but eyeing him with a sharp glare he was surely well acquainted with, “we’re at the beach. Why don’t you, oh I don’t know, go play in the ocean and swim with the fish? Or, do you want to build a sandcastle?” 

The smug grin he was wearing fell clean off his face and was replaced with an ugly pinch of his nose.

“Hell no, I hate sand! The damned stuff always gets everywhere no matter what I do. In my socks, my sandwich, the crack of my a—,” 

“Enough!” 

Nanami’s exclamation was loud and angry enough that it caused you and Toji both to jump and effectively ended whatever crude tale he was about to subject the crowd in the tent to. 

“I’m going to go call Geto and see where the hell his client is.” 

Nanami stood and brushed any bits of sand from his suit. Not that anyone could tell if there had been any in the first place. 

“You,” he added, pointing in your direction, “will get dressed so that once I finish ripping Gojo’s manager a new one, we can talk with the director of this damned affair and see if we can get any film done with just you while we wait.” 

Without leaving any room for protest or discussion, Nanami was gone with a flutter of a tent flap and you were left making wide eyes at your equally stunned bodyguard. There was silence and stillness for a beat of time before Toji shrugged and movement about the tent resumed again. 

“Well,” he drawled, “that’s my cue to leave. I’m off to go guard some bodies and what not.” His eyebrows danced and his eyes flashed, not in the least deterred by your annoyed stare. 

“We’re on a closed off, private beach, Toji. There’s no one here for you to throw out.” 

He was unbothered and took a few sauntering steps back towards the entrance of the tent. 

“Still, I wouldn’t want you to think I was slacking on the job and quit paying me. Have fun getting dressed, Princess.” 

Toji ignored the baring of your teeth and left just as quickly as Nanami did. You blew out a resigned sigh as you took a peek at the mountain of lace, fabric, and strings that hung from a corner of the tent and decided at that moment that you wished it was Toji being stuffed into a dress and primped within an inch of his life. 

“He’s going to charm his way back into the refreshment tent and pass out,” you grumbled, and oh yes, that was seething jealousy you held for your bodyguard. Someone chuckled behind you, but was quick to prompt you to stand and disrobe. 

Really, it couldn’t be that bad…right? 

——————————————————————————————————

Some suspiciously placed tape, three assistants, and nearly forty five minutes later would prove you to be exceptionally wrong. Lace sleeves had been tugged up against sweaty arms, the strings at the back of your dress that held it together had been pulled and tied so tightly that you were hesitant to move too suddenly for fear of busting it, and the pins in your hair had been removed to let it lay as styled. You were one moment of heat induced lightheadedness away from falling over into the sand, and there would be no getting up after that. There was fabric clinging and swishing against your legs and you thought you had seen a train at the back of the dress, though that made no sense to you at all given what was planned to happen in front of a camera. 

“Please,” you begged to anyone in the room that would listen. “Can I be done now? If I don’t get a breath of fresh air, I’m going to pass out.” 

Your wish was acquiesced, and with the promise to not mess anything up, you made your great escape out of the tent and towards the edge of the ocean before anyone could change their mind. There was no need for any more hair to be pinned, makeup to be touched up, or fabric draped. 

The water that went on endlessly for miles in front of you was a light blue and mostly calm in its movement for the day. Sandy beach on either side of you stretched out until you could just barely see it transition into rocky cliffs that helped form its crescent shape. If one could ignore the highway and paved parking lot a couple minutes walk behind you, it was almost like you were on a secluded island paradise. 

Though the sun was still hot, the fresh air was successful in clearing your mind, and the salted mist of the water was enough to help balm the warmth under your dress. The multiple tents strewn across the sand each served their own niche purpose with people popping in and out of them all day. There was chatter about, people hustling from one side of the camped setup to the other and cameras placed strategically to capture whatever commercial or short that you and Satoru were supposed to film.  However, no one paid you much mind at the moment, and you sidled up to where the water met the sand, dress held above your ankles so the waves could tickle your feet. 

“Don’t you look pretty.” 

Elated surprise made your heart leap at the sound of a familiar voice, and you whipped around with excitement written all over your face to meet the eyes of the handsome man behind you. 

“Sukuna! What are you doing here?” 

The man in question grinned, his expression half mischievous and maybe the slightest bit bashful, though no one would dare point it out. His pink hair was pushed back into its normal style, but due to the humidity, random pieces drooped down his forehead and into his eyes slightly. His tattoos were on full display in the tank top and swim trunks he was wearing. Every bit of him was a sight for your sore eyes. Sukuna opened his arms for you and it took only a moment of hesitancy before you stepped into them for a quick hug. 

“Yuji and Choso wanted to go for a drive since the day was nice, and naturally Fushiguro tagged along. Coincidentally though, Yuji had us drive along the highway behind the setup you all got going on and ‘poof,’ here we are.”  

You pulled back from Sukuna as he finished his sentence and gave him a small, happy wiggle of your shoulders. You made a note to remember how you felt his fingers dancing down languidly over the lace covering your arm and swirling gently around the edge of the sleeve that came to a point on the back of your hand before letting his arm fall back against his side. 

“Well, I’m glad the four of you made it, coincidence or not,” you quipped at him. Your eyes still hadn’t left his and you knew it was going to be a struggle to wipe what had to be a lovestruck grin off your lips. 

“You sure about that?” 

Sukuna laughed and threw a hand back over his shoulder, gesturing towards what your eyes followed and found to be the refreshment tent. What you saw had you doubling over in laughter, or at least as far as you could in your dress. 

Yuji and Choso, Sukuna’s brothers and bandmates, were struggling to stifle giggles as they hovered over a hulking figure laid out in a chaise underneath a misting fan. As you predicted, Toji was dead asleep, mouth agape and a half eaten cheeseburger dangling from a hand resting on his chest. What really set the whole thing apart was the way Yuji and Choso were surreptitiously trying to see how many french fries they could place in Toji’s mouth before he either woke up or started to choke when one inevitably fell back down his throat. In the corner, Megumi stood watching with barely concealed glee and a phone in his hand capturing the whole ordeal. You assumed that no matter what way this went, Megumi was bound to come out of it on top with either the joy of having comedic blackmail to hold over his father’s head or the pleasure of getting to watch him beat his friend’s asses. In the best case scenario, it was both. 

You recovered from your laughter with a shake of your head and a measly deep breath before turning back to Sukuna. It was sucked right back out of you when you found his eyes trailing up from the tips of your toes, lingering at where the dress cinched your waist and then at the lace scalloping your chest before finally coming up to meet your eyes. His gaze was half lidded and heavier than usual, and it set your cheeks aflame in a way that you could never pass off as from the sun. He smirked when you stuttered over some inarticulate noise that had escaped your mouth, and you were about to take a giant step back to compose yourself when his face eventually softened. Sukuna offered you a quick wink, not so devious and more contrite than anything else, though it didn’t seem to affect your racing pulse any less, and then continued his tirade as he hooked his pinky finger around a lock of hair framing your eyes. 

Somewhere in the back of your head choirs were singing and clouds were parting, but all you could think about was the hint of black polish on his nails that you spotted out of your peripheral and the growing number of people you could see beginning to take interest in the way Sukuna towered over you and how you didn’t seem to mind. You finally made space between the two of you by pressing your knuckles against his chest with just enough pressure to send the message. He obeyed and returned the small smile you sent his way to soften the gesture. 

“So,” he started, his hands set deep in his pockets and a rock to his heels that would make anyone else look nervous, “what are you all waiting around for?”  

Thankful for conversation to focus on, you threw your hands up to convey that you were just as confused as he was and followed it up with what you made to sound like the most logical and obvious explanation in the world;

“Sa-to-ru is late. Again.” 

At the first enunciated syllable of Satoru’s name to leave your mouth, a corner of Sukuna’s nose quivered in disdain and he rolled his eyes in a way that was clearly disparaging, yet you found weakened your knees. 

“Tell me about it. He most likely forgot or got caught up w—,” 

The most ungracious snort left Sukuna’s nose, and you were so taken aback by the fact that it happened, and let alone found it attractive, that you missed whatever he had hissed under his breath. 

“Tied up is probably more like it.” 

“What was that?” 

“Oh, nothing. Nothing important.” 

His voice was too intentionally innocent and his face suspiciously cleared of any ill will for you to believe an ounce of what he said, but there was no chance in getting Sukuna to admit anything he didn’t want to, and you were more preoccupied with getting that look from earlier back in his eyes. So with that, you meandered back a few steps into the water and waited. 

“So, tell me, what brilliant songwriting have you been up to, oh esteemed ‘King of Curses’, or is that strictly confidential, band member-only info?” 

You knew asking Sukuna, or even Yuji or Choso, about their wildly popular band ‘The Curses’ was a sure fire way to get them talking about their shared passion, and it always brought a smile to your face to see them so excited. You expected the same now, but were caught off guard when Sukuna stumbled over the step he took to follow you and the brief way his face shuttered blank before he recovered. That act alone would have been enough to put an end to your flirty intentions—because you just knew that nickname of his got him riled up whenever it came out of your mouth—but the sensation of fabric being pulled tight against the back of your legs had you stopped. A quick glance down into the water confirmed that he had stepped on your dress and the extra fabric was beginning to swirl around his calves. 

So that’s what the train was for! A devious, delicious idea began to form in your head and you knew you had only one chance to make it happen. 

You glanced up at Sukuna through your eyelashes (he struggled to recall in that moment if they had always been that long or if it was the makeup making his mind fuzzy) and cocked your head gently to one side before beginning a slow prowl around him.

“What, no love songs or epic tales of star crossed romance have emerged from that practice studio of yours lately? Don’t tell me a cat has got your tongue?” 

Ever focused on the way your lips curled into a sultry smile and the feather-light drag of your finger along the top of his shorts at his hip, Sukuna was unusually quiet as he followed you with his eyes. You began to pass behind his back and your circle was nearly halfway complete. 

“Su-ku-na,” you called when you received no answer, watching as he gave a shake of his head as if to clear a haze from it. 

“Quit being a brat and distracting me!”  

There was no malice in his tone, but you could tell that he was being truthful. You had completed your circle and came to stand in front of him once again. 

“I’m just waiting for you to answer my question,” you sing-songed. 

Sukuna’s mouth stuttered open for a second and nothing came out before he finally seemed to collect himself, “No! No love songs, no sappy lyrics, and no star crossed romance. Who do you take me for?” 

Your peals of laughter that followed his blurted response floated about the beach and seemed to soothe whatever had come over him in the last couple of minutes. In a haste, you cast a glance down at his legs to check that everything was in place. 

“I’m just playing with you, Sukuna,” you cooed at him, “there’s no need to get defensive.” 

His eyes narrowed and you watched with glee as he pulled himself up to his full height, leaned down into your face, and let a haughty smirk tug the corners of his mouth. 

“You don’t want to play with me, Sweetheart. I. Play. Rough.” 

“Hmm, you think so?” 

You let a delicate, breathy sigh brush up against his mouth from yours while you arched your back slightly to press your chest against his. Sensing you had Sukuna’s full attention, you smoothed your leg between his to let the side of your foot trace oh so gently over the bone in his ankle. His breath hitched, and in the same moment you tipped your head back to close a fraction of distance between your lips, you also tightened your fingers in the furls of your dress. 

“Really,” you whispered, “somehow I think that I play rougher.” 

Yank. 

Since he was already off balance when you ripped the fabric of your dress out and around from under his feet, it only took a quick sweep of your foot against Sukuna’s leg to keep the momentum going and to dump him and his gobsmacked expression into the knee-deep water of the ocean. You jumped back to avoid as much of the splash as you could, and in the same heartbeat, you lifted your dress and took off in the direction of the tents set back on the shore. Your plan was a success.

There were two oversights on your part, however, that became all too clear in the couple seconds after this monumental event took place. 

One, the amount of water your dress accumulated and how much it now slowed you down due to its weight and tangle in your legs. 

Two, which you really should have anticipated if you thought back on it, was the unbelievable amount of speed and agility with which Sukuna pushed himself out of the water, set a borderline maniacal look upon you that promised glorious retribution (you would have to question yourself later as to why this sent shivers down your back and warmth to places you would rather not think about), and thus began an inhumanly quick sprint towards you. 

So, naturally, you did what any independent, perfectly capable woman would do; you screamed at the top of your lungs bloody murder for your bodyguard and high tailed it out of the ocean. 

——————————————————————————————————

The first thing Toji wondered upon being awoken by the screams of a dying woman was why his mouth was full of french fries. He sputtered on the cold and soggy pieces in his mouth as he leapt from the chaise he had barely remembered falling asleep on and frantically looked out towards the water to see what fate he had let come upon you. Toji was certain there were only two possibilities. 

One: he had fallen asleep on the job and you were now being eaten by a shark.

Two: he had fallen asleep on the job and you were now drowning in the ocean. 

To his sleep addled brain, which was currently working through the onslaught of you shrieking his name, either option had an equally probable likelihood of occurring. The outcome, however? In both scenarios, there was only one logical conclusion. He was getting fired. 

With that thought in mind, he started the process of becoming your own personal search and rescue. All in a flurry of forward movement, he kicked off his shoes, dropped the crumpled half eaten cheeseburger from his grasp, and flailed his hand around in his pocket to locate his wallet. He was not about to let his most important possession be lost to the tides—especially with the encroaching threat of unemployment looming over his head—and was about to seriously consider dropping his shorts to the ground altogether when he heard your screams reach a sudden pitch and then descend into hysterical laughter. 

Toji took that as a sign to further scope out the situation in front of him and after rubbing sleep and sand from his eyes, he could now better understand that you weren’t actually in mortal danger. You were just flirting. 

With the adrenaline that was previously coursing through his body now taking a sudden nosedive, Toji staggered back into the tent to plop onto his previously occupied chaise. While he was obviously relieved to see you weren’t dying, he was even more glad that he wasn’t going to have to call Shiu tomorrow and admit that his asset was dead and he was in need of a new job. Surely offers would be next to none, and he didn’t think he could handle guarding any more feisty starlets or listen to them vent about their secret love affairs with pink-haired band members…at least not without the blood pressure medication his doctor had threatened him with at his last check-up.

At the sound of muffled laughter to his left, Toji swung his gaze over to his son, a grin on Megumi’s face and phone in hand, and his son’s two idiot friends, both of whom were having to help hold the other up. 

“Not you three now too,” he grumbled, standing up from his chaise and making his way over to where they stood. “What’s got you idiots making so much n—,”

Toji came to a sudden halt as Megumi’s hand lifted up to shove his cell phone in his face. His eyes squinted at the screen, the laughter from Yuji and Choso increasing in volume, and he needed only a second to process the video he was watching before snapping his head towards the two brothers. 

“You bastards!”

Megumi watched as his father and two friends stared wide eyed at each other for a couple of seconds before they all took off running out of the tent and beyond. The thought of catching the pummeling that was coming the brother’s way once his father caught them was plenty enticing, but years of living with Toji Fushiguro taught him that he too was to be considered guilty as an accomplice, and thus making himself scarce was the wiser decision. Besides, there were plenty of cameras already rolling anyway. 

——————————————————————————————————

You had taken only a couple of steps onto dry land before a set of well muscled arms locked around your midsection, lifted you clear off your feet, and jerked you back against a solid chest. Sukuna’s breathing was loud and heavy in your ear and you could feel water leaching through the back of your dress from where he pressed forward against you with the entirety of his body. 

“That was naughty,” he taunted, and the low scratch of his voice made your feigned attempt to wrestle out of his hold falter. 

Before you could say anything in response, in an impressive feat of strength, Sukuna once more swept you off your feet and planted you stomach down over his shoulder. He turned and began to wade back into the water, and it wasn’t until your view from beside his hips started to be filled entirely by water that you struggled—in earnest this time. 

“Sukuna!” You gasped, trying to come up with some kind of plea that would keep you from your fate of being dropped into the ocean. “Suk-Sukuna, I can’t swim, I can’t swim!”

This wasn’t true in the slightest, but you hoped his concern for your safety would outweigh his need for vengeance. Just as the ends of your hair became engulfed by water, Sukuna dragged you back up from over his shoulder and slid you down his front until he could grasp at your thighs and pull them open around his hips. You threw your arms around his neck and prayed that the pleading look in your eyes would work.

“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” was all the warning Sukuna gave before cocking an eyebrow at you and promptly falling flat backwards into the ocean with you secured against his chest. The two of you crashed into the water just in time for a wave to surge over you both. It was a cold shock to your system, but you had no more than a hiccup to process the feeling before Sukuna was up on his feet and trudging back to shore with you in his arms. You sputtered the whole way back and pawed at your face to pry a curtain of soaking wet hair from your eyes. 

It was at the line where ocean became more sand than water that Sukuna stumbled, presumably from wet fabric caught in his legs again, and rotated mid-fall just quickly enough to save you from being squashed under him. 

It took a minute for your combined unabashed laughter to subside, and when you finally caught your breath from where your head rested against the curve of his shoulder, you flew upwards. You swatted Sukuna’s chest when the glimpse of sparkling eyes and a full smile snagged your attention, and you hoped that the swaths of fabric pooling around the two of you was enough to disguise how you straddled his hips and that his fingers were tracing absentminded figures at their place right on the small of your back. Unable to control the flush of heat through your limbs, you exclaimed the first thing that popped into your head and then immediately regretted it. 

“Sukuna, I’m completely soaked!” 

The quickness of the wicked grin that spread across his face astounded you, and when you noticed his lips begin to part, to no doubt retort something highly inappropriate for the given situation, you slapped a hand over his mouth. His smile was still present under your palm, his eyes soft and adoring, and you swore you felt him place a small kiss at the meat of your thumb. 

“AND CUT!” 

The director’s shout was enough to shatter the intimate quiet that had gone unnoticed by you two, and the both of you lurched just far enough apart to separate your bodies but remain near enough for the bump of a knee or shoulder. Before you could even gather your bearings enough to understand what was going on, a tall shadow appeared over you, and you leaned your head back to squint up at whoever it was. 

“That was certainly entertaining.” 

You recognized the voice of Satoru’s manager just as he held out a hand to help you to your feet, and you shot him a look of dismay once you steadied yourself. 

“It’s nice of you and your client to finally grace us with your presence, Geto,” you replied dryly. 

Geto shrugged, not a single care evident on that pretty face of his, and brought your attention to the crowd gathered behind him with a flourish of his hand. You took a tentative glance at what he was referring to and nearly cringed when you caught sight of the numerous cameras pointed at you and Sukuna. Not to mention Nanami, who stood next to the director with a hand pressed up against his temple like he was in great pain. Though from the small smile you could just barely make out and the animated chatter from the director into Nanami’s ear, you assumed that what had just transpired wasn’t such a bad thing. Even Toji, who was a couple feet behind them with Yuji and Choso in head locks under each of his arms, looked like he had gotten quite the chuckle out of the whole thing.

“It seems like the film was still able to get captured well enough without us,” Geto remarked. “I don’t believe there’s any reason to re-do anything with Satoru just for the sake of appearances.” 

You were about to open your mouth to make known your agreement to the idea when Sukuna suddenly threw an arm around your shoulder and popped back at Geto with a brusque “hell no.” You weren’t sure if you felt offended or disappointed by his objection, but before you could start to fret over it, Sukuna was stroking his thumb gently across the back of your neck, and you proceeded to melt into his side. Perhaps his initial disagreement had less to do with his reluctance to be seen as part of the project and instead had everything to do with him making sure you had the full ability to determine how much of him at your side you were ready to share with the world. The thought had you giddy. 

“I have zero objections to using the film with Sukuna.” 

There was a jubilant cheer from all the staff once they heard your words, and you couldn’t tear your eyes from the satisfied look on Sukuna’s face that followed them. 

“Ah, question,” he called out suddenly, making pointed eye contact with the director, and even Nanami too. “By agreeing to this, that means she doesn’t have to frolic around here with the white-hair idiot, right?” 

Over the immediate roar of laughter from everyone around, an indignant “hey!” could be heard from the nearby makeup tent, and for just once, you were grateful for Satoru’s inability to ever be on time.

——————————————————————————————————

Part 2

Notes: If you made it this far, thank you for reading! If you didn't catch it, the line "Somehow I think that I [you] play rougher" is taken from a scene in the Vampire Diaries (I was obsessed). Did I also get inspiration from that scene in the horse movie Spirit for Sukuna and Reader's moment in the water? Yes, yes I did.

Also, in my decade and a half of reading fan fiction, I have not once written or posted any of my own. So if I miss something important, please kindly let me know.

Always feel free to share comments, thoughts, or questions <3

[romaritimeharbor]

MORAL INJURY — a non-romance genshin impact series. ♫

       act i, chapter iii        "the crow, the mouse, and the doll."

➤ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS :: the mouse bites and gets bitten.

➤ CONTENT WARNINGS :: trauma and recollections of trauma, references to self-harm (briefly mentioned, and not done intentionally—moreso done in the panic of a stressful moment), crying, reader acts like dottore in scaramouche's eyes, choking, burns, bruises, implied broken bones, dissection, general gore/graphic warning, dehumanization/non-sexual objectification (both the reader and scaramouche), reader is fucking MEAN and feels guilty about it later, blood, prescription pills. generally, tread carefully when reading this chapter.

➤ WORD COUNT :: 4.0k.

➤ AUTHOR'S THOUGHTS :: HELLO MORAL INJURY NATION!!! CHAPTER 3 IS FINALLY HERE and it is horrible and terrible. because i love angst <3 a little note, be sure to click around on the words and symbols that are underlined at the top of this post! the word MORAL INJURY will take you to the series masterlist/navigation post, and the music note will take you to the spotify playlist.

➤ TAGLIST :: @zeldadou, @umgatochamadopercyval, @starryshinyskies, @www-songbird, @pookiebearcave, @lesanyanyas, @francisnyx. contact me through messages/asks/etc non-anonymously to be added.

       After speaking to Collei—poor thing, they absently mused to themselves—they made haste in leaving Haeresys and returning to the main lab. Had they lingered even slightly too long, they were certain they’d run into its ruling segment, and they simply did not have the time to entertain his… antics.

       (‘Antics’ meaning anything from standing next to him and listening to him explain the intricacies of his work with ancient Khaenri’ahn technology and entertaining him with the occasional question to being thrown into an active battle with a Ruin Guard. He insisted that it was to keep their skills with their delusion sharp, but they personally thought he just wanted to see them bleed a little bit. Though they always emerged victoriously, they did not always emerge unscathed. They’re certain their suffering brings him some kind of satisfaction.)

       Thankfully, by the time they returned, the Sixth Harbinger was already waiting impatiently.

       "Good afternoon, Lord Sixth."

       "Hurry up," he scoffed, shooting them a wicked glare. Of course, they reacted naught. Being looked at like some kind of lab rat by Dottore was significantly worse than whatever glare Scaramouche sent their way. "I don't have all day."

       "I understand," they reassured, gently setting down their bag on the very same counter that they cleaned of blood a few hours prior. "If you would, please remove your shirt, and describe the issues you are encountering to me."

       His eyes followed their motions precisely. They wondered if it was some kind of trauma response. Nonetheless, he—shockingly—obliged their request, nimble fingers working to shed his upper layers as they snapped a pair of disposable gloves on.

       "...The issues, sir?" they gently reminded, gloved thumbs gingerly pressing into his ribs to check briefly for any wounds or areas of tenderness they'd need to be mindful of. It wouldn't be unexpected for him, a Harbinger, to be injured, so they figured it would be best to check beforehand. "Would you mind telling me—"

       A vague stinging sensation ran vertically across their lips, and they stopped. 

       "Reflexes." He smirked at the way their hand slowly raised to their now-bloodied lip. The pain didn't hit them for a few seconds, but even once it did, their expression remained boringly the same. The only indication they gave of having felt anything at all was a slight twitch of their lip. "My reflexes have been poor lately."

       A surge of rage flowed through their veins. They did their best to suppress it.

       "Lord Sixth, please take this seriously."

       "Are you implying that I'm not?"

       Agitation bubbled in their throat, but they again did their best to swallow it down and ignore it.

       "I am not..." Their jaw clenched slightly as they let out a shallow breath. They had hoped their irritance would leave with it; unfortunately, their emotions did not dissipate even a little bit. If anything, the Balladeer's smug look just made them feel worse. "I am not implying anything, Lord Sixth, but I'm sure we both have better things to be doing rather than bickering like children over your necessary bodily maintenance. Would you rather Lord Dottore do this? If so, I will gladly take my leave for the day. I will tell you this once only—I am immeasurably kinder than he is."

       "Are you threatening me?"

       "I don't know. Do you want it to be a threat?"

       His hands were wrapped around their throat in an instant. Within just those few brief seconds, they could already feel bruises beginning to bloom and burns beginning to boil their skin from his electro alignment.

       They gathered all the strength they could manage in their legs and kicked him off, forcing all of the air—not that he really needed to breathe—out of his lungs. He remained relatively unfazed, but didn't lurch at them again. Their chest heaved as they shot him a dirty look from beneath their Fatui mask, which had been knocked slightly out of position.

       (It wasn't often that they wore it. Honestly, around any of the Harbingers, they would usually just take it off. Both their name and face were well-known by now. Yet, they had diligently put it on before coming to see the Sixth.

       They could not be certain as to why. It was only inconveniencing their work.

       ...Maybe they were trying to hide, as fruitless as that endeavor was and would always be.)

       A deep, tired sigh left their aching throat. They turned away from him and laid their face against the icy wall, the bite of the cold much welcomed against the heat that had built under their skin from both anger and the recent struggle.

       "Hah, what? Are you going to cry?"

       "Do you want me to be honest, Lord Sixth?"

       The monotone exasperation in their voice surprised him a bit. Nonetheless, an amused look settled on his face.

       "Oh? If you so dare, you may speak freely, then."

       "I wasn't asking for your permission," they scoffed, standing up straight again and removing their mask mandated by the Fatui. They turned back to him, meeting his eyes with such immovable nonchalance, such tiredness that only someone who worked with Dottore for years could possibly display. "I was asking whether you wanted to hear the truth or not. You want to? Fine. First of all, you wouldn't be the first to try and strangle me, so don't fucking do it again. Try something else if you really want to kill me. You think I haven't been nearly choked to death by Lord Beta or Lord Delta? Do you honestly believe that? Secondly, you are acting like a goddamn brat. Either let me do your maintenance, or be Lord Second's science experiment again. Your choice. I have not met a single person who would rather be at Lord Dottore's mercy rather than mine, so choose, and do it fast. I don't have all day either."

       Silence. Then, a response came:

       "...Hah. You've got some guts, talking to a Harbinger like that."

       Static tingled along their flesh and danced in the air, waiting for the right moment to strike, waiting for them to say something wrong, waiting for them to cross that invisible thin line from being firm to committing insubordination.

       ...As if they already hadn't. They couldn't be bothered to care. He was acting like a child. How were they supposed to be patient with him when they'd already been spread so thinly? Either way, it was a lose-lose scenario, because surely the Balladeer would accuse them of pitying him or infantilizing him if they did continue to be patient. Being frank was simply the better option.

       Unbothered, they rolled their eyes. "I have no respect for anyone who makes my job more difficult than it already is. You aren't the only one with a hard job. You think I've got it easy? You wouldn't last a day in this position. Make up your mind, Scaramouche. Now."

       "Tch."

       "You want to be a test subject again? Fine by me. Have a good day, Lord Sixth."

       But of course, that was not the end of the Sixth Harbinger's bite. No. It never was, for as they reached for their bag, his sneer reached their ears and made their fingers twitch with rage.

       "What, like you were?"

       The tattoo on their wrist throbbed with the ache of distant, blotted out memories.

       All the nights they spent crying, wailing, hyperventilating, scratching at that foul tattoo on their wrist until their own blood coated their nails and oozed out of their raw flesh to blend with the scorching tears sliding down their cheeks and landing elsewhere...

       All of that for a useless little brat to comment on the situation like it was nothing?

       No. His Harbinger status be damned—no-one would disrespect them like that and get away with it.

       "Don't you ever"—in a swift movement that even the Sixth Harbinger did not expect nor predict, they whirled around and pressed their foot into his chest further and further until they felt something crack under the pressure—"speak of my experiences in such a foul way ever again. It was one time. You have been here, in this very same position, for five hundred years. I was in that position one time. Do not speak in such a manner ever again. I will break you beyond fucking repair."

       The Balladeer's porcelain skin burned. It was now his turn to be at the receiving end of elemental fury.

       "Fuck you," he rasped. They put their foot flat on the floor again, shooting him a harsh glare.

       "Fuck you too. Get back on the table or I'm leaving. How many times to I have to tell you? What are you, five? Are your listening ears off?"

       "...Fine."

       He begrudgingly stood up, hoisting himself up onto the examination table.

       "By the seven," they cursed under their breath. "Finally... You want painkillers or not?" They somehow still found it in them to offer some kind of pain management, though they already knew he would deny it, claiming he 'didn't need it.' "There is no shame in saying yes, Lord Sixth."

       "Don't you dare presume to patronize me. You really believe I'm so weak and—"

       As expected.

       As always.

       "Whatever. I offered, so don't go around telling people I didn't give you options."

       With that, they adjusted their grip on their sterilized scalpel and made the first of many cuts. If he wouldn't tell them what was really wrong, then they would just have to figure it out themselves—it would take longer, and likely be more painful and uncomfortable, but really...

       He did this to himself.

       The Balladeer was always a fascinating being to work on. If they were any less bitter, they would earnestly admit to being honored to have an opportunity to peer inside of him and poke around at his artificial systems, satiating whatever curiosity they might have had about him and how he functioned and—because of his creation being the work of an Archon—how one of the Seven's minds worked. As much as they may have disliked him, disliked his uncooperative nature, he was fascinating in his own right.

       (It was like they viewed him as less of a person, less of a coworker, and more of a subject to be studied. As more of a thing, a creature. Hm.)

       Scaramouche didn't bleed much. He bled, but never enough to inconvenience them. They were always able to simply pat away any blood with a tissue or a cotton pad when it began interfering with their work. He bled, but not like a human. Never like a human.

       He wasn't one, so...

       A soft whimper, a hitch of breath unnoticeable to the untrained ear drew them out of their thoughts. Their gaze briefly flickered to the Balladeer's face, fingers halting all motion. All the muscles in their abdomen tightened with an overwhelming sense of guilt and frustration.

       A stray tear rolled down his cheek. If he noticed, he didn't acknowledge it. They chose to pay it as little mind as possible, if not for anyone's sake but theirs. His eyes were hazy and vacant, as if he were recalling some other event such as this one—as if, above him, he saw someone else.

       They shook that thought off before it could spiral into something worse.

       Whatever he was recalling was not their fault, and certainly not their business. It had nothing to do with them. It was no concern of theirs. It wasn't their fault. It was absolutely not their fault... right?

       Were they being rougher than usual? Surely not, they thought, but upon shifting their eyes back to what they were actively working on... it became clear that they were.

       He was bleeding more than usual. Their incisions were deeper than usual. Either way, they would have to peel him open eventually to get better access to his systems, but... generally, they were very gentle about it. As gentle as one could be about something so grotesque, anyway. Even so, for some reason they couldn't really place, he was bleeding more than usual. Their incisions were deeper than usual.

       Oh.

       As much as they wanted to apologize, the words only stuck to the sides of their dry throat. Their hands trembled a little at the realization of what they had done to him, of how cruel they had been to him the entire time. How could their cruelty outmatch a Harbinger's? How could their cruelty outmatch the Sixth's, of all people's?

       Of course, in a job such as theirs, dissociation was a hell of a skill.

       There was nothing they could do except grit their teeth, continue, and—ideally—wrap it up as soon as possible. 

             — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       "Are you done yet?"

       He sounded so vacant, voice lacking any of the bite, enmity, or sarcasm it should have held towards them. He should've sounded different, not... like this.

       He sounded so broken.

       ...Did they really hurt him that bad? They'd hardly done anything different at all. It was always the same, they swore it was. It was the same as any other maintenance day in the lab.

       Deep down, they knew that wasn't true, that they were only lying to make themselves feel better, but there was nothing to be done about it now. They wordlessly cut the last stitch, patting away the little bit of blood that remained.

       "...I am, sir. If you don't heal properly, please come see me or Lord Dottore."

       He didn't reply.

       They reached up wordlessly, shutting the overhead surgical lighting off, hoping that the motion might snap him out of whatever daze he was trapped in. He hardly flinched.

       Wordlessly, they pulled back from him, snapping their surgical gloves off. They absentmindedly found themselves a bit thankful that there wasn't much to clean up when it came to him.

       "...Um. You can leave." They cleared their throat. "If— if you want to. I don't know when Lord Second will be back, so I would... leave. If I were you. I also need to sterilize the table, so... if you would..?"

       He didn't respond. 

       "Right. Um... I suppose I'll leave it for one of the segments, then... I'm heading out for the day, Lord Sixth."

       Guilt nagged at their conscience, and they wanted to apologize, but somehow the words got stuck in their throat and, no matter how hard they tried, could not be dislodged. So, they nodded in polite acknowledgement before quietly grabbing their things and heading out.

       A weight settled in their gut as they swallowed thickly, stumbling out of the lab and closing the door behind them. A chill immediately settled into their bones; however, they paid it no mind, keeping their head tilted down as they walked down the halls and giving no response other than a hum to any other Fatui agents that nodded their way respectfully.

       In their daze, they did not notice the looming presence they were about to run head-first into.

       Run head-first into him, they certainly did.

       A sharp gasp was inhaled through their nose, and their instinctive response was to snap at whoever it was they bumped into; before they could, however, they caught a glimpse of the person's footwear.

       Il Dottore. One of his older segments, if they had to guess based on shoes alone. They did not get the chance to apologize. In fact, they barely even had the chance to process who they were looking at and how they should go about their apology; should it have been short and to the point accompanied only by a polite nod, or should they have gone as far as to bow at the waist level? The answer would slightly vary depending on what segment it was (there was surprisingly little variance overall, but they did need to express a bit more guilt with some segments for their apology to be accepted without punishment), but they had no time to even think about how to apologize before he began to speak.

       "My, [Surname]"—they could hear the entertained smile in his voice, and in an instant, the gears in their head clicked together in recognition of what segment in particular they had run into—"terribly distracted, aren't you?"

       "I'm..." They did not raise their head. Instead, they simply stepped back, hands fidgeting somewhat with the handle of the bag they held. "I'm sorry, Lord Psi. I wasn't watching where I was going."

       Psi, twenty-third of Il Dottore's twenty-four segments, and—fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who one asked—the one who seemed to like them the most. A polite, straightforward apology without any excessive expressions of fear and respect would do.

       He was no different than any of the other segments in that he was an oddity and an enigma, someone who was not easily understood, but he was more personable than most. Oftentimes, it was him who attended publicity events in the place of the man himself. The original Il Dottore was generally not known for patience or grace. Therefore, the most logical action would be to send someone more… agreeable to such events. Psi was the only candidate for that kind of responsibility. He was no less of a threat than the others—he was simply harder to anger and easier to get along with.

       They supposed it was preferable to run into him instead of someone else.

       "Well, that much, I can certainly see."

       "Ah. Yes..." It was then that they finally straightened up and dared to peer at his face. "I should be going, sir. If you'll excuse me—"

       "Wait just a moment, mouse."

       Mouse. Mouse. He always called them that, if not their first or last name, and it made their stomach twist sickly every single time (they faintly recalled the first time he addressed them in such a way, but with that memory, they also recalled scalpels and cold metal digging into their skin that made their throat close up anxiously). It was demeaning and cruel and belittling. They expected no less from him.

       ...Yet somehow, he also made it sound fond, but not... fond. Fond, as one would speak to a pet—not fond in the way one might speak to a loved one.

       And really, they supposed that to him, they were a pet. They were most certainly not a loved one; they were simply a favored little mouse. Small, docile, and fragile in a way that was endearingly cute—a thing that could be grabbed by the tail and dragged around against its will with nothing to say in opposition for fear of angering its captor. It was disgustingly fitting.

       If they were a mouse—the prey—then they supposed that would make him a crow, the opportunistic predator who may not normally eat mice such as them, but could and undoubtedly would if he was given the chance to.

       A mouse trapped in a cage, constantly circled by crows threatening to finally kill them at any given point without warning…

       …Yes, that was accurate indeed.

       The leather of his gloves brushed against their neck, tilting their chin up to get a better look at their throat. They tried not to swallow too harshly—he'd know if they did, and then he would know that they were nervous. Then again, he would know regardless, since their pulse was ringing loud in their ears and his thumb pressed into their neck dangerously near to where he would be able to feel their heartbeat.

       He knew, and they were sure he was thriving on it.

       "...Sir?"

       "That is quite the nasty wound you've attained," he mused, withdrawing his hands from their neck, much to their relief. "I assume that the doll gave it to you?"

       "Yes. Lord Sixth and I got into an... altercation."

       "An altercation," he echoed, the very same amused tone seeping back into his voice. "I see. In that case, before you go, shall we treat this wound of yours? You would hate to worry your dear parents by returning in such a poor state, I'm sure."

       It was clear that he was not asking. They had no choice but to wordlessly nod and follow him back to the lab. 

       Upon entering, gently shutting the door behind themselves, they were relieved to find that Scaramouche had left. They really weren’t sure if they were relieved for him or themselves. Were they relieved knowing he would not have to face one of the segments in such a vulnerable state of being (though, somehow they were sure that he had done so multiple times in the past), or were they relieved knowing they did not have to face him again? It was truly anyone’s guess.

       Psi turned away from them, shedding his leather gloves and replacing them with disposable ones. They did not need to be told where to go nor what to do.

       They hoisted themselves up onto the cold, metal table (they could not manage to fully ignore the pounding of their heart against their ribcage—being on the one on the table for any reason was exceedingly uncomfortable) effortlessly, though not before leaving their bag by the door to grab on their way out.

       “Are you wounded elsewhere?”

       Their heart leapt somewhat in surprise of the voice cutting through the silence, and they chided themselves for being so tense. “No, sir. Only around my neck.”

       He hummed in a wordless acknowledgement.

       As he turned back towards them, the click of his shoes echoing eerily as he got closer and only ceasing once he stood directly in front of them, they straightened their spine somewhat. When his hands reached out to them, they tilted their chin upwards.

       They were not particularly interested in knowing what exactly he was doing; they only wanted it to be over as soon as possible so that they could leave for the day and return to the one place they dared to feel perfectly safe.

       “I hear that Beta was quite upset upon learning that you’d been to Haeresys today, yet left without seeing him.”

       They did not doubt it. Beta, the second of Il Dottore’s twenty-four segments… no, they did not doubt it whatsoever. He was very easily amused but equally volatile, and they knew he particularly liked the agents that were intelligent enough to understand even a little bit of his research; they were very possibly the first agent that would come to mind when thinking of someone who fit that criterion, unfortunately. They also knew that he was far more prone to anger than some of the others.

       They very much hoped that he was only mildly upset. If he was extremely bothered, however, he might just decide to hold them hostage the next time they visit—it was certainly not above him to do so.

       “Is that so?” they murmured, flinching somewhat upon feeling a gel’s cold bite against their wounded skin. “...I’ll make it up to him. Since I had to perform routine maintenance on the Sixth, I could not have stayed for long. Perhaps I’ll return to Haeresys on one of the lab’s less busy days.”

       “Well, he will most definitely hold you to it. Don’t make promises you cannot keep.”

       Somehow, they just knew that was a threat… a threat on Beta’s behalf, no doubt. They had long assumed that all the segments were connected mentally, though they had no real proof of that claim. They never cared to ask; it was simply always implied, a silent fact that they had been consciously aware of for quite a long time now. Moments such as these made them certain that it was true.

       They did not reply, opting for a simple hum instead.

       Moments passed in silence. Then, Psi spoke up once again after withdrawing from their body a final time:

       “You are dismissed, mouse. Take these”—he placed a small pill bottle at their side—”for the next week. One pill twice a day, in the morning and at night. We cannot afford to let your wounds get infected.’

       “Yes, sir.” They nodded. Only when he turned away from them did they get off of the table, taking the pills with them. Fear, more or less irrational in its nature yet nonetheless deeply ingrained into their instincts, still coursed through their veins. The racing of their heart had yet to settle down, and their hands trembled somewhat.

       It was with quick footsteps that they darted towards the door, snatching up their bag, before making a quick departure.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! written by aphelion & banner by @www-songbird. do not plagiarize, copy, ai train, or otherwise use my work -☆

[homestuckreplay]

acrobatically fucking pirouetting off the handle so hard i turn into my best friend

(page 607-614)

9/7/2009 Wheel Spin: Sburb Lore Verdict: i fucking wish :(

9/8/2009 Wheel Spin: Character Switch Verdict: HELL YEAH JOHN’S BACK !!!! :D

A couple of shorter updates compared to the bumper 13 pages on September 6, but it’s all relative, and would be silly to complain about.

The narration on p.607 tells Dave, ‘It is time to face your destiny.’ In the short term, this obviously refers to the trap that Dave’s bro has set up for him, but it also gets me thinking about whether destiny more broadly will play a role in this story, and if so, what Dave’s might be. On p.293, GG – who appears to have knowledge their friends don’t share – theorizes that saving the world is John’s destiny. Nannasprite in her exposition refers to John’s ‘purpose’ (p.427) but it’s left very unclear whether this is a fantasy-novel style Prophesized Destiny, or just a result of John choosing to play Sburb.

I think this might be intentionally vague in the story right now, either to allow for readers to theorize, or because Hussie hasn’t yet decided the exact nature of the story. However, when destiny is a theme in fantasy, a chosen one's destiny is usually to defeat a great evil. I think it'd be neat if Dave's destiny was actually to defeat Bro once and for all - probably the most evil character we've seen yet, and certainly the one who's most affected Dave's life - which would make this line on p.607 end up looking really prophetic and bringing things full circle.

I am wondering just how many Smuppets Bro owns, and what the turnover rate is like. There’s at least 20 in the puppet pile Dave’s stuck in, and a lot of them get sliced in half. Bro needs these for work and has a large collection to draw on at any time, but they’re regularly getting destroyed, so logistically I am imagining a large crate of a couple hundred Smuppets showing up at the apartment each week, which is a horrendous thought. No wonder they are in Dave’s dreams. The ‘puppets per square meter’ and ‘new puppets per day’ are probably much higher numbers than the equivalent for harlequins or wizards in John and Rose’s houses. If these decorative choices represent sources of alienation and anxiety for the kids this could suggest that Dave’s mental state is even worse than that of his friends.

Also I think that if Bro really wants to be Jigsaw so bad he needs to put some variety into his traps. Puppets every time is nowhere near as creative as the saw traps in the movie.

Page 611 repeats a Dave-Rose Pesterlog from p.522. I like when this happens – it clarifies where we are in the timeline, as well as giving the characters equal importance while showing both perspectives. Earlier when Dave referred to himself as ‘enrobed in chafing, wriggling god fucking damned puppet pelvis’ I did think he was exaggerating for effect, and was just describing the puppet-strewn living room with an overactive imagination. Reading this for a second time knowing that Dave is being extremely literal is very different – it feels like someone begging to be taken seriously and failing, instead of someone committing to the mutually constituted bit.

Dave’s bro referencing Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff – ‘where doing it man where MAKING THIS HAPEN’ – on a sinister note pinned to the crawlspace hatch with a weapon feels really insidious. Taking this piece of art that Dave made and is proud of, and turning it into something threatening, is upsetting to me. What does Dave get to have for himself? Is there an aspect of his life that his bro doesn’t twist into something evil? Does Bro know about Dave’s friends, and if so, does he work them into his schemes too? And yet it’s effective despite all this – it does provoke Dave into action, jumping up and escaping the puppet prison, leaving Dave’s story on the cliffhanger of what exactly Bro wants to ‘make hapen’ as we smashcut to John.

I am very excited to see what John and Rose get up to and I hope it is not famous last words to say that it will surely be less disturbing than what is happening with Dave. At the very least, I feel lighter and freer knowing that I don’t have to think about Dave’s bro for a few days.

[yuurei20]

I have a question, do you think clubs are obligatory or what part they play if they count as extra credits in some way? I had the question in my mind after thinking on how can Jade and Malleus form their own interest club and how it plays out in academics or in their week as to the students in general so I though maybe get an extra opinion of somebody else that has spend some time looking at details of the game will help get another perspective on it.

Hello hello!!

From what I can tell, it might not have been confirmed either way! I was not able to find any reference in the game about the joining of a club being mandatory or optional.

(In the novel we are told "All students of Night Raven College must, without exception, join a club or society of some kind," but it is not unusual for the game and novel to vary from one another.)

Idia has a line about earning "club credit" on EN, which sounds a little like the clubs are treated similar to classes and may be a requirement, but as he does not mention earning credit in the original game (it was added to his dialogue on EN), this may not count.

Trey has another EN-exclusive comment about Glorious Masquerade representatives maybe being decided based on grades and club participation, but his original dialogue does not mention clubs. The word (生活態度) is a little difficult to put into English and means things like waking up on time, being on time to classes, not causing trouble, following rules, etc.

In the second Vargas Camp event the art club students are motivated with the threat of being forced to join sports clubs, but in the first Vargas Camp the sports clubs members are merely threatened with being disbanded, with no mention of having to join different clubs as a result.

Clubs are referenced throughout various vignettes, with maybe Trey's line about joining the Science Club as an alternative to a Home Ec / Cooking Club the closest we get to an insinuation that he had been forced to choose something, even if it was something he did not want to do.

And then there is Idia picking the Board Game Club because the Science Club was too crowded, and Cater saying that the Pop Music Club is on the brink of being disbanded and he doesn't want to "be forced into a sports club," so maybe the clubs really are a requirement?

This is all a little too vague to really be counted as proof in favor of one possibility or the other, and it may be one of the things that the game is intentionally leaving up to interpretation :>

I searched around a bit for discussions within the community, and found two different, equally interesting theories: on the one hand it is possible that the clubs really are mandatory, with students given the choice of joining an existing club or founding one of their own if nothing interests them, so long as they are involved in a club in some capacity (both Jade and Malleus are the only members of their respective clubs, as you say! But Deuce's application for a Blastcycle club was denied (a point that may be tying into a certain fan theory about Crowley)).

On the other hand, as they all live on campus, it is possible that the vast majority choose to join clubs even though it is not mandatory to do so, simply because they don't have anything better to do.

If you are curious what direction would be best to go in for, say, fanfic purposes, I think there are equally believable arguments for both possibilities! :>

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for basically being my cousins' 2nd/3rd parent and actually doing my aunts/uncles job for them

I (19 ???), have six young cousins on my mom's side who i see pretty often given everyone's schedules. Im really close with 4 of them, having grown up almost like siblings mainly with the two oldest. The two youngest dont care for me especially since one is only like 4 months old

Ive always been the reliable older brother/sisterish figure to them even when i was younger, it just came naturally. But in recent years ive had to pick up the slack in alot of things related to raising my cousins in a way. A goodish example is with the oldest, she's 16 and a few years ago I had to give her the sex and period talk cuz her school barely did anything about it (long story short they literally just gave out a basic (outdated) packet that basically just said "dont have sex, girl bleed once a month" in a horrible shameful way), and her parents just said "we'll explain when you're 18".

Ive done everything from teaching them internet safety to cooking to explain topics such as the sex talk because my aunts and uncles just dont do those things.

But enough context heres the main things,

One of my cousins called me dad in front of our relatives while we were all on vacation which caused a scene to say the least. It ended with me absolutely tearing into my aunts and uncles, which i admit wasnt the best choice but still, i basically tore into them about intentionally or not have almost completely abandoned their roles as parents. (Also one got tore into for basically forgetting their oldest in favor for their youngest so much so the oldest didnt get new clothes for two years)

The fight ended with me and my cousins storming back to the room we claimed and locking the door. We basically camped out there for the last two days if the trip, only leaving for food a night (had a bathroom connected to the room thankfully) we only really spoke to my mom and our grand uncle and aunt during that time

Its been about a month since it happened and things have atleast superficially calmed, still receiving the stray vague call out on social media and getting called an selfish asshole in a polite socially acceptable way. The only people on my side are my grand aunt and uncle, my mother, my cousins, and my friends

Im torn, because on one hand i care for my cousins and dont regret finally standing up for them all including myself.

But on the other its not completely my business on how my relatives raise their kids. I didnt have to do all that i do/did. I choose to do all those things and im still choosing to do them

I would speak to a professional or something but my last therapist dropped me cuz of stories bout my family (no joke she literally said "you're family is fucked up i have no hope in helping you, you're a lost cause") so tumblr what's your thoughts this probably out if yalls pay grade but still

What are these acronyms?

[lover-of-skellies]

Don’t know if you’re still doing this but has anyone asked about inks smoochability?

It's been a year since I've done anything with the smoochability ratings, but hey. There were a few skeletons I hadn't done this for, and Ink was one of them, so I figured I might as well :P

All my logic is under the cut if you wanna look at it, but at the end of the day, Ink gets a smoochability rating of 9. He's one of the safer options, surprisingly enough, so if you'd like to smooch him, go right on ahead. Just be prepared; he could end up accidentally nipping or throwing up ink on you if you get him too excited

1) Is Ink's mouth dangerous at all? I don't believe it would be. His teeth are flat and standard, though I've seen some depictions of him that had little fangs, too. There are no parasites in there, no mysterious diseases/viruses you could catch, and a kiss wouldn't kill you; in fact, the worst thing that could happen would be Ink getting too excited and throwing up ink in your mouth and on you in general. While that's incredibly gross to think about, that's more of a health hazard than a danger factor, since if you kiss him, you'll at least leave without having any blood drawn. So, 2 points for safety

2) Would he bite? Not intentionally. While he IS like adhd incarnate and while he DOES do things that are a bit impulsive (see: everything involving taunting Error), I would assume he knows that biting people is bad. There is a chance that he might bite accidentally if startled, but for the most part, no, I don't see him being a biter. 2 points for not munching on anyone's lips

3) Are there any health hazards to the smoocher? Uhhhh yeah. It's the fact that if he gets too excited, he vomits ink. That in and of itself is gross, but not overly harmful. Then again though, there are different types of ink that exist, and we don't know what specific type he vomits. The impact that accidentally swallowing it might have on a human person could vary, depending on what exactly the type is. Worst case scenario, it's toxic and you need your stomach pumped asap to get it out, and best case scenario, it's yuckydisgusting and only makes you slightly sick for a short amount of time. The hazard level is up for debate here, but I'll still give him at least 1 point since death is not a guaranteed outcome

4) Does he have a sympathetic backstory? Sort of?? I know he was from an incomplete AU and was sorta. Left alone in the vast nothingness, until creators' feelings started raining down on him and he started experimenting with them. It'd really suck to be the only vaguely self aware person from your home, and then be alone eventually, surrounded by nothingness, so that does give me at least a little sympathy. So,, 1 point. It's very unfortunate, but it's not sad enough that I feel like crying over it

5) Does he deserve a smooch? Ehhhh, this one is up for debate. Personally, I'd say no, since from what I know and remember of his canon story, he never really did anything that would make him deserving of a smooch. 1 point, since maybe under the right circumstances he'd be deserving, but as is, I'm not really feeling it

6) Is Ink cute or cool? In a way, yeah, he could be considered cute and cool. He's cute in the "small guy with 0 thoughts behind those eyes" sense, and then he's cool design-wise. His first design was interesting and unique, but it had a lot going on, and then his updated design has less going on visually, but it's still pretty interesting and unique. If I was shown a silhouette of him, I'd be able to identify who he was, so. 2 points

When we add up all of our points and take everything into consideration, Ink is a 9 out of 12 :P he's a safer option, but even then, he could still unintentionally give you a nasty surprise. This is the part where I'd add in a scenario to kinda lay out how it'd go, but like. It's hot here. I'm feeling lazy, and thinking is Hard right now. I have a first kiss master list in my pinned post, which could be something to consider checking out if you're curious at all!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

President Rollo, if you have a moment we both pitched in to get this for you! (NBC Aide-kun and Vice President-kun reveal a fancy suit complete with a mask! It's a masquerade outfit made just for Rollo.) You didn't get the chance to dress up for the ball we had, so we got you one for your birthday. We hope you like it!!

Not me greedily shoveling Rollo masquerade wear fan art into my mouth 😭 I was intentionally vague with the description for the new outfit so that you can superimpose whatever fan artist's depictions of masquerade design for Rollo is your favorite! I did try to include common design elements I saw across the fan arts though.

“Presenting… Mister President’s very own masquerade costume!!” his aide and vice declared in unison.

They gestured toward a mannequin upon which the outfit was suspended. The suit was constructed in the colors and the modest style of Noble Bell College robes in mind. Slashes of shimmering thread and beading wove complex patterns, tiny bells and polished brass buttons shining against the dark fabric that made up the body of the ensemble.

A hat with a massive brim and a train of feathers was cocked at a teasing angle atop the mannequin's head--and his aide whipped out a mask just as showy. Twisting black and gold formed lovely bell-shaped flowers that fanned into flames as they transitioned to the other eye.

Rollo pinched at a sleeve with his thumb and index finger, grimacing at the embellishments.

Altogether, too gaudy for his taste. Far too gaudy.

"Everyone dreams of taking a break from their chores, getting all dressed up, and going to a ball," he had been told. "We decided to become your fairy godmothers and make that possible for you too.”

This felt more like nightmare.

Rollo had to make a painful, conscious effort to mask his disgust. With his other hand shaking, he clenched his handkerchief to his face.

“You... shouldn’t have," he said weakly.

You really shouldn’t have.

To his fellow student council members, hidden mouth and dilated pupils were signs of shock and bashfulness. Fitting for their humble leader.

"Oh, thank goodness you like it!!" his vice president sighed. "We spent so long debating about the design and what would suit you best, sir."

"Don't be shy then! Please feel free to change into your new outfit and show it off," his aide suggested. "It's all ready to be worn!"

"Of all times, now?" Rollo folded his arms. "Surely not. The occasion is not so grand as to call for formal wear. Besides, to take a moment away from receiving guests is the epitome of rudeness."

The aide and vice glanced at one another, then back at Rollo. To his horror, they produced their magical pens, faces glowing from within.

“Leave that to us, Mister President!”

Rollo’s stomach dropped.

Oh no.

A veil fell upon him, tingling sparkles catching on his skin and hair. Light exuded from his clothing, a warm and writhing mass reshaping itself into attire fit for a masquerade--while his school uniform knitted itself over the mannequin. Their places, magically swapped.

It took only a few seconds for the switch to settle, leaving Rollo in a mask and an extravagant ensemble. He looked positively mortified.

"There you go! You're all ready for the 'ball'." The student council duo looked rather pleased with their work. "Go enjoy yourself now, Mister President! The night's still young!"

And yet I feel as though I already have one foot in the grave...

"Thank you." He forced a tight-lipped smile at his colleagues. "Of course, I will make the best of this."

[trinkerichi]

i wrote another big rant earlier today about character analysis again but tumblr refreshed on my phone and deleted it all. ah well

‘twas all about Max this time and the whole “id vs superego” thing they had going on cuz in my humble “took a semester of psychology and child development” opinion I think that theory isnt the greatest but it makes for such interesting character analysis 

So Max is always described as “a being of pure id” while his superego is literally locked in a dark room cut off from the rest of Max’s brain. left so ignored that it manifests itself into a weird little man that Max saw on tv (because it’s this series and of course it did). The fact that Superego apparently HATES Max, seems to barely know anything about him and wants him dead... like WHAT DOES THAT IMPLY? It’s the inside out dilemma all over again but way darker. Max has very infrequent vague allusions to the fact that he’s got some kinda mild depression but I don’t think he genuinely hates himself like that. The most I can see is that he’s got a very weak sense of self preservation. He’s apathetic to his own safety, but again that’s more because of the id thing. 

The superego is supposed to be your sense of right and wrong. It’s your morality and logic system that keeps you from doing things Max does, like screaming in public and attacking people and stealing things. 

I think in the context of the intentions while writing this game, the superego is essentially a more pretentious word for the Max’s conscience. Like a Jiminy Cricket that’s stuck in Pinocchio’s head and can’t leave. Max ignores his conscience, and his conscience is forced to watch all the stupid stuff Max is doing while ignoring any sense of morality. So he’s like “ok screw this guy all my homies hate stupid id bunny”. I think the superego only manifested once Max found the psychic toys since they’re what caused Max’s brain tumor and other such nonsense. Max couldn’t have had that tumor from the beginning because past Max is fine. 

Id is your baseline impulses. Max at his core is constantly acting on impulse and only seeks immediate gratification.  Even his love for Sam doesn’t really contradict this. Sam has ALWAYS been his best friend and protector, so keeping Sam safe and happy will keep Max safe and happy. Max isn’t intentionally mean or selfish, and he’s not stupid either. But his mind works in a very direct thought pattern and he doesn’t think through anything he says or does. And Sam kinda does this FOR him if necessary so he’s never really had to develop that part of himself anyway. Plus they’re both self aware toons, so consequences don’t apply! 

That being said, everyone we’ve seen with “the gift” that uses the toys seems to be doomed in some way, like the toys themselves are cursed with bad luck. Sammun-Mak, Maximus, the brain in the ship, Skunkape, and Max all met their ends indirectly because of the toys. 

Uh i lost track of my point here. just, It’s totally up to interpretation if the superego REALLY is a part of max that resents his own lack of ambition and power, or if he’s just literally detached from Max and is his own disgruntled entity.

[willothewispwisteriadawn]

my controversial until dawn headcanon/take is that Sam thought the prank was pretty harmless at first and that's why she did not put a stop to it right away, when they are all gathered she does say it's not Hannah's fault she has a crush on Mike before supposedly going to find Hannah, right? but at that point Hannah has yet to read the note since they just put it down. Sam could have stopped it by ripping the note apart, after they leave, and let their friends wait like a bunch of asses for the night. but instead she leaves too and the first time I played the game I assumed she was going to get Hannah and when she saw it was going too far she barged into the room to finally stop it...or it's just necessary for the plot to move on, idk. I'm dumb!

Oh yay an ask!

The prologue is very vague about some things. I’m actually uncertain on a few points: when Hannah saw the letter, how much Hannah knew about Emily and Mike dating, what Sam’s plan was, etc.

The director has said that Sam was not intended to have been helping with the prank. They wanted her and Chris’s behavior to soften up the group. (Note: I’ve seen the theory that Chris intentionally got Josh drunk, which I’ve never liked because it makes the prank suddenly much more plotted and messed up. And it looks like Will Byles, at least, was already trying to make the group look less awful by having Chris just chill.) Additionally, the devs saw Sam’s actions as a reason to give her some final girl plot armor. That said, I agree with you that Sam could have more aggressively tried to stop things, for sure. I guess we’re meant to believe this is what she genuinely thought was best at the time.

One thought I had is that Hannah had already seen the note and Jess retrieved it to show the others. This makes some sense with Emily’s “I can’t believe you did this” line.

[so-i-grudgingly-joined-this-site]

Part 6: “I reject your reality, and substitute my own”: Maybe There is Hope After All

Note: this is a part of my essay "The Awkward Meta-Tragedy of Neil Gaiman's The Sandman", see [here] for the masterpost of all links, reading order, and content warnings.

Well, despite everything the author might have possibly intended, I still do care about Morpheus and his fate.  To paraphrase Ludo’s 2008 album title, “He’s awful, I love him.”

                And that’s part of why the most common interpretation of his ending—as both a fully planned suicide and a tragedy—disturbed me so much.  At best I could metaphorically “scoot” it around to interpret it as a traditional tragedy where his fatal flaw was his inability to seek help/treatment or cope with his issues, and thus the warning to the audience is a positive one to seek help if you’re struggling.  Once again, though, given the way depression sometimes works, that still feels vaguely close to victim-blaming.

                Another way to get around the unfortunate implications would be if his death was not, in fact, a carefully planned suicide.  Maybe he just fucked up enough that eventually the various things he fucked up all stacked properly to be his downfall without any intent involved?  But, that does raise the huge question of who got Loki to kidnap Daniel, provoking Lyta and thus causing the rest of the dominoes to topple.  In the suicide interpretation it’s implied to be Morpheus himself who intentionally set the situation in place; without that explanation that’s an odd open thread left.  But still, an accidental buildup of issues rather than intentional suicide would make things a lot less uncomfortable.  Somehow, “you can do everything you can to change and still have negative and destructive consequences come your way” or “you can try your best and still fail” feels more reassuring than the alternative of “he did change, but he still decided to die—in the end, it didn’t even matter.”

Totally replacing a dead loved one still feels weird, regardless of their manner of death; I don’t think there’s any way around that.   But, at least if it was not a suicide, then it doesn’t validate the “my family would be better off without me” sentiments that might be present in suicidal ideation.

And then, there’s the theories about how Morpheus might not be dead—at least not completely—and that he might have found peace and happiness outside of oblivion after all.

One major factor is the fact that Hob dreams about seeing Morpheus and Destruction together after the events of The Wake.  While Hob himself dismisses it as “just a dream,” there’s the fact that both Morpheus in-universe and Neil Gaiman out-of-universe both insist that dreams in this series are never “just a dream.”  Combine that with what I pointed out about “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” and how the story is meant to let the fae live on despite leaving Earth, and it paints an interesting possible picture.

Maybe Morpheus did find a way to leave his job after all.  To live on as something else, as Morpheus rather than Dream of the Endless, as a dream or a story or a memory or a friendship, but no matter what, separate from the responsibilities that so stressed him—and with a responsible and eager successor to take up the reins in his place.  Maybe Hob’s example of living through everything even showed him that changing with the times is possible.  Just walking away like Destruction did wasn’t an option for him, and not just because Morpheus felt he couldn’t abandon his realm without leaving someone to be responsible.  He also couldn’t just walk away because, probably, it wouldn’t be dramatic enough!

Come on, Morpheus is a (possibly literal) Drama King; of course he’s not going to quit quietly.  Plus, he knows from Destruction’s example that just leaving also leaves open an eternity of the other universal powers trying to nag you into going back.  What’s more dramatic, and conveniently going to prevent anyone from coming after you, than making sure everyone thinks you’re dead?

Or, well, actually dying.  Sort of.  I have no doubt that some aspect of Morpheus died.  Perhaps the aspect that was Dream of the Endless, died, but, as I mentioned, left Morpheus to live on separately in some other form.  “You cannot kill an idea” can go both ways; it can mean that we’re not supposed to care that Morpheus is dead, or it can mean that Morpheus lives on.  He, as an independent identity, with a specific name he has chosen, is also an idea.  If the question is “change or die,” it obscures the fact that this is also a universe where people can change by death.

Heck, there’s even an example in this series of people deciding to finally live upon finding themselves post-life.  Chapter 4 of Season of Mists introduces the Dead Boy Detectives.  At first, much like “Façade,” this chapter seems to have little to do with the overarching story; besides showing how bad it is to have the formerly hell-bound dead returning to Earth and featuring a cameo by Death, there’s little to connect it to the primary narrative.  The majority of it is just about two random boys dealing with supernatural bullies, and both ending up having been murdered by the bullies at the end.  But, the story ends on the fact that they choose to “make the most of their afterlives.”  They leave behind the crappy situation assigned to them by their circumstances by living on in a new form (in the boys’ case, ghosts).  If two random kids can do it, why can’t Morpheus do the same?

Actually, there’s a whole lot of events in Season of Mists that I’ve seen propped up as evidence that Morpheus was settling his circumstances to prepare for his suicide, but I believe can just as easily be interpreted otherwise.  It could either be him setting up backup plans in case of his accidental imprisonment or death, or even intentional preparations for a successor to take over for him when he dramatically retires rather than straight-up dies.  I could fill an entire other essay with that evidence; I planned to include it here but my page count is already far exceeding what I intended, so I’ll save that for a possible later time.  If anyone reading made it this far, let me know if you’d like to read that!

So, do I believe in these more optimistic interpretations of the ending?  In terms of authorial intent, I’m not sure.  I think there’s certainly a reason everything seemed so shockingly pessimistic at first read, and possibly that was the intent.  The books were written at a different time, when the author was at a different place in his life.  But stories are also about belief.  And when the author straight up says that it’s open to interpretation, well… I’d rather choose to believe that this grand, sweeping, thought-provoking narrative isn’t about an irredeemable depressed asshole being rewarded for suicide, with the reader being scolded for caring. 

Perhaps asking whether or not that’s “true” is missing the point.

[cherrybombfangirlwrites]

hello and how are you, fellow Wanderer?

Happy Pride Month! We came and wanted to send an ask for the Pride Themed Oc Ask Game!

Fourteen | Eighteen | Twenty-One

Hope this month is filled with fun and joy for you! :D

☕ Natsume Rune, @365runesoftheamalgamations

OMG Hi I think I recognize you, did you change up your blog? I wasn't active for a hot minute so I don't know, but I think I have met you before. Let me know <3

Pride OC Asks~

14. Do you have ocs on the aro or ace spectrum?

I absolutely do! and they're all over the spectrum too. Most of my characters end up aro or ace coded because I'm AroAce myself, but I'm gonna focus on the several I have that I intentionally wrote as aro, ace, or both!

Princess Snow is the main character in my Snow White retelling, she's AroAce and in a QPR with her best friend Lan

Lan is Snow's best friend, they're also Arospec and Acespec, and they're also Nonbinary/Genderqueer

Princess Sapphire is one of the two main characters in my Sleeping Beauty retelling, she's Demisexual. She also has ADHD and is in love with her bodyguard (his name is Raven and he's bisexual and autistic)

Triveya is the magic expert in my dark fairytale retellings series, she's AroAce and Genderqueer. She's also AuDHD, and going through a burntout gifted kid arc right now.

Nickelle is the heroes team leader in my teenage superhero wip, she's AroAce, and she's also Japanese American. She has ice powers and gets a villain arc followed by a redemption arc

Kylee is the youngest teammate in my teenage superhero wip, and she's PanAce! She's also non-speaking autistic and has superspeed and invisibility powers

Chase is the team Tech Genius and inventor in my teenage superhero wip, and he's PanAro! He's also Jewish Romani, and struggles with a lot of mental health issues and his cluster B disorders (he has OCD, Bipolar Disorder, and a psychosis Disorder). He also struggles with anxiety, depression, and insomnia. (he's my favorite of this wip)

Corie is one of the main characters in my space cowboy wip, she's AroAce. She's also a cyborg bounty hunter and thinks she doesn't need people but she'll learn

18. Do you prefer to give your ocs specific labels, or keep it unspecified? Why? If applicable, do you change their labels depending on circumstance?

Not really, unless it feels applicable, or the setting would have specific labels (my fantasy wip for instance, I mostly leave things pretty vague)

21. Free ramble card wee

The reason I wrote Kylee as PanAce and Chase as PanAro is because while we are starting to get a bit more aspect representation in media recently- which is great- there's more asexual characters than anything else, and if there are aro characters (which there are almost none), aromantisicm gets conflated or immediately lumped with asexuality.

While it is true that a person can be both aro and ace at the same time- there are a lot of alloace or alloaro people, and there's almost no representation for those people in media, or the internet in general. Aromantic is rarely even said outside of a couple of social media posts.

So I created two character that were kind of opposites on the aro and ace spectrums. One that's alloace and one that's alloaro- and they have a pretty close sibling like relationship as well (though neither will ever admit it).

We need more characters that are just aro! Aro people need more care and representation (and if they want it, love).

[adenthemage]

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately 

🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing? 

☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username?

Just some asks for an amazing friend!

AH thank you Cel!!

🥤 -> Ah, well you and Trauma, for followers yet unaware! I also wanna shout out Ghost and Teela, their stuff is INCREDIBLE!!

🍓 -> I guess I just found I always had too many ideas, when I watched a show or read a book, for where things could go, or missed opportunities. So I'd write them out, mostly for my own fun haha. I also looooved english classes in school, whenever we'd read classics and analyse the techniques used within I found myself very much wanting to try them out myself! Fanfic was a good outlet for that, when I didn't want to spend too much time making characters and story elements from scratch. I've only very recently gotten into the habit of posting any of it!

🔪 -> Hmm! Hard to say. Maybe intentionally going down some UFO conspiracy rabbit holes as research for a Bishop fic counts?

❄️ -> I'm a huge sucker for accidental adoption or found family. But I also LOVE stories where things get Worse. Relationships waver and crumble, characters corrupt themselves, stuff like that. And that's a lot less common! Though I suppose that's a little too vague to pin a specific writer too, huh.

Alright! For a more specific example: Dragon ball! That franchise is FULL of concepts that it just leaves on the table, begging for a deeper character-driven piece. And I don't really see a lot of it capitalized on, which is surprising! But maybe I'm just looking in the wrong places?

🦋 -> I've been trying to get back into exercise to win back my old athletic physique. I wanna be ripped I wanna be able to throw a guy into the sun.

🦴 -> TMNT 03 does a lot for me, as is known loL. It's definitely a formative piece of writing for me, with the blend of family dynamics, darker themes, and the underlying kindness of the narrative.

As I mentioned, too, I read a lot of the classics for lit and poetry, too, and learning about them was a STRONG influence on how I wanted my writing style to be like. Among them was Kafka's Metamorphosis, which was my favorite of all of them. I love the way the inciting incident is never explained, and nothing else fantastical happens. I love the slow breakdown of the family's willingness to help, and the bleakness of the world around Gregor. I love the way it ends and how it leaves you with such conflicting tones. I need to read it again actually it's been forever.

☁️ -> Haha so, when I first made my DeviantArt account I think I wasss 12, or somewhere in that age range. I was really into Sonic, and I had my edgy OC Violet the fox who I was absolutely obsessed with. So when I made my account, I called it Violetthefox0001! And I ended up having a decent little following over there. So when I branched out to other sites, when the Sonic craze had died down a little, I changed "the fox" to "Vulpini" to make it a little less overt. Alao the word Vulpini just looks pretty, doesn't it? Especially next to the word Violet.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

What do you think about the fact that Jamie didn't go back to his old locker now that that ZAVA 4 lockers monstrosity was redivided among the players? Seems like O'Biren took one of the places in the corner instead and Jamie kept his new place closer to the rest of the team

Hiya, nonny!

Full disclaimer: I know zero things about locker distribution in professional sports and Google has not been my friend, so I’m just going to roll with the assumption that players are normally assigned a locker but when one becomes free because someone leaves or whatever you might ask to switch. There are probably lockers that are considered better than others (either in general – it’s cool to be in the middle of the room, or something like that – or specific to each locker room, like ‘that one’s best, it has a nice little draft from the ventilation’) and the better the player, the better chance do they have of trading up when the opportunity arises, because that’s how these things tend to work in other settings. Possibly a lesser player might get asked to switch lockers when a new star arrives? I really don’t know, but maybe? And then we have superstars like Zava who can demand 4 locker monstrosities in the Ted Lasso-verse, though at least one podcast I listened to mentioned that this is unlikely to happen in the real world.

In season 1, Jamie has a locker in the middle of the right side. If there are good lockers, this is a good locker, because otherwise Jamie wouldn’t have it. When he returns in season 2 he is assigned – I assume – a corner locker instead. At this time, he shares it with 1 O’Brien, a 22 and a 25 (probably De Maat and Bekoe respectively, though I only see the numbers in 2x03 – you can see the names in 3x02 and 3x03). I am thinking that these are probably not the best lockers in the room? Partly because none of our other main players have a locker there, and partly because it makes sense to put Jamie somewhere not great at this point, kind of like Ted intially putting him among the reserves in training. Even if I’m completely wrong about there being higher status and lower status lockers, it’s probably a good idea not to dump Jamie right in the middle of a room that’s teeming with resentment towards him, but just keep him a little to the side.

Maybe it was just the one free locker, nothing more to it. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar and all that jazz. I’m just kind of digging Jamie intentionally and literally being put in the corner while working his way into the team’s good graces. Possibly not pushing for a switch even after he was in a position to do so, either because he got used to the spot or as a continued demonstration of humility.

Now, in the beginning of season 3, the corner is shared by Jamie, 18 Babatunde, 25 Bekoe and 22 De Maat. Our friend O’Brien is seemingly occupied elsewhere. Once Zava leaves and the lockers are redistributed, O’Brien is back in the corner, again with 22 De Maat, 25 Bekoe and probably 18 Babatunde (can only make out the ‘e’ at the end of the name and the vague tail end of an 8 in 3x07). Jamie sticks around where he was put during the Zava takeover.

All this rambling just to lay out what we know and the many assumptions that lead me to believe that once Zava is gone Jamie is in a position to choose if he goes back to the corner or stays with his new locker. He has that kind of clout, he is the star of the team and the coaches owes him a little bit for the whole Zava thing. (You might well have taken this for granted, nonny, but I did not – hence everything that went before in this post.)

So, Jamie chooses to stay where he is – closer to the rest of the team, as you say. And that’s the rub, isn’t it? I think Jamie probably does care at a little about having a higher status locker (if such a thing even exist) because he’s still Jamie fucking Tartt, but he cares a whole lot more about being close to the team. After all, Jamie likes being at the center of things. He is social and he is physically affectionate: he is not someone who thrives on having a little quiet corner to the side. No, Jamie wants to be in the thick of it, part of what goes on, making his voice heard and chatting with his team mates and joking and voicing his opinions left and right. Touching everyone all the fucking time. Being touched. (Sorry, I just have an extreme amount of feelings on the subject of Jamie being tactile.)

Admittedly, he did not seem keen on moving lockers when Zava arrived but that’s arguably due to him not being a fan of getting shoved to the side for the other player’s ego. Once he found himself in his new spot, he probably remembered how much he preferred that position to the more obscure one, and he likely feels like he has less to prove now: he can afford not going back to the corner.

Besides, I think the whole Zava ordeal left him feeling excluded and alienated from all the others and therefore particularly keen to be closer to them. Reforge those bonds. Hang over people’s shoulders. Fistbumps. Hear the chatter properly and take part in it, rather than to watch it from the sidelines. Jamie has fought harder than anyone else for this team in season 3 – of course it’s really important for him that he gets to feel a proper part of it.

(And even if it’s not Jamie’s choice and it’s the coaches’ call who goes back, I think they too realize it’s high time for Jamie to take his place at the center of the team, metaphorically speaking, both because he’s earned his spot there, and because he’ll thrive there, and because they do get that this Zava shit was detrimental to his integration in the team.)

[starbug-space]

Doorstep AU short porn

Dude I woke up at like 1 am to a Future Mikey x trans masc! Reader x Current Mikey (Angelo) AU thing my friend wrote and my fucking god it kept me awake thinking about it SO THROWING IN MY OWN SPICE

-All characters are over the age of 25 in all my writing unless stated otherwise!

-Would also like to note that, to me, while essentially being the same person Mikey and Angelo have lived VERY VERY different lives, and thus have become very different people. So. Take that however you will.

TW: food play, dom/sub themes, self-cest, threesome, semi-public sex

You were both in so much trouble. Mikey had yet to forgive you fully for the prank you pulled at his expense, so he had sent you shopping. The list was long, with odd items like "2 apples. 1 cucumber. 1 lolipop." And so on.

The items ranged from as small as a pack of gum to as big as a grapefruit. And he had given one direction: steal as much of it as you can. But not in your clothes. And he did make you wear layers, it was cold outside afterall, he had said. So you and Angelo, sporting winter layers, masks and glasses, weird shopping list in hand, headed out to the closest corner store. And though he had been intentionally vague, the cum Angelo was told to hold inside "for lube", and the rule that he was Not allowed to drop, had made everything crystal clear.

Both of you were admittedly antsy when you started picking through the shelves of the empty store, the night shift cashier seeming adamant on ignoring you until he didn't have to. So with a few of the list items in hand and a near diabolical grin you turned to Angelo.

You tried to shush him, being as gentle as you could be while also being quick and stealthy, but god he always got so damn /loud/ and the slick dripping down his thighs wasn't helping. You had to play it cool when the apple finally popped passed his entrance, making Angelo sob and the cashier turn your way, coughing into your unoccupied hand. Then it was your turn, the lustful grin Angelo graced you with mirroring what yours had been, and made your legs shake in anticipation.

His perverse huffing, fogged glasses and flushed cheeks made it somehow worse. Lucky for you, you were quieter than Angelo, but at a cost when he started picking the oddly shaped items off the list to stuff you with, trying to squeeze a squeal from your tightly clenched jaw. The bastard even went so far as to brush his fingers up and down your dick "accidentally" in hopes of breaking your resolve.

By the time you both ambled up to the cashier- bounty of whatever items you couldn't inside fit in arm instead- you both had to lean into eachother for support. The mask/glasses combo hid your wanton expressions but not the fogged lenses, shaken voices, unsteady limbs, and the flush trailing down your neck. The amount of fake coughing you both did to hide the sound of wet squelching from each step definitely didn't help, with the cashier pumping an egregious amount of hand sanitizer into his palm after you both paid and turned to leave.

The walk home was the worst (best) part, hand in hand, leaning into eachother, panting heavy with every step as it jostled everything inside you both. Suddenly Angelo stops, forcing you to as well, and his tearful eyes flick to your face as he whispers in shame. The apple had slipped out, now seated at his entrance, grinding against his tail from inside his tight shorts. You pull him into the next alley. Move so you are hidden behind a dumpster, grocery bags set in a clean-ish spot, and shove him a little too roughly against the wall.

You devour him, ripping both of your masks off to press your mouth to his. Both of your moans are muffled as you kiss each other beyond stupid, hand shoved down the front of his pants to play with his blown out hole, pressing the apple in widest part first this time, until it slides back inside with another slick pop. Just from the way Angelo cries and bites your bottom lip you can tell he came. But you weren't far behind, his thigh pressed between your legs to grind on. And when you do, to your horror and Angelo's excitement, one of the clementines is pushed out. He makes a perky noise passed the fog of euphoria, hands eagerly sliding passed your own waistband. ~

Neither of you know how long you spend in that alley, grinding, swiring tongues and pumping hands, but by the time you both hobbled out the shopping bags were significantly lighter, items shoved in to keep the rest of the the items from slipping out on that last stretch of the walk home.

Mikey, at your return, was quite pleased despite your shared worry over taking too long, and thus extending the punishment. He had you both "unpack" each other over the kitchen counter for him, sliding items one after the other first out of Angelo. His swollen cock dropped with force as you pulled the last item from his gaping tail, him biting his tongue on an eager whimper as it freely twitched in the open air. Felt the brush of your fingers.

Copious amounts of cum was left to drip over the counters edge, coating each item pulled from his tail... it make you squirm in anticipation. This marked the end of Angelo's punishment...but just the half of yours. He had been just an accessory to your crimes, after all. Justice must be served fairly. It was your turn to sit on the counter and Angelo moved to the floor between your splayed legs dutifully to "unpack". He wasn't allowed to clear off the counter first, forcing you to sit exactly where he had sat before, the pools of his cum sticking your skin to the counter top, coating your ass and thighs in a thick sheen when you spread them.

His throat bobbed in a heavy swallow as you opened yourself up for him, and, after chancing a final glance over at a supervising Mikey, slid his fingers into your own stretched out hole for the first item that was already crowning.

Mikey surveyed the items that came out of you both from the other counter across the way, crossing things off the receipt with such amusement and satisfaction in his eyes that it almost made you hopeful this could be the last of /your/ punishments as well. When that last item slips from you Mikey claps, honest to Supreme, /claps/ at the feat of how well you both did. He honestly didn't expect you both to fit so much inside eachother. And now that you were properly prepped, Angelo could join Mikey is the last half of your punishment, if he wasn't too overstimulated.

From the way Angelo's cock hung so heavy between his legs you mentally braced yourself for a long, hard night.

~

Mikey considered himself a very lenient lover. He let you and Angelo get away with many things; mostly because he genuinely didn't mind. That, and when you both got an idea into your cute little heads it was almost impossible to stop the snowball without jumping into its direct path. And often. In its direct path he was. If not it's target. But this time you had taken the pranks too far, dragging Angelo down with you, and making Mikey actually -genuinely- irritated with you. Which was an odd feeling, after years of begging any god that would listen for even just one more glimpse of your smiling face.

He wasn't the type to snap often, oh no, he was meticulous and calculating in his revenge- something he had picked up from two of his elder brothers- and he had planned out every detail of how he would get both of you back. The first session had not been part of his punishment plan, but catching you both red handed had sparked a rare fire in him. He felt like being cruel. And he had used his chains to do so. The rest of the week followed with regularly scheduled punishment sessions, with a day or two between to give his cute lovers time to recuperate before he moved on to the next fun idea he had.

This was supposed to mark the end of the punishment week, at least for Angelo who had more than learned his lesson at this point. For you he had a few more ideas he needed to plan out. But this one he had been waiting all week for, and the wait had been /oh so/ worth it.

He had waited impatiently for both of you to return from the store, left pacing in the living room, and was down right giddy when you had stumbled passed the threshold on jelly legs, breathing heavy. He schooled his expression well, watching with well hidden fever as you pulled item after item out of a squeaky and sobbing Angelo.

It was a little odd to feel so turned on from watching a slightly younger version of himself be used like a grocery bag, but he wasn't going to dwell on it too much. Especially when Angelo's gaping entrance tries to clench on nothing as they make eye contact.

/Damn/ that was cute.

He holds back his praises until the end, as badly as he wanted to show how impressed he was. You really stuffed each other as full as you could. For him. Because he said to. That alone could could get his tail throbbing. After all, either of you could have said no and walked away whenever you'd wanted. But neither of you had.

Then it was your turn, and that, right there- that wanton expression, tinted with shame. It had been exactly what he had wanted to see. The icing on the cake being how much darker you both flushed as he clapped for your performance, saccharin praise dripping from his mouth like the honey trap it was.

But now it was for the /really/ fun part, your limp form easily maneuvered off the counter and onto the floor. Angelo was allowed to help with this punishment, as reward for being such a good boy all week, so he instructs him to lay down first. On his back with you laying over him, back to his chest like a little spoon, both of you looking expectantly up at Mikey.

He decides this is on his list of top 5 favorite positions as he fits himself between your spread legs, feeding Angelo's swollen cock into your loose entrance, it sliding in with unusual ease after all that "shopping".

Hm, Angelo had stretched you out very well for them. Mikey would have to reward him for that later, his fingers pressing over the base Angelos cock in thought, making the younger keen and buck up into you. That would have to wait, however.

With a groan and a chuckle Mikey lets himself drop, his own cock slapping out onto your bare stomach, an almost mirror of Angelos cock, though somehow a little sharper, a little longer. Thumbs move to press and rub into your plush thighs before ordering Angelo to replace Mikeys hands with his own, and keep your legs up and open, which Angelo does without a word.

Then he's lining himself up and pushing inside. Even with all that prep it's a tight stretch, but your wails of pleasure leave no room for him to worry. On the contrary, they only make him work into you harder, using your stuffed cunt to pleasure himself - and Angelo- paying your own pleasure little mind in the moment.

Not that it mattered when you were already cumming again.