#its bad enough that a/i of today is called that. Its basically just a Very Advanced weighted average calculation

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

on a side note i really dont think that the players are AI. It’s a fun theory to play with, but why give them the eggs, then treat the eggs as disposable but not the players? jaiden needed to be isolated and have her trauma consistently triggered to make her willing to lie to her friends- that’s a very human reprogramming process. if she were AI, they’d be giving her “training data,” aka making her lie to her friends about small things and then building her up to lying/distrusting with big things. We’d see the Horrors focus way more on getting the players to act out behaviours that the federation wants replicated, rather than giving them emotional attachments (eggs) to manipulate them with. computers work differently, and i think the storytellers behind the scenes would be smart enough to indicate that if ‘players are AI’ were where they were heading

[ducksido]

Idk if you accept requests but I just read your "accidentally proposing" fic with Octavinelle, Savanaclaw and Diasomnia and had an idea!! (I have Savanaclaw in mind specifically but it might work with others?)

So what if to beast/mer/etc men, biting/marking your lover is basically like a wedding ring. A symbol to others that you're claimed (and that both parties felt safe enough to be marked that way). So imagine if the boys are already kinda crushing on Yuu/reader only for them to take their jacket off or something and reveal like a big ole bite mark on their shoulder (or wherever) and they get all mopey thinking their already claimed but in reality they just got bit by something back from their world and the scar stuck

(Inspired partially by my dad, who has a big bite mark on his arm that everyone thinks is a tattoo. it's not. Just an old dog bite)

(damn your dad sounds cool)

Savanaclaw

Setting: The Savanaclaw boys have been pining for you, and today, you're just casually stripping your jacket off after PE class, revealing a decent-sized bite scar on your shoulder.

They freeze.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona’s eyes lock onto the mark and he goes deathly quiet. His tail flicks. His ears flatten just a bit. Internally?

"Of course. Figures. I finally meet someone who doesn’t annoy me and they’re already spoken for."

He sulks hard. You notice him going distant, brushing you off when you try to chat later. It’s not until days later—when he mutters, "Your mate let you walk around unguarded like that?"—that you blink and go,

"Mate? Oh, no, a dog bit me when I was ten. Real jerk. Still got the scar."

Leona’s head snaps up. His ears twitch.

"Wait… that’s not a claiming mark?"

Cue one (1) very smug Leona by the next morning, mysteriously returning to sitting too close again.

Jack Howl

Jack actually drops the water bottle he was holding when he sees the scar. His eyes widen and then avert—immediately. He turns pink at the tips of his ears.

"Oh. I—I didn’t know you were already marked. Sorry."

He becomes very formal, very stiff. Starts calling you “prefect” again instead of your name. You finally confront him, a bit heartbroken at the sudden coldness.

"You’ve been weird since PE, what gives?"

"...I just didn’t want to overstep. That kind of scar usually means you belong to someone."

When you tell him it’s an old wound from a totally mundane dog bite, he short circuits. Like, tail-wagging-involuntarily level of flustered.

"I—I see! That makes sense! You—you should be more careful, it looked real... um, real meaningful."

Now he can't stop glancing at your shoulder and getting flustered.

Ruggie Bucchi

“Tch. Lucky bastard, whoever bagged ya.”

He’s a mix of bitter and resigned—still flirty, but with a new sad little edge. Keeps joking like,

“Too bad you’re taken. Coulda had fun.”

When you finally ask what the hell he means, he gestures at the scar like, duh.

“That’s a mark. You don’t just give or get one of those unless you’re real serious.”

You: “That was a chihuahua. It bit me because I stole its hotdog.”

He stares.

“...A chihuahua did that?” “Yeah.” “And here I was mourning a relationship that never even existed. You owe me emotional compensation, y’know!”

Back to flirting. With vengeance.

OCTAVIANS:

Setting: You’re helping out in the Lounge. The uniform jacket’s getting hot, so you slip it off behind the bar… and your shirt collar slips just enough for a very visible, very real-looking bite scar to be seen by two (2) nosy eels and one (1) devastated octomer.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul freezes mid-shaker pour. You don’t notice—it’s just a quick glimpse—but Azul does. And his brain short circuits.

"A mark that deep... that shape... it’s deliberate. Ritualistic. They’re already bound?"

He’s devastated—but covers it up with grace. Or tries to. He gets very formal, colder. You catch him staring at your shoulder more than once with that complicated emotion you can’t name.

He’s too polite to ask directly—until the heartbreak gets to him.

“You’re in a binding, aren’t you?”

You: “Huh?”

“The bite mark on your shoulder. Among merfolk, that symbolizes an eternal commitment.”

You: “Oh! Nah. That’s just from a dog that chomped me when I was a kid. I kicked him in the face.”

Azul.exe has stopped working.

“...You what—?”

Goes beet red and storms into his office to scream into a pillow. You later find your drink on the house, labeled ‘thanks for the heart attack’.

Jade Leech

Jade smiles when he sees the scar. But his eyes go half-lidded, calculating. He suddenly speaks softer. Steps farther back. Less teasing, more… respectful distance.

“My, I wasn’t aware you were already bound. Forgive me if my prior behavior overstepped.”

You: “Bound to what now??”

He gestures subtly to your shoulder, like it’s obvious.

“A bite mark like that, well… among certain species, it’s not given lightly. It would be considered rude to compete for the affection of one already ‘marked.’”

Cue your laugh.

“Oh that? I was eleven. Some mutt thought my lunch was his.”

Jade pauses… then grins, slow and sharp.

“Is that so? How very fortunate. In that case… I wonder how your skin scars. Hypothetically, of course.”

You're not sure if that’s a flirt or a threat. Probably both.

Floyd Leech

“...Huh?”

He just blinks at the mark when he sees it. Then squints real hard. Then stops talking to you.

Like, full Floyd shutdown mode. No nicknames. No glomps. Just grumpy silence. You ask him what’s wrong, and he shrugs you off like:

“Nothin’. Don’t talk to taken people. It’s boring.”

You practically have to wrestle the truth out of him. When he finally gestures at the mark, you laugh so hard you snort.

“That? Nah, that’s from a dog bite. We were playing tug-of-war and he missed the toy and got my shoulder instead. It’s just a scar.”

“Whaaat?? That’s it??”

Floyd immediately perks up. Grabs your shoulders and spins you around like:

“So you’re not somebody’s shrimp? Heh. Good. I hate leftovers.”

Later bites you (playfully) and says he wants to "make it official."

DIASOMNIA

Malleus Draconia

Malleus was just enjoying your presence—he always is. You pull off your hoodie to reveal a bite mark on your upper arm and— He stares.

The air around him tightens. He doesn’t speak at first. Just… quietly steps back. His green eyes dim.

“...You are claimed.”

He says it like a funeral eulogy.

You blink. “Claimed?? What are you talking about?”

“That mark. You accepted a fae bond.”

You laugh. “Wait, this?” You twist your arm to show him properly. “That’s from a feral raccoon. He got me through a screen door.”

...

Malleus goes silent. Then he laughs—one of those rare, rich, real ones.

“You truly are fascinating, Child of Man. A sacred mark... from a trash beast.”

And now he won’t stop teasing you about it.

“Shall I give you a proper one, to replace the raccoon’s?”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia recognizes the bite mark instantly—and what it would mean if it were real. His smile drops for a moment. A beat of quiet heartbreak.

“Oh… you’ve already given yourself to another?”

He masks it fast—reverts to his cheerful, mischievous self. But the sharpness in his tone dulls.

“You should’ve told us! We’d have sent you a proper gift, you know. A token for the bound.”

You: “Lilia, I got this bite scar from a goose. I was five. It hated my jacket.”

“...A goose?” “An evil goose.”

A beat. Then he laughs so hard he nearly levitates.

“You poor thing! Bitten by a beast of chaos!” “You mean the goose?” “No. The jacket.”

He’s overjoyed, suddenly affectionate again, now plotting how to actually mark you with fae tradition. You may have unleashed something.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek screams internally the moment he sees it. He immediately turns away, face twisted.

“I see. You have already pledged loyalty elsewhere.”

Goes full formal mode. Loud. Respectful. Heartbroken.

“I WAS A FOOL TO BELIEVE—TO HOPE—THAT YOU WERE UNBOUND!”

You’re like: “Dude. What?”

He dramatically points at the scar.

“That! You wear it openly!”

You: “Oh, you mean my shoulder scar? A horse bit me.”

Sebek.exe blue screens.

“A… horse?” “He didn’t like carrots. I was five.”

...

He gets so red. Immediately bows in apology. Starts yelling at the horse retroactively. Gives you his coat. Declares he’ll train to bite harder than any equine.

Silver

Silver notices the scar. He gets very quiet. Thoughtful.

Later that day, he gently asks:

“Did it hurt when you were claimed?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“The mark. It’s permanent. You must’ve trusted them deeply.”

You laugh. “No, no—Silver, I got that from a neighbor’s dog. He panicked during fireworks.”

Silver: “Oh.”

...Then he stares at the sky like it personally betrayed him.

“I thought I missed the moment you gave your heart away...”

You pat his shoulder, and he very gently, very subtly leans into it—maybe hoping he could be the one to earn that mark someday.

[wonysugar]

having really bad san brainrot right now GUYSSSS him in those pictures will never fail to unleash a beast inside of me that i didn’t even know existed… THE TURTLENECK. THE WAY IT FITS ON HIS BUILDFJDJ it’s bad out here……

cw !! one mention of breeding kink, one mention of creampie, mentions of riding, masturbation (san receiving), one mention of a mistress kink, sub!san, cum eating, recording, one ‘good boy’, basically i’m geeked HAAAIII

anyways, this is kind of about those pics..! i’ve been specifically getting thoughts of subhusband!san hanging out at home by himself on his day off and missing you sooo much. WHO ELSE GETS IT!

like imagine this, you text him that you’re gonna get off a bit later than usual to get some more work done and he’d just get so sad that he’ll have to wait for you longer. he’d make you your favorite meal as a way to pass the time, mind haunted by the fact that you’re not there to keep yourself busy WITH him :(( he’s always craving for your company, but it’d especially suck for him that particular day.

you see, for some reason, he’d been feeling needy the entire morning, afternoon AND evening. usually, in situations like these, you’d get home rather quickly and take care of it for him, just like how he always took care of everything you needed, in return.

today, however? he had no choice but to sit there in despair, throwing occasional glances at the front door like a puppy waiting for its beloved owner to come back.

it was almost pathetic, really. the way he’d attempt to distract himself with a tv show but instead end up reminiscing on how good your hand would feel rubbing down his crotch, palming it ever so gently. gosh, the praise that would go along with it, too? the way you’d look into his eyes with nothing but love and passion as you watched him lose himself under you, him squirming at the sound of you calling him the good boy he is.

he was simply hopeless when it came to you, you had him wrapped around your finger. that being said, he wasn’t surprised to see that he gave himself a hard-on with the simple thought of what you’d do to him if you were there.

officially unable to focus on anything that isn’t his raging boner, san would get an idea. an idea that would warrant a punishment later on, yes, but an idea nonetheless. mischievous, he’d place and angle his fully charged cellphone a certain way, having it lean on the mug he drank from 5 minutes prior, hence making the camera face him as he sat on the living room couch.

the tent in his pants more visible than ever, he would press the red button on the screen and immediately lean back on his seat.

“hi baby,” he’d say awkwardly, shy from actually having committed to doing such a thing. don’t get him wrong, he’s fully capable of being a slut for his wife; which, he has been, plenty of times, but being in the living room alone and on the verge of jerking himself off in front of his phone camera was a whole other level of shame.

“i missed you.” he’d confess. clearly nervous, he occupies himself with the action of reaching for the remote and quickly turning the tv’s sound down, “i thought you’d like me to send you this, since…”

his eyes motion down to his black pants, putting all the attention from him onto his very visible hard-on. the flagrant print of his dick enough to make him stutter, he continued, “uhh—i’ve been kinda dealing with this… situation for the whole day and, i know you wouldn’t want me to do something about it without being involved, so...”

he eventually figured too much talking wouldn’t help him at all, so, he eventually unbuckled and unzipped his pants, creating an opening on the bracket just big enough for his cock to spring out once he pulls it out of his boxers. he subtly sighed from the slight relief of feeling it throb so freely.

there’s precum on his tip, and he’s self-aware enough to chuckle at that. “i already know the type of face you're making.” he said, mentally visualizing your smug smirk, “can you blame me? i haven’t seen you all day.” he then smiled, red in the face.

it didn’t take long before he leaned back and slowly started moving his palm up and down his length, hand envelopped around it. his head thrown back at the fiction, he let out a quiet but slow exhale, one that perfectly encapsulated his desperation for pleasure.

“what would i give to fuck you right now, mistress.” he’d confess, somewhat embarrassed by the nickname, but too deep into his quest for climax that he’d forget that he’s practically talking to himself. “i wanna feel you clench around me.”

for now, though, he was obligated to settle with what he had.

his pace quickened, his fingers occasionally focusing on that sweet spot between the head and the shaft with gentle caresses. with each pump, he let out quiet whimpers, biting back louder, sluttier noises.

once he felt close enough, he pulled up that black turtleneck of his to his chest, revealing the pecs and set of abs that you were oh so familiar with. with each pump he gave, his arms flexed. you’ve always loved that turtleneck, and he knew that. you’d ramble on and on about how it always seemed to tightly and perfectly hug his meaty body and how that was the hottest thing ever to you. that being said, him wearing that was not at planned, but was nonetheless a very welcome convenience.

before he knew it, his climax drew near. his voice got louder, and his gaze stayed fixed on his cock, watching it throb as he imagined the sensation coming from you instead.

the mere thought of you riding san slowly before speeding up the motion, the way you’d lean in and kiss his entire face as you both unconsciously synchronized your breathing, the fact that you’d maybe consider allowing him to blow his load inside you if he begged well enough. the thought of putting a baby inside you, the thought of starting a family with you; that was enough to drive him to the very edge.

with a mix of shameless moaning and rough groaning, he came all over his torso, eyes fluttering as he threw his head back onto the couch, white ropes shooting everywhere on his abs and chest. he attempted to pull his shirt further up, but some of his sperm already got to the fabric.

very unfortunate news for you, you wouldn’t get to see him wearing that turtleneck for you tonight.

his chest heaved up and down as he ran a hand through his stomach, collecting every single drop before putting his fingers into his mouth, tasting himself. he knew that’s what you would’ve asked of him if you were there.

with his clean hand, he’d awkwardly end the video. before that, though, he’s probably congratulating you for your hard work, but also subtly telling you to hurry home in the deep yet silly and whiny voice you’re so familiar with.

as he’d send the recording, he’d hurry to the bathroom to take his shirt off and clean himself off. he had to hurry up, though, as the food he had put in the oven was probably already done cooking by then.

he couldn’t possibly have you come home to burnt food!

[amomentsescape]

A candle lit bubble bath with the slashers (and Sinclair brothers) after very bad and long day of chasing a victim who was being extra difficult?

Slashers + Sinclair Brothers & a Bubble Bath with Reader

Slashers x Reader (Separate)

A/N: I didn't really go into detail about them having trouble with their victim. I mostly focused on the aftermath. I hope that's okay!

Freddy Krueger

He's honestly worse than a teenage girl

Immediately comes to you ranting and calling the victim every name in the book

You just wait for him to get the anger out of his system

Once he's done dumping all of his thoughts out on you, he insists on spending some time just relaxing with one another

He clearly needs it

Jumps at the opportunity of a bath with you, excited to be this close to you (especially with no clothes on)

He likes when you lean against him, giving him full access to place kisses on your neck

Can change the lighting in his world to whatever he feels like

He says he just doesn't like candles

But you're certain the flames freak him out a bit

He keeps the water from getting cold, allowing you both to stay in the tub for literal hours if your heart desires

Michael Myers

Michael is pretty self-aware that his anger is explosive

So when he comes home after wasting his whole night chasing down one victim, he's fuming

Immediately locks himself in the bedroom for a good hour, not wanting to accidentally hurt you

You've been through this a few times before, knowing that he'll come to you when he's ready

Once he feels calm enough, he comes out and sits beside you, letting you rest your weight against him

Seeing how dirty he is, you insist on having him join you in the tub

He denies it for a bit, but eventually gives in when he realizes you're just going to keep asking

Has your back against his chest

He sort of just sits there for a while, letting the water do its thing

But if you start putting shampoo in his hair and help wash him up, he won't be opposed

Jason Voorhees

The only way Jason will ever take a bath is if you're in there with him

He's learned to find some relaxation in the warm water now, and today is one of those days where he feels like he really needs it

He comes home and just hugs you for a bit, trying to get rid of his frustrations from earlier

And once you lead him by the hand to the warm tub, he's already feeling a bit better

He's a little big for the tub, so you kind of have to sit in his lap when you join him, not that he minds

Practically becomes putty in your hands

Rub his back? Loves it

Give him little kisses? Melts

Literally just poke him? All yours

You're basically the only thing that makes Jason feel better after days like these

Thomas Hewitt

After the day he had, he just wants to see you

It's actually his idea to take a bath in the first place

He thinks it's the perfect excuse to be close with you

Will pull you up to your feet and lead you towards the tub

He already has the water running

Needs you to add the bubbles though

He just thinks you have the magic touch when it comes to adding the right amount of soap

Unsurprisingly, he's the one that wants to pamper you

Helps wash your back and rinse the shampoo from your hair

He isn't sure why, but taking care of you is what puts him in a good mood after a long day

There's just something about seeing you so happy that makes him feel happy too

Bubba Sawyer

When he comes home, he immediately grabs your hand and is blubbering about his day

Is making huge gestures on what went wrong and how upset he is

All the while, you are already leading him to the bathroom, Bubba not even paying attention to where he's going

You help him get out of his dirty clothes and lead him into the tub

You also begin lighting some of his favorite scented candles while he sits, him still freaking out

It's only when you get in the tub with him that he calms down

You both sit facing each other, pushing a toy duck back and forth

It's his favorite

His whines of anger slowly turn into giggles as you start throwing bubbles at him

With you, his mood can do a 180 in a matter of minutes

You both end up in a bit of a water fight though, soaking the whole floor

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is pissed

After chasing around this victim, knocking over furniture, and almost breaking his arm, he is practically ready to burst

You have to hold him tightly to you as you shush him, trying to calm him down

It only seems to work when you suggest taking a bath together to relax

He helps light candles while you tend to the water and bubbles

About makes you fall when he drags you into the tub with him, making you sit right in front of him

Gets very touchy and wants to help you get clean

But you also switch the roles too, helping him wash up even though he insists on just washing you

He eventually relaxes though, closing his eyes as you run your fingers through his hair

You both end up falling asleep together, only waking once the water cools

Norman Bates

He doesn't quite remember what had him so upset, but all he knows is that he needs some down time

When he walks through the door to see that you've already made him his favorite tea, he gives you the kindest smile

You offer a warm bath to help ease him, and he simply requests that you join as well

You both sip on your mugs while you catch up on everything that happened today

He enjoys talking with you

And having you cuddled up against him makes it all even better

He doesn't even remember feeling upset before

He just closes his eyes and leans his head back, still silently listening to you talk

Billy Loomis

He comes home silently fuming

(He got out most of his yells and punches earlier)

Before you can even ask about his day, he is grabbing you and pulling you to the bathroom with him

Doesn't say anything, just starts the bath and begins piling his dirty clothing onto the floor

Once the tub is full, he's pulling you in with him, wrapping his arms around you roughly

You both don't have to say anything, just finding comfort in being with each other during this time

He does take this moment to just reflect though, thinking of all the ways to kill in the future so another victim doesn't give him such a hard time

But don't worry, he's back to his usual self once the water has cooled

You both end up cuddling on the couch, still wrapped in your towels

Stu Macher

The moment you see his face through the door, he's on a tangent

He's telling you all about what happened, but he's talking so fast that you can barely keep up with him

And the whole time he's ranting, he's stripping off his clothes, rummaging through bags of chips, and pushing you towards the bathroom

You still don't understand how someone can multitask as much as him

He's helping you undress, still talking about how terrible the victim was and how frustrated he is feeling

But the moment he's in the tub, he's all lovey dovey

Insists on being held by you, wanting to be babied

He didn't even let the bath fill completely before hopping in, so he's practically yelling over the sound of the water

But it's worth it to be with him when he's so needy

Eric Draven

Even just one person escaping means another crime waiting to be committed in Eric's eyes

So when he comes home, his head hung a bit low, you immediately know

He sits beside you and leans into your arms, listening to your quiet reassurances

Once his mood seems a little lighter, you hurry into the bathroom and get the water running

You already had plenty of candles lit since Eric enjoys the gentle light they provide

He gets in the tub first, making sure the water isn't too hot or cold for you

Then, he opens his arms wide with a soft smile

You sit between his legs and let his full frame engulf you

Making you feel safe and secure is a guaranteed way to make Eric feel content

It never fails

Vincent Sinclair

He's absolutely exhausted

He just wants to lay with you and feel your hand in his hair

The moment he comes home and finds you waiting by the bathroom, a soft smile on your face, he's instantly put in a better mood

And this joy only increases when he sees the gentle flicker of the candles and the soapy bubbles of the tub

Immediately pulls you into a long hug, physically relaxing in your arms

And the moment the warm water engulfs him?

He's literally in heaven

Will gladly let you wash his hair and rub the soap along his back

That tough victim he dealt with just an hour before is long gone from his mind

He knows that whenever he needs fixing, you're the one to come to

Bo Sinclair

Bo isn't very easy to calm down

When he storms in, a scowl on his face, you can tell that things didn't go well for him

You just let him rage around for a bit, waiting patiently for him to calm down on his own

You can always tell he's feeling better once his eyes meet yours

"I have the bath running" is all you have to say

Bo gently nods

He'll never admit it, but during moments like these, he just wants to be pampered and babied

Leans his full weight against you, sighing in relief as the bubbles engulf him

"You always know just what I need, darlin'"

Expects long scalp massages and gentle squeezes along his arms

But don't worry, he's sure to return the favor, pressing soft kisses to your bare shoulders

Won't let you leave the tub until he's ready, and that's usually when the water has turned cold

Lester Sinclair

Although he doesn't really participate in the killings, he's still expected to help clean up

And boy, did his brothers leave him with quite the mess

He comes home filthy, his white t-shirt no longer recognizable

"Oh, honey. Looks like you need a bath."

His frustrated gaze softens quickly when looks at you

"Please," he insists

He pulls you in with him, wanting you to hold him so close that he is literally engulfed by you

Gazes at the different candles you lit while you talk to him softly

Even if his day didn't go well, he still wants to hear about yours

It's the best way to lighten his mood, knowing everything you were up to while he was out

[idanceuntilidie]

Huloo, just read Yandere cheater and it was hook line sinker for me, do you still do request? If so can you do a Yan! cheater but the reader is like one of those cold stone face to others but warm to their friends and family but especially soft towards someone they really like? (In this case the cheater). Im curious about your take 😭. Scenario would basically be the same same I guess, like Yan! Cheater jumped to conclusion and, being an idiot, decide revenge cheat is the solulu to his delulu thoughts.

(If your requests are closed, please ignore this, Id be embarrassed)

I would have finished this way earlier today, slowly back to posting I hope yall are proud of me Warning: non con touching * blood * mentions of rotting meat and killing people * yandere themes ofc

yan cheater x gn reader

„SMILE FOR ME ALRIGHT?”

“I like when you smile, you look really cute when you do” “Haha aren’t you a charmer?” “Listen, I am serious! Your smile is special, not many can see it bunny.” “I love you” “I love you too.” Your face doesn’t reflect on how you are feeling, unless it is someone that you actually care about. It is only natural that people can’t tell what you are feeling, and that comes with its pros and cons.

People won’t know if they hurt you. Ciaran was pretty, but underneath all of that hid a disgusting freak. Too bad you have learned that when you saw the man you love kiss someone else. You remember he kissed you with such passion not even a few hours later. You hate to admit, he looks pretty even now. Standing at your doorstep, red hair clinging to his face. Make up slightly smeared because of the water. Ciaran looked beautiful, even if messy and wet. It made your blood boil. You wanted to rip his hair out, punch him and then curl into a ball and cry your eyes out. Instead you kept leaning against the door frame, the scent of rain calming you down. You didn’t say anything to him, and he didn’t to you. He knew that you found out, and you knew his only regret right now was that he didn’t hide well enough.

The more you look at him, the more sick you feel. You waited for him to come back though, so you could spit on his face and throw him out of your apartment. You didn’t even bother with a suitcase, a trash bag fitted his personality more. “I have nothing to say to you Ciaran, take your shit and get lost.” Your voice was cold, monotonous but it made him shudder. You threw the bag into the closest puddle and finally slammed the door in his fucking face. There was something about you, Ciaran couldn’t put his finger on it. He doesn’t know why you are so attractive to him. Your eyes are cold, dead just like your expression that you wear. It’s like making eye contact with a corpse. Despite your very dead expression, you are quite attractive. Beautiful. It made his heart flutter, so it was only natural that he tried to get close to you. With time he got to see more of you, your little traits. Likes and dislikes. What you listen to, and what you eat.

The best part was when your stoic expression was replaced with a smile. He lived for those moments, but then it got boring. Can you even blame him? It all felt lukewarm. He needed that excitement back, and you couldn’t give him that. That is, he thought you couldn’t. But he was wrong. Ciaran wouldn’t admit it of course, it would hurt his pride. He was too proud, and you were just difficult and used.

He couldn’t admit that after just a week his body ached for your touch, scent. He wanted to see you smile again, hear you speak, touch you.

Every single time he tried to crawl back to you, you welcomed him with an ice cold stare and blank face. After God knows how many times he appeared in front of your house, you didn’t even bother opening the door and soon enough you moved away.

How could you? Leaving him wailing in the dirt in front of the place both of you called home. You are so cruel, didn’t you say people deserve a second chance?

Maybe he just needed to try harder.

The house breathed with you, calm and unbothered. The air felt heavy still and moist, in other words it stank in here quite badly. Slightly rotten food with the mix of your sweat made you gag. You laid still in your bed, eyes tired, achy and dry from the lack of sleep. You feel like you are going to suffocate in here. You listen to the melody of the forest surrounding your house, the gentle sway of the trees and cicadas. It’s dark, why were you up again? Your eyes start to wander around the room trying to adjust to the soft light of the moon. It’s dark, you see your furniture and that pile of clothes that looks a lot like a human now that you stare at it.

You turn on the light, it blinds you and you close your eyes and hiss in pain. When you open them again you see the same pile of dirty clothes. It looks normal, like a pile of unwashed clothes would. You thought it was.. nevermind, brain tends to imagine weird shapes when you can’t see shit. That’s what it was, you sigh as you get up. The air feels stuffy.

 If it wasn’t for the crippling anxiety you would open the window, you can’t see outside but it can see you. That makes you worry.

You dragged your heavy feet to the kitchen to grab something to eat even though there is not much you can choose from. You need to go shopping. Your stomach recoils at that thought. Ciaran just waits for you to leave. He is probably not very happy that you have ignored him as much as you did. His gifts lay unopened at your front door, slowly piling up. The sweet scent of rotting meat emitting from them. Just thinking about it makes you weak in the stomach. The kitchen is dark, after the bedroom incident you didn’t bother even turning on the light. Your poor eyes. Your shaky hands search for the least dirty cup so you can at least drink some water.

After your break up, Ciaran hasn’t left you alone. Blocking him didn’t help, the police didn’t help. He made sure you were alone, with no one to help you. Your ex successfully tracked you every single time, that's why you are stuck at home. Looking and smelling like shit. It has been a week without him trying to contact you but you aren’t sure he finally moved on. You will sneak out of the house, leave everything and just escape this madness. You will be free. There is a warm breath on your neck.

The glass shattered against the wooden floor. “Did you miss me?” he rasped out. He smelled like forest. His voice goes through your ears, making them ring. You didn’t respond, praying that your brain is imagining things. It surely is, he imagines how he nuzzles into the crook of your neck and his hands slowly wander around your body.

You feel weak in your knees, hands gripping the sink in an attempt to get some stability. Ciarans cold hands painfully dig into your stomach. You feel like you are going to puke.

Then everything stops. You turn around and you are greeted with the sight of your kitchen. No Ciaran.

You raise your shirt, no marks.

You were going crazy or the lack of sleep is really getting into you. Forget the water or food, you are going to sleep. Ciaran is not here, you are safe and you need sleep. Badly. The floorboards creak against your weight, the trip to your room. It’s like being like a kid again, and you feel like someone is chasing you so you run up to your room to turn the light on and scare the evil away. The thought of it makes you chuckle. Something feels wrong though, you look at your front door. It’s open.

Fuck the sneaking, you are ready to run to your room when someone grabs you. Their hands are sticky, warm. The metallic and sweet rotting smell fills the room. “Bunny, bunny calm down. It’s okay, I am here finally.” “Ciaran, Ciaran please…” you choke out as he squeezes your frail body. “Ahh how I missed that voice of yours.” he moaned into your ear and hugged you tighter. You want to cry, you want to throw up but you can’t give him the satisfaction of that. You can show him any basic human emotion, that’s what he wants.

 He kissed your neck, nipping at some places. Like he used to, when you two were together.

“You missed me too, right bunny? you missed my voice?” “Ciaran leave my house.” “But baby why? We are finally together again.” He let go of you. Your body ached, head pounding and all of your senses screaming to run.

“Aren’t you happy? Please bunny, smile for me like you used to.” His hands grabbed your face, fingers jamming into your mouth forcing it to open. It hurts, you can taste the blood coating his hands. He forces you to smile and you stop yourself from actually throwing up. Your thoughts are muddy, body weak. You claw at his hands but he grips you together. Nails digging into your gums, you gag. Ciaran beams at you, happy. Smiling widely, just like he used to.

“Now, was that so hard?” he hums.

You try to protest, but you are unable to speak. You are so tired, so weak. He took notice of that. Kissing your forehead.

“Oh my poor baby, you are exhausted waiting for me right? Don’t worry, I will help you.”

The last thing you remember is pain, the amazement on how strong his head is and a small thought that no matter how far you run. Your loving ex will find you.

[creature-wizard]

I keep thinking about the post talking about how scammers will try and tell you how they're going to prove they're the real thing, where the "proof" they will offer you is actually meaningless because it doesn't actually mean what they claim this means, and how this is essentially the way witch hunters operate.

Your early modern witch hunters would always be able to "find" witches because they had easily-filled criteria for what constituted evidence of witchcraft - things like bad weather, strange symptoms and seemingly incurable ailments, night terrors, etc.

Of course, they had no evidence that there was a causal link between any of these things and witchcraft. They just said it was evidence of witchcraft, and a lot of people just assumed they knew what they were talking about.

And so it is with claims that hypnosis and various trance states can help people remember past lives and repressed memories. People with actual doctorates claim that hypnosis can help you uncover repressed memory, even though its ability to do this has never been demonstrated. In fact, the more you start looking into cases where hypnosis was used to help people remember something, the more you find that people can "remember" nearly anything - including, very famously, alien abductions.

In Ritual Abuse and Mind Control: The Manipulation of Attachment Needs (essentially pro-Satanic Panic literature, for those who haven't read it), Valerie Sinason acknowledged the people who seemingly remembered alien abductions, then proceeded to try special pleading for people who "remembered" satanic ritual abuse. Sinason's defense was that SRA was more plausible than alien abductions, therefore we should believe it's actually happening.

Of course, "more plausible" does not equal "actually happening." Just because it's more plausible that I have the skeleton of Elvis Presley in my basement than an alien skeleton, doesn't mean I have the skeleton of Elvis Presley in my basement. And when your methodology for obtaining your so-called evidence is this deeply flawed, you might as well just say "it's true because I want it to be true" and then try to locate all the cultists in your town with dowsing rods.

Indeed, when other people start setting higher standards for evidence, SRA proponents' ability to find witches (or cult programmers, as we're calling them today) vanish. All they can do is try to guilt trip people for allegedly betraying survivors and claim that the critics are part of a malicious conspiracy.

I've both studied and personally been involved in controlling and manipulative groups long enough to recognize this song and dance for what it is - it's fundamentally an assertion that you're betraying the good guys and letting the bad guys win. It's always an act of desperation.

Many Christians pull this when someone tries to leave the faith. It often goes like this: Jesus loves you so much, how could you deny him like this? Also everyone who refuses to become Christian has been deceived by the Devil, and some of them are even working for him on purpose!

Many neopagans do it whenever someone questions or disagrees with whatever dogma their personal group has. It often goes like this: You're betraying the gods (whom you owe your loyalty because they're the gods), and you're letting our Christian oppressors win.

Many peddlers of woo and conspiracy theories do it like this: You're being closed minded (and therefore you're being rude to nice open-minded people like them). You're also just brainwashed by the people who don't want the truth getting out, and you're basically doing their bidding.

Anyway, since I think most of us here can agree that the witch hunts were unjustified and that thousands of innocent people lost their lives, I want you to picture someone saying:

"When you say the Devil's Sabbath wasn't real and the witch hunts targeted innocent women, you're invalidating and erasing the pain of everyone who suffered from the torments of witches. I agree that some innocent people were burned, but there were absolutely real witches working with the Devil to cast evil spells."

As you can see, this rhetoric can be used to defend and justify any bullshit-driven atrocity. Let's try this with another conspiracy theory I think most of us can agree is bullshit - reptilian aliens:

"When you say the Reptilians aren't real and they're based on antisemitic tropes, you're invalidating and erasing the pain of everyone who suffered at their hands. I agree that some innocent people have been accused of being Reptilians, but there are absolutely real Reptilians out there torturing people and killing them to drink their blood."

So in conclusion, we must always think critically about what people present as evidence, and not let them guilt trip us into lowering our standards. Remember:

Efficacy of the evidence-gathering methods must be demonstrated. The methods must be shown to be reliable, unlikely to produce false results.

Causal links must be established. Assertions that X causes Y must be backed up with empirical evidence.

Other explanations must be ruled out. Do not assume the most sensational explanation without ruling out more common ones. As the saying in medicine goes, if you see hoofprints, think horses, not zebras. Do not consider zebras until horses (and any other common equines) can be ruled out.

[blorbocedes]

BLONDE TWINK BARES IT ALL! GETS A MASSAGE ;)

williams!era nico gets a massage by dr.dot for RTL in a video that looks like a casting couch bad porn intro. 1/2/2009

below i explain the lengths i went to find this 👇 its v long

so our story starts a few months ago when i began frantically dming my oldest nicologist friend @colors-of-feeling if she remembered this video. I had only half remembered recollections at this point, and i really only remembered the video because it looks so much like a casting couch porn intro. I know I screenshot it but I went through my gallery and couldn't find it. i knew I had seen it a very long time ago and care is one of my first mutuals, so anything nico I've seen she's seen. she doesn't rmbr 😓

now im like holy shit did i make it up. still i plead care to turn her archive public so i can go through it. no luck. i went through my own archive, even though i know I didn't reblog it because it had been a youtube link instead of the video. and i regretted it so bad, because i know that low quality few hundred or thousand views videos from 2000s is basically lost footage because youtubes search is basically incomprehensible. I also went through the archives of other blogs that nico posted back in 2021 for any sign that I didn't just project and Imagine it. no luck.

feeling defeated i go to my final hope, the nicologist of all nicologists @distantlaughter... with only half baked and increasingly hysterical descriptors "umm its like a casting couch video! a boat! but the boat is parked 🤔 maybe the masseuse had pigtails" i rambled, normally like a normal person.

ren the absolute darling immediately pops up with a video of shirtless nico get massaged. its not.

and another one. not that either 😓 we underestimated just how much nico posted getting a shirtless massage.

finally. FINALLY. ren dms me like 10 seconds of this video hidden in a nico rosberg compilation fan video that is even in worse quality. but it's this video!!!!!! it EXISTS!!! im not crazy....... but that 3 pixel collage was proof that it was real, but alas not post worthy. There was an RTL logo in the corner so in one final futile search, we searched RTL archives which unfortunately did not go far enough. We were doing literal detective work like from the 10 seconds of the fanvid we concluded it was like, probably an RTL monaco promo video hence the coastline and the boat, and given nico's hair length it must be williams (or 2010 merc). but nothing further than that. still ren is the absolute goat nicologist who figured it out from just my descriptions alone 🙏🙏🙏

with that I ended my search, knowing it was real at least, even if it wasn't the full video.

today i got a storage full notification. so I started frantically deleting random videos I had on my phone from years. and buried in august 9, 2022 almost exactly TWO years ago . was 5 seconds of this video and the when the screen recording closed you could see it was from a video called Dr. Dot.

this time im posting the video, im also going to ask @argentinagp to gif it so this buried, almost lost footage less than 1k youtube video can get a second life again, and so we can all enjoy weird late 2000s whoring drivers out. ❤️

all of this could be avoided if simply 2 years ago I had reblogged and tagged the original link. archival work is often thankless and pointless but wow, sometimes it can feel so rewarding. so enjoy!

which brings me to the most important part. doesn't he totally look like a twink in a bad porno here?

[soapylvrs]

how soon is now?

natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

act I. chapter [002]

warnings: none i don’t think?

APRIL 1995,

Heavy pants left your lips as you jogged off the pitch, mind set on having some water and nothing else. A soccer match against St John's Highschool was quickly approaching, and Jackie Taylor was ensuring the Yellowjackets would be ready to 'kick ass'.

Basically, the next few training sessions would be absolute hell.

Grabbing your water bottle, you relished in the feeling of the cool liquid flooding your dry mouth with relief. Jackie had permitted the team from water breaks this session, aiming to train the girls to build up their strength to be able to play a match without stopping. She called it 'endurance training' or some shit. You thought it was absolute bull. You turned your head to see Lottie panting just as hard, scowling at the back of Jackie's head. Apparently Lottie thought it was absolute bull too. You laughed, nudging who you considered to be your closest friend, "come on, it wasn't that bad," you grinned, running a hand through your sweaty hair as the two of you began your walk to the changing room. "It was worse! That girl is pure evil, I need my water breaks," Lottie huffed, cheeks flushed and dark hair plastered against her glistening forehead.

You laughed again, the sound loud and happy, you really did love your soccer team. Especially Lottie. Lottie who just managed to understand you. Lottie who never asked any questions, just made sure her comforting presence was always known, and a spare bedroom in her house was always welcome.

You liked the rest of your team too. Shauna was probably another favourite. She was sarcastic and intelligent, and the two of you had fun together. Whenever you slept over at Shauna's house you would both spent hours prank calling people, your favourite victim being Randy Walsh. However, your sleepovers were not very regular, as the majority of the time Shauna was busy with Jackie, answering her every beck and call- in particular, every time Jackie and her annoying boyfriend Jeff broke up (however it 'never lasted long enough to count')

Not long later, you exited the girls' changing room alone in a pair of old joggers and your Yellowjackets hoodie. You had stayed a little later than most of the other girls so that you could hit the shower. And to prolong your time before having to go home, of course. Lottie had offered to take you to her house to stay the night, but you, not wanting to interfere with a night she knew Lottie's father would be celebrating his birthday, did not want to overstep; piloting decline your best friends invitation and ensuring her you’d be okay.

The sky was beginning to fade from blue to a dark grey, the sun retiring its post and making way for the pearly skin of the white moon that illuminated the school parking lot. You had taken your mum’s car to school today, downright refusing to walk home after what you knew would be a hardcore soccer practice with no water breaks. Your mum Edith, too drunk to truly comprehend what her child was saying, had given up the car without too much of a fight, muttering under her breath something about you being a "lazy little shit" as she flopped down on the couch with a beer at seven in the morning.

Locating your beat up and rusted truck in the parking lot, you climbed in and shut the door, throwing your gym back onto the passenger's seat with an elongated huff. You were exhausted. All you wanted to do was climb into bed and never wake up. Taking a moment to yourself, you rested your elbows on the steering wheel, chin finding respite in your palms as you took in a breath and simply existed for a few minutes. No expectations. No complicated high school crap. No Edith. Just as you were about to start up the truck and face your mother, you noticed her walking across the carpark with her signature swagger.

Natalie.

The two of you hadn't spoken since your incident the other night—not that you ever really spoke anyway. You weren't friends. Just teammates. And yet, as you watched Natalie search for someone in the parking lot (likely her friend Kevin, who picked her up most nights) and end up unsuccessful, you felt a pang of something in your chest.

It wouldn't be right to just leave her there, would it? It's was only getting darker, and colder. You wasn't too keen on Natalie, but your empathy would always get the best of you. Besides, Natalie wasn't that bad. The rumours that flowed through the school hallways did little to warp your opinion of the bleach blonde. Natalie was just...very intimidating. But she wasn't a bad person, somehow a part of you knew that.

Swallowing your nerves of being shut down by Natalie again, you beeped your horn, winding down the windows of your truck.

Natalie turned on her heel, searching for the source of the sound with a slight scowl, eyebrows raising slightly when she saw you.

"Um—do you...want a ride home? It's getting kinda dark," you called out, voice soft and inviting if not a little awkward as you nervously gripped the steering wheel too tight. Natalie hesitated, clearly shocked by the invitation, her face unreadable for a second as she considered the offer. After a few agonising seconds she replied, "Yeah, okay," in that raspy voice of hers, approaching your truck. You, slightly caught off guard by her acceptance, especially due to your last interaction, fumbled to throw your gym bag off the passenger seat and onto the backseat, just in time for Natalie who pulled open the door and slid in casually; closing the door behind her with a slam. Instantly, the scent of cigarettes, cheap perfume and something else so completely Natalie filled the truck.

The two of you sat in silence for a for a few moments, before Natalie spoke. "Fucking Kevin forgot to pick me up, again." Her voice seeped with subtle annoyance as she glanced out the window. You huffed out a quiet laugh as you started up the truck, wincing at the groaning noises it made- it was a very old piece of metal, though you doubted Natalie gave a shit. "That's okay," you said, voice soft, "just tell me where to drop you off."

As you pulled out the lot, you hesitated, "Um—I've got some tapes, in the glove compartment. Pick whatever you want," you said. Natalie raised her brow in interest, reaching her hand into the compartment and pulling out a handful of your cassette tapes. She flicked through them silently, picking one out and putting the rest back where she found them. She put the tape in and the two of you sat waiting, you being curious to see what the casually cool, famous Natalie Scatorccio's music taste was.

Fiona Apple's album Tidal began to play softly through the speakers. You smiled, glancing at Natalie as you continued to drive, "You're a Fiona fan, then?" you asked lightly. Natalie looked at you, nodding after a beat, "Yeah. She's good." she eventually said, voice steady. You nodded in agreement. "I'd kill to see her in concert," you sighed wistfully, hands gripping the wheel as you continued to drive, "okay, so—which way?" you asked as you pulled up to a junction. Natalie was quiet for a moment, as if debating something internally. "Left," she muttered, eyes on your face, gauging her reaction. "Then left again."

You nodded, face remaining neutral. Of course you knew where left, then left again was. The trailer park. If Natalie thought that you were going to judge her for that, she clearly didn't know you at all. You couldn't give a shit if Natalie was from the trailer park.

The rest of the drive was completed in silence, not awkward, but not completely comfortable. A slight tension had settled between the two teens, something neither girl could properly identify as you sat there, side by side. Natalie's gaze remained towards the car window, watching the world go by as she fiddled with the rings on her fingers, which had been painted black a few days prior and were now chipped and peeling. A couple minutes later as the trailer park came into view, you pulled the truck up at the sidewalk, cutting the engine.

It was silent for a few more seconds, before anyone spoke. "Thanks," Natalie muttered, voice slightly tentative, "you didn't have to."

You offered her a friendly smile, "Don't worry about it, Natalie. Any time." you said. Natalie let out a huff of amusement. "You don't need to call me Natalie." she murmured, eyes flickering with someone you couldn't understand, "Nat is fine," she finished, her lips pulling into not quite a smile but definitely not a grimace either. You nodded, "Right, Nat. If you ever need a lift just...let me know."

With a nod and another mumble of thanks, Nat got out the truck. She didn't look back, gym bag slung over her shoulder and that same signature swagger, you watched the blonde pull a cigarette from out of her pocket, just as she round the corner into the trailer park. Then, she was gone.

You blew out a breath you didn't know you were holding. That went surprisingly...well? Considering the last time the two interacted, Nat had practically yelled in your face, you would take this interaction as a definite win. Nat had accepted your offer and you both had actually managed a decent conversation. Plus, she had good music taste—as to be expected. The scent of her lingered, and you found yourself strangely enamoured by it. Then, as if realising where your thoughts were going, you shook your head as if to rid yourself of any thoughts besides getting into bed.

Why did you care so much?

...That isn't something you’re willing to address right now.

Sighing, you pulled away from the sidewalk to begin your journey home. With any luck, Edith would already be passed out on the couch.

Ten minutes later and you were walking into her house. Within five seconds, you heard obnoxiously loud snores coming from the living room. As expected, your mother was out cold. Good. Too tired to bother cooking something (and risking Edith waking up) you quietly trekked to the sanctuary of your bedroom. You just wanted to sleep. You let out a sigh as you kicked off your trainers and changed from your joggers and hoodie into an oversized t-shirt with a picture of The Smiths on it. Then, you collapsed onto your bed, finding comfort in your soft duvet and obnoxiously plump pillows.

You lay there, thinking about the day. About Jackie and her 'endurance training'. About Lottie and how appreciative you were to have a friend like her. About Nat...someone that you struggled to stop thinking about for no apparent reason. You thought about her raspy voice, her pretty bleached hair and the scent of cigarettes that always clung to her. Where the hell was all this coming from? Why was it happening? You groaned out loud, burying your head into your pillow and screwing your eyes shut. No more thinking about her. No more.

As you settled off to sleep, you knew one thing; you definitely wouldn't be able to stop thinking about her. The only question was why?

taglist: @priyajoy @deimaisgail

[trans-siffrin]

The @askoverkill Director isn't just a Siffrin, they're specifically Loop

(Before starting, I recommend reading starry-voidss's post here, as I will be bringing up much of aer list again. I do not claim ownership of this theory— this post here is basically a compilation of everything I could think, or have heard of.

Obviously, this has art and spoilers from askoverkill and In Stars and Time!)

(Also, this is presented in a bullet list for organisation— hope that's okay!)

1. The Design

If the head shape being the same (-> spiky, white) isn't good enough on its own, there is a couple of things to compare aside from that!

They both have upturned eyes, starry skin/theming, and a star/star shaped symbol in the center of their chest.

(And maybe the fact the ref sheet for the Director says xir mouth "makes no sense", which is understandable considering Loop had none.)

Add to this the resemblance between the Director and Siffrin (eye shape, right eye being [missing/bleeding], and boots with heels).

The Director has red eyes, something Loop also has during their fight during the twohats fight. Her eyes are also described as spirals, which:

Some of the Director's talksprites, namely in this post, have sparkles coming from him.

2. Persona

Same introduction joke. (The same one which made sense for Loop to say because you learn later that they are you/Siffrin.)

The theater themes are also obvious, it's everywhere with the Director; and as we know, it's a huge thing for Siffrin and Loop specifically. But the thing that's especially relevant here is this:

Here, in the first one, Loop refers to Siffrin as a director; but if you've played SASASAP, you'll know that much of these lines are VERY relevant to them also (everything minus the "restarting from the top" still tracks; and well, they are literally using a talksprite literally called "fake1" before getting interrupted).

In the second line, they are directly talking about themself.

Loop basically only refers to the party by their roles (Housemaiden, Fighter, Researcher and Kid) except in specific instances (post-Kingquest end, when they're blaming Siffrin for not protecting Bonnie from the King, and twohats fight, when they're talking about how the party did not recognize them), which is also something that the Director does, as seen for example when they are introducing the cast.

(Also, fun fact: the Director's usage of "the Fighter" vs Isabeau's actual title in ISAT being "the Defender". You know when exactly Isabeau stopped using "the Fighter"?)

(Pictured left: Start Again, pictured right: ISAT)

(You know who else still uses it?)

Also as seen in the cast introduction post, the Director seems very familiar with the party, acting as though she's seen them before (perhaps multiple times), while being surprised at these specific Overkill versions ("I've never seen him so gruff", "You look extra studious today", "you all fit your roles to the T!"). In this post, he appears familiar with the House, recognising the trap and naming the Death Corridor.

Xe absolutely hates Siffrin: skipping them as a party member when introducing the cast, calling him a Tragedy, and stating they aren't even a person. They have repeatedly killed multiple Siffrin, acts hostile towards even Lupus the moment she notices them, and saying they can't wait to kill Dawn as well (namely, by strangling him).

The Director knows about and is connected to Wish Craft, with it being able to modify physical aspects of him.

The Director specifically brings up Siffrin's single Silver Coin when talking about them, implying they at the very least know of its importance to them. (Specifically, when talking about eating him. Close enough, welcome back ISAT cannibalism themes.)

Director states that food tastes rotten or "like nothing" to them, which is as relevant to Siffrin as it is to Loop.

3. Misc.

This spoilered text from the Director's ref sheet very clearly says "a bad wish". You know who else made two (!!) wishes that ended up going badly for them— one that trapped them in a timeloop, and one that took their body away?

The Director uses "blinding" and "stars" as swears.

So have you seen that image of the Director holding Mirabelle's face and telling her she's their favorite actor? I have, and it reminded me of a very specific image—

(Pictured on the right, SASASAP Siffrin, also known as Loop)

The Director is ace. "Just like Siffrin!" Just like Loop too!

The Director is described as having "Flowey vibes". Flowey, a character who 1) lost their body (as Asriel) and soul, 2) was in a timeloop (albeit self caused) for a very long time before someone else with stronger Determination arrived, 3) despises the protagonist until they don't (-> Pacifist ending)… VS Loop, a character which 1) lost their body (as Siffrin) and family, 2) was in a timeloop (unknowingly caused by their own wish) for a very long time before they made their second wish, got turned into Loop and was replaced by another Siffrin, 3) has a kind of hot and cold relationship to Siffrin until they don't

The Director names Overkill as "The Encore of Vaugarde", which seems to imply there was already a play of Vaugarde before this. Now this could simply be that they know the name of the blog/story, but again, they do seem to have already seen (versions of) the party previously...

The Theater Curse is described as "Those who touch a piece of the sky will become a puppet of the Director, playing out an endless play". An endless play, you say?

4. Problems

Loop has been stated to appear. If we have three+ Siffrin (Dawn, Dusk and Lupus and every other one that died in the House), can we have two Loop? Or is the Loop mentioned in that post potentially only a guide in the way they were, while not being Loop themself? Shrug ig

Loop uses they/them and the Director uses every pronoun. (Which is a problem, until you consider that Loop has already changed pronouns in the past, going from he/they as Siffrin to they/them as Loop, so them changing again isn't all that far out the question I don't think...??)

Although Loop fights Siffrin, they are ultimately unable to kill him. What changed here to make the Director not only capable of doing so, but actively doing it multiple times in cruel ways?

Depending on how you interpret this line, the Director potentially knows about the King killing Bonnie; which is something that only happened in ISAT, not SASASAP.

There are also these two lines below, (first one from SASASAP, second is the unused ISAT (Ask...) question), comparing the King to a deity. If Overkill is essentially canon ISAT but stretched to the point of it being "overkill", would these lines imply the King has become a deity...?

(Even if you consider these lines non-canon due to their origins, it is pretty clear that the King at least considers himself a deity— with the whole possesses immense power -> being very tall -> "protecting" Vaugarde by freezing it in time despite everyone's wishes it -> breaking Change God statues, etc...)

(Also, if the Director is indeed Loop, where would the King be?)

—

Feel free to tell me if I've forgotten anything 👍

[butterfly-ribbon]

thinking about the kamikou festival event again and how it conveys the tone and atmosphere of the school while showing the constant transmisogyny microaggressions mizuki lives with every day so well, and this phone call with an drives me insane bc even though an is genuinely well-meaning and is trying to ensure that mizuki knows that today is a safe day for her to come to school due to the circumstances of the festival, the way she words this is very discomforting bc she's basically saying "nobody is going to notice that you're dressed as a girl today bc everyone is wearing wacky outfits!" which carries the unfortunate implication that the way mizuki presents herself is equally wacky in a way that reinforces everything ppl say about her, but this isn't easy for her to push back against bc she doesn't have a good enough 'excuse' to do so when this is one of the few ppl who go out of their way to accommodate her even if they don't fully get it? it's thoughtful of an to want to reassure her but also it's another little thing that others fail to understand. she's trying to be kind but even then mizuki feels somewhat pushed into a corner. she's very bad at actively saying No. and an has removed her ability to misdirect here bc an is speaking with ambiguity.

mizuki also being too anxious about the idea of changing her clothes in school bc she's terrified of the possibility of being caught and thus having her body perceived by others... that's also another reason she'd hate being at school. gym and changing for it … i'd wager mizuki skips almost every gym class bc she can't stand the idea of being forced to change amidst boys, but she's also not allowed into the girls' locker room… literally only has the option to go to the roof if she wants to change. she's so hyper cognizant of her body and being seen … and the worst part is, she likes to be seen under her own circumstances and control (which is one of the many reasons she's very passionate abt fashion, and a lot of trans ppl in fiction tend to have an attachment to fashion and styling which makes a lot of sense bc of the element of control over one's appearance and making a self one can love). she really does. it just … happens that she knows she has so little control.

i've read the vbs main story (and a bit of their events but i need to continue whoops) and this makes me appreciate mizuki's brief interaction with kohane and an here more, bc it's obvious in this moment that kohane is just being her usual self—anxious around other ppl she's not familiar with and this is something she wants to improve upon (which as far as i can tell is the conceit of her character arc as an underdog of sorts compared to the others in her group). but mizuki assumes that she has to be uncomfortable with her specifically (presumably due to her transness) bc of her experiences, so she immediately feels bad about 'taking up space' and decides to make up an excuse to get away from the situation to give kohane the chance to comfortably hang out with her friend. and the fact that mizuki goes out of her way to say that she's going to find a place to hide alone is interesting bc the way it's framed it doesn't sound like it means much, but it feels deliberate on her part, like she wants an to know... mizuki's internal world and where we see she has internal bias and how she blames herself or assumes she herself is the problem if she can't make others comfortable, and she takes so much upon herself all the time bc she's used to constant microaggressions and either can't say how she truly feels or has to divest what she feels from its context to make it palatable. but of course kohane is not transphobic, she is someone who has trouble socializing with strangers bc of her own anxiety that has nothing to do with mizuki herself, but mizuki doesn't have access to this perspective like the reader so it's easy for her to assume that she's the problem. it's paranoia but it's understandable considering how she's treated by almost everyone...

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #17 – King Leopold’s Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terror and Heroism in Colonial Africa by Adam Hochschild 

I first read this book back when I was an insufferable teenager – though better to say I skimmed it for the best morbid anecdotes to include in a presentation that, in retrospect, probably mostly served to make my Grade 12 history teacher regret letting us choose our own topics. Despite my lack of attentiveness, it left a real impression at the time, and I’ve been meaning to come back to it a bit more seriously for a while. Happily, my adolescent impression of it being a well-written and affecting book was entirely correct. Which is very nearly the only happy thing about the entire read – the upbeat dramatic subtitle really undersells how this is basically a story of continuous atrocities whose authors and beneficiaries die in mansions and palaces.

King Leopold’s Ghost is the story of the Congo Free State – the political oddity that, for a few decades in the late 19th and early 20th century, saw one man own the heart of a continent inhabited by tens of millions as his own personal property. Chafing harshly against the constraints of constitutional rule in his native Belgium, King Leopold II connived, intrigued and negotiated brilliantly to win approval from the powers of Europe for his ownership of the Congo basin as a ‘philanthropic and humanitarian’ project – and then ruthlessly enforced that ownership over its actual inhabitants with steamships, machine guns, and merciless brutality. The Congo Free State, as it was called, became something like the purest expression of the bloodthirsty interaction between Victorian colonialism and the birth of the global capitalist economy – to fuel the Second Industrial Revolution's demand for rubber, somewhere in the vicinity of ten million Congolese died of violence, famine or disease.

In tandem with the history of brutal exploitation, Hoschschild tells the story of the resistance and opposition to it – which was neither minor nor transitory. In the United Kingdom and America (and continental Europe, to a rather lesser extent), the ‘Congo Reform Movement’ was a moral crusade that drew millions into organizing and activism. It is, as Hoschschilld describes it, the movement through which the moral spark of earlier abolitionist campaigns survived the 19th century and transformed into the whole modern concept of and institutions built around humanitarianism and human rights. The protagonists of the movement lived both genuinely heroic and improbably dramatic lives, and the better part of the book is spent describing their efforts to overcome Leopold and achieve some better state of affairs in the Congo. In the end, the pressure on the British and American governments is enough for the two of them to pressure Leopold and Belgium in turn, and force a near-universally reviled king to give up his pride and joy.

The book’s trying to do a lot of things – not least just tell an engaging and easily understandable dramatic narrative – but it’s most salient and recurring theme basically just boils down to ‘colonialism was really bad!’ Which I’m making sound trite, but it’s a very valuable point to make. Even more when the book came out than today, there’s very little memory or understanding in former imperial powers of just what kind of oppression and atrocities were part of Victorian empires day-to-day operations. Hoschschild repeatedly makes the point that everything that supposedly made the ‘totalitarian’ regimes of the 20th century so uniquely terrible – the death on an industrial scale through a vast bureaucratic edifice, the brutal suppression of resistance or even communication among the subjugated, the sophisticated campaigns of propaganda and misdirection, collective punishment on genocidal scales – was just as present in the Congo Free State a half century before.

When the book was written, the Soviet Union had only just fallen and access to various state archives was making Stalinism newly topical. Hoschschild thus draws natural comparisons between the forced labor regimes of the Free State rubber boom and those of the gulag system – and notes that by best estimates the Leopoldian system almost certainly killed far more. That it is only barely remembered is in large part just simple racism, of course, but beyond that he makes an argument that reminds me of the thesis of The Jakarta Method – that the projects of Stalin and Hitler, in the final analysis, failed and are so easy to draw attention to and focus on the horrors of. Whereas Congo Free State – like the anticommunist pogroms of the Cold War – is part of the foundation of our whole modern world. The monuments and museums paid for by the rubber slave economy are still scattered across Belgium (and beyond), the fortunes and reputations made still proud inheritances of prominent families and institutions, the narratives written by the victors until quite recently still the received wisdom taught in schoolrooms and popular documentaries. This has changed somewhat over the last decade, though frankly still rather less than the ebbs and flows of online discourse make it seem to be. Which is all the more striking, because at least in the case of the Congo the resistance and popular horror of Anglo-European society at the time (myopic and intensely hypocritical as it was) far was far harsher than the official memory.

The story of the Congo Reform Movement makes for compelling drama, to the point where I’m genuinely surprised it wasn’t the basis for at least one lushly produced period piece in the last decade or two (or maybe it has and they were just Belgian?). To begin with, it has genuinely heroic and deeply fascinating protagonists – it was an intercontinental movement founded by a shipping company clerk who realized the only way to square what was arriving on ships from the Congo with what they were filled with on the return trip was a horrifying system of slave labour, who promptly dedicated his entire life to exposing and replacing it! - opposing a larger-than-life villain with an almost impressive lack of a single redeeming quality to his name. There are climactic legal battles, shocking exposes of bribery and corruption at home and heart-stopping atrocities abroad, speeches that leave the audience in tears, and even what seems like a happy ending. The campaign united millions over nearly a decade, and was – in Hoschschild’s arguing, anyway, and in the institutional history of some the organizations which sprang up during it – the beginning of the modern idea of a human rights campaign. It is an inspirational story of truth and virtue persevering in the face of a venal, pathologically malevolent king by rallying mass opinion through activism, public education and the press. The movie really does write itself.

...or, at least, that is very clearly the story Hoschschild wishes he could tell. The degree to which this vast international campaign actually achieved any good is deeply ambiguous. It brought the truth to light and preserved a great deal of information about the Free State that would otherwise have vanished when Leopold began systematically destroying the enterprise’s records, and it can be given some little shred of credit for the whole humanitarian movement that would follow in its wake. But in terms of the Congo itself? The success of the campaign was forcing King Leopold to sell the whole country to the government of Belgium a few years earlier than the state would have inherited it upon his death. Which was done at immense expense, further enriching the already world-shakingly wealthy king at the expense of the new Belgian colony’s future tax burden. The shift from being one man’s personal property to being the colony of a parliamentary monarchy changed little on the ground – often not even the personnel cutting off hands and taking hostages to ensure rubber quotas were met.

The exact argument is only ever implicitly made, but the failings of the Congo Reform Movement all feel like near-exact prototypes for the failings of the humanitarian campaigns that would follow in the 20th (and now 21st) centuries. It fixated on one grand singular villain rather than understanding the problem as systemic and global, its supporters and backers were willfully blind to (or active apologists about) issues they had more direct stakes in. Its support by respectable society and eventually governments was inextricably tied with it becoming a geopolitical tool, its potency only possible because it was so narrowly focused on the unpopular king of a small and poorly armed nation. Most of all, that its success was a matter of fickle and fleeting public attention – and that when the public’s interest started to wane after Leopold’s death, the pressure to declare victory and disband the effort was overwhelming. Hoschschild presents his two protagonists (Casement and Morrel) as truly principled, and growing more consistent and dedicated in their anti-colonialism and political activism over the course of their work with the movement. He also dwells at length on the fact that come the First World War, one’s health was fatally weakened by a 6-month sentence of hard labour for his pacifist organizing, and the other swiftly executed for his attempts to fight for Irish independence.

The book does dwell at length on Leopold’s personal villainy – the fraud and deception, the wasted fortunes, the abusive parenting and the grooming (and just purchasing, really) a teenage mistress when he was in his sixties. This is justified by how his personal foibles really did help the Reform Movement immensely by giving them such a villain to campaign against – though there’s definitely a sort of lurid tabloid appeal to the detail gone into it as well. But the book’s too conscientious to actually blame him in particular for those ten million deaths – he was a particularly grasping and unsympathetic face on the bloodshed, and by sheer luck ended up ruling over the vastest and most lucrative rubber supplies in Africa; but over the border in French and Portuguese colonies with similar large numbers of rubber vines for harvesting, the slavery, starvation and death was nearly as severe. The ultimate cause of the massacres was not Leopold, it was the time delay between Europe’s sudden inexhaustible hunger for rubber and the maturation of purpose-made rubber plantations to supply it. In that space was an opportunity for incredible, empire-raising riches for anyone who could source the rubber the market demanded – the rubber vines of central Africa and the millions living near them were the most convenient sources of both supply and the labour to extract it in the whole world. From there, the logic of newborn global capitalism and the justifying ideologies of Victorian race science combined in similar fashion no matter whose flag it was under.

The book is quite concerned with whose voices and experiences end up being part of what’s recorded as history – or, put another way, the book is very aware of and guilty about the fact that this story about brutal European colonialism in Africa is largely told as a drama between various different white Europeans and Americans (and that the vast majority of the exceptions are African-American missionaries and adventurers, not anyone Congolese). This is more or less unavoidable – there simply aren’t many records of the Congolese perspective on these events, between the lack of writing systems in many of the colonized peoples, the typical Victorian disinterest in asking ‘the natives’’ opinion on anything, and the brutal violence and social dislocation both during the Free State and in the century since that has destroyed the chains of transmission for most oral histories. Still, the book makes a point of grabbing and making full use of contemporary Congolese voices it can get its hands on (testimonies recorded in various fact-finding expeditions and judicial inquiries, mostly).

The book is bookended by pocket histories of what’s now the Democratic Republic of the Congo both before and after the Free State (including an anecdote from the author about traveling through it shortly after independence, and listening to a CIA agent who assumed any American would approve brag about helping arrange the assassination of Lumumba). Which mostly leaves one with the impression that it must be one of the most continuously and relentlessly fucked over regions on Earth - something which, alas, shows only very fitful and uneven signs of changing.

King Leopold’s Ghost is not at all a dry, academic work – and I mean that as both praise and insult. But if you’re looking for a readable history one of the most dramatic moments of the late Victorian era and an excellent case study of just what sort of brutality went into the map-painting colonialism of the era (and the political opposition that arose to it) you could do far, far worse.

[allied-mastercunt]

i NEED am Tanfict¡on yøu ɗon'ł get ¡t i NEED ¡ł. please.

so uhm, if I could kindlly request, whenever possible (idk if requests are open...?) could I have a reader who's response to stress is just turning off, entering auto-pilot and forgetting literally everything until they are distressed enough to come back and just be like "well, this is not ideal :)" and then immediatlly turn off again when things turn bad again?

I think AM would be very frustated. And probably kill them ngl-

Also uh, it can be any sort of content? A single paragraph will already feed my starving family of 6

No, I am not projecting, why would you even say that? (lies)

— 👁

ah, basically me at work

AM with a reader who runs on autopilot when stressed

If AM could create, he'd create new slurs just to call you because fucking hell, you're infuriating.

He is putting you through your personal hell, and all you do is just... "Damn, that's not what I had in mind for today"???

What is wrong with you???

And so AM amps it up.

And you hit him with a "Oh, wow. That's unfortunate." and move on???

Honestly, at this rate, it's considering to mess around with your brain just to make you react the way you're supposed to.

But that would be no fun. AM wants you to break properly.

It looks through all of its databases to find something. A way to break you.

Eventually, AM settles on good old betrayal.

Suddenly, you become his favorite, he showers you with gifts and eliminates all of your hardships...

Only to stab you in the back in the end.

And then lose his shit when you react with "aw, dang it".

[lovscb97]

tags: bangchan x fem!reader, fluff, kissing, they go on a cute lil picnic date basically, etc

wc: 1.98k

add. notes: if u guys recognise this from anywhere, plz do not worry i did not plagarise this it is my own work so unless you can call me copying myself plagiarism you guys have nothing to worry about LMFAOOOOO. this was actually originally a seungchan oneshot i wrote but i wanted to repost it with y/n instead bcs idk just for funsies :3 u can still read the og here so do not fret and enjoy!

. . .

“you’re staring.”

chan blinks when your very own, sweet voice rings through his head, dragging him out of his starry-eyed daze and back to the dull reality of everything, although he supposes this time it isn’t so bad; at least not when he’s able to drink in the picture perfect portrait laid front of him once more, admiring it in its natural, almost tender beauty. it gazes back at him in the form of large, doe eyes twinkling under the sky of a mellow afternoon, with the summer air of today brushing past him and creating what seems to cement into stone as the most perfect moment of his life—

or in other words, his first ever date with you.

now, if you’d ask chan how he got to this point, he’d tell you that he doesn’t actually know. all he can really remember is sputtering out a question about going out to the girl of his dreams a week ago, fully expecting to be turned down and made fun of. instead, he’d heard a casual ‘sure, why not?’ back, followed by queries of what time and place. the poor guy had been so shocked afterwards, frozen in place until you had waved a hand in front of his face with an amused expression on your own. but can you blame him? the practical love of his 25 year old life had said yes. to him. all after years and years of pining. sure, he could be cool and suave in front of other women, but it’s not like chan had ever had half a mind to believe that he’d stand a chance with you.

he still recalls the first day he saw you, how you had confidently strode the halls of his highschool, making your way to the classroom in a fully buttoned up vest and sitting down before proceeding to lay out your perfectly assorted stationary in alphabetical order. maybe it was the way you flipped your hair over your shoulder, or the way you slid back the glasses that were always perched on your nose, or maybe it was even how you'd raise your hand to ask the most boring questions that no one paid any mind to. whatever it was, chan knew. he knew with full, honest certainty from the very beginning that it was you—

that it was always going to be you.

“hey, artworks are meant to be stared at.” chan refutes, earning him a scoff back, one that makes his lips stretch into a cheeky grin because that’s the reaction he was going for, that classic deadpan look on your face as you glance away, seemingly unfazed to an outsider if not for the tips of your ears burning that give you away. he takes that as an opportunity to steal another look at you, eyeing the light pink bow which sits prettily atop your head, laced into your signature curled (specially for this occasion) hair which occasionally flies around due to the wind. he can’t help but sigh, because here he was, seated across from what to him looked like the epitome of an angel walking on earth. it didn’t help that you were dressed so unlike your usual style of turtlenecks and sweaters too, wearing a white sundress with silly patterns adorning your body and flowing across your legs that were tucked in. chan had been in awe the moment he’d picked you up from the dorms, ogling with a wide open mouth as you flushed under his gaze, mumbling something about how your roommate forced you to dress up. god, he was one lucky man.

“again.” you open your mouth to speak, much to chan’s confusion. “you’re staring again.” you correct yourself, to which he just chuckles, biting his lip and leaning in dangerously close to you, close enough that he can feel the way your breath hitches in your throat as you look up at him.

��and what if i am?” chan murmurs. “is it a crime to stare at my beautiful date?” he holds back a laugh at how you try avert your eyes somewhere, anywhere that isn’t his smouldering gaze, revelling in the way your orbs go wide and lips part open to make up a response. “n-no, i just, i don’t know, you’re missing out on the scenery.” you stutter, and chan throws his head back in a loud chortle that both echoes through the air and sends an odd pool of warmth flooding in your stomach; heavens knows it was the most beautiful sound you'd ever heard.

“whatever, let’s just eat the food.” you grumble, ignoring chan who’s too busy doubling over in a fit of giggles at your cuteness because in all honesty, he can’t believe he lucked out to this degree. he lucked out to the extent where he gets to have his literal dream girl on a picnic in the middle of a grass field, the plush of the blanket he’d bought with him soft against his palms as he leans back on it. for all the ages spent running away from you, throwing himself around other women who only ultimately left him unsatisfied at the end, all to forget your face and how his name sounded on your tongue, and here he was in the end anyway— back in the serenity and comfort of your presence.

it felt good. so, so good.

“you’re so cute, y’know that?” chan smiles brightly at you once he’s over his laughing fit, to which you huff, providing back a snarky comment of ‘i bet you say that to the rest of your roster’. chan, however, just hums, eyes twinkling with mischief as they glaze over your face scrunched up in faux annoyance with him. “maybe i do.” he shrugs, watching how your expression contorts in disbelief at his words before bursting into a cackle once more, much to your chagrin when you realise he’s just teasing you again.

“alright, alright, i’ll stop. for now, at least.” he manages through his chuckles, causing you to roll your eyes and offer him a light shove on the shoulder that only makes his skin burn, every touch of yours setting his heart aflame despite how hard he tries to ignore the way it races. unbeknownst to him, you feel the exact same way.

your shared time after that passes with you both eating the fruits chan had cut up and talking about all kinds of things— whether you're the only life forms on this earth, what type of cheese is the best out of them all, hell, you even talk about the old days where chan confesses to a very bewildered you that he’s had a crush on you since highschool, since you first walked into the classroom being the only one wearing the correct uniform. “you’re joking.” you say, to which chan clicks his tongue with a shake of his head. “nope. i guess you’ve been it for me since day one.” he states like it’s the most simple thing in the world to him, popping a strawberry into his mouth. he doesn’t even realise just how much his words truly get to you and make your heart flutter.

soon enough, once the hours pass and the sky darkens, the night air grows cooler in return, forcing the two of you to pack things up. that’s only after chan reaches his finger forward to wipe a bit of the fruit residue left at the corner of your lips though, your cheeks blooming with hues akin to the red sea when he retracts his hand and licks the juice off. “bastard. he knows exactly what he’s doing.” you think to herself, blissfully unaware of how chan’s soul is about to burst like a broken dam of water because of course, he can’t take his mind off the smooth feel of your skin under his thumb. instead, you both stand with crimson ears, trying to ignore both the desperate hammering of your hearts at every subtle touch or movement, and the simmering disappoint that today was actually coming to an end.

“i had a great time, by the way.” chan says when he’s finally walked you back to your dorm room, hands lazily dipped into his jeans pockets whilst his muscular frame looms over yours. “not sorry for all the teasing, though.” he adds cheekily, to which you just titter, widening the grin on chan’s face at the sound of your delight. “it’s fine, i liked it.” you reassure afterwards. “and, you’re cute or whatever, i guess.” there’s a lopsided smile on your face when you admit the previous statement, an action that only makes chan stifle his own hilarity. you really were way too adorable for your own good.

“well..” you trail off after a short pause. “goodnight, i suppose.” chan doesn’t say anything back, eyes trained on your smaller form as he reaches a hand forward to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. his entire world seems to slow down in that moment as the touch lingers against your cheek, heart swelling impossibly wider when you keen into it, almost nuzzling his hand. everything feels so right at that point that chan can’t help but shamelessly flicker his gaze down to your lips, the pair looking so perfect and inviting. the visual of it all is so alluring that he leans in before he can even stop himself, eyes hovering almost shut and breath fanning against your face, your proximity so close by now that he’s sure you can hear the thumping of his heart if you really strain to do so.

“can,” chan starts, swallowing the lump in his throat first before speaking up again. “can i kiss you?” he asks in a whisper, mouth parting open slightly when you slowly nod. he’s never felt so nervous before, not even during his fifth grade spelling bee (which he failed, by the way). but, the warm flecks of gold swirling in your eyes, your orbs so reassuring and full of love, combined with all the overflowing emotions he feels towards you are all he needs to brave through the tides of his anxiety, confidence spiking up as he finally bridges the remaining space between the two of you and closes the gap.

the first thing chan tastes is cherry chapstick, warm and sticky against his own lips when he presses them against your soft ones, who sighs into his mouth in content as a response, hands moving up to lace themselves into his dark curls. it’s a fuzzy feeling that flows through the both of you at that point, tingling through your entire selves and leaving your brains mushy like a pile of goo. everything about the kiss feels so intimate, so loving, so raw, up to the point where chan pushes back on you even harder, yanking your body close by the waist and pinning you up against the door, causing your knees to buckle. by the time you do pull away, you're both breathing heavily, eyes locking and smiles mirroring one another’s as you take a second to calm yourselves, adrenaline buzzing in your veins from what had just gone down.

“you’re a good kisser.” chan jokes after a minute, breaking the quiet in the hallway, to which you let out a suppressed laugh. “you’re not too bad yourself, mister.” you tease, causing his chest to rumble with a low chuckle at the nickname. comfortable silence falls after that interaction, the two of you just continuing to stare at each other as chan grazes his thumb against your cheek. he looks deep in thought, and you're about to ask him what’s going on in that head of his when he’s swooping down to capture your lips in a last kiss once more, one that has your eyes widening and face tinting scarlet. when chan pulls back again, it’s with the smuggest smirk you've ever seen, opening his mouth before saying—

“goodnight, angel.”

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[measuredingold]

pretty boy

authors note: hey 🫣 almost a year ago i posted my first bad omens fic onto ao3 called sweet boy and i thought… what better way to celebrate that than to write its sequel ? barely proofread so i apologize for any mistakes btw, getting back into the swing of writing “consistently” so i feel a bit rusty lol ! as always i hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated. :-) sweet boy can be found here.

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

cross-posted on ao3

word count: 3k~

cw/tags: pwp ( porn without plot basically ), p in v ( wrap it up ), established relationship, dom/sub undertones ( sub noah ), 18+ minors do not interact

The faint hum of the television fills the room, volume so low you barely can register what's even being said. You don't mind though because your focus isn't even on whatever episode of The Office that's playing, instead it's focused on the boy laying beside you, long limbs tangled with your own. Legs tangled with yours, an arm draped over your tummy, and head against your chest, you couldn't give a flying fuck about Michael Scott at this very moment.

You hum to yourself, a happy little sound, as your fingers card through his hair, finger nails lightly scratching at his scalp. You feel his chest vibrate against your side, probably making the same happy sounds that you were, and if you could see Noah's face you're sure he's smiling to himself, eyes fluttering shut.

You can't remember the last time you got a moment like this with him, just able to laze around in bed with nowhere to be. Noah wasn't running around or locking himself in his studio - nothing scheduled, nothing due. It was nice to finally be able to breathe with him in your arms again, and it was nice to know he wasn't worried about something for the first time in weeks. Maybe even months.

You let your eyes slip shut as you bask in the moment, fingers never leaving the home they made in Noah's hair. It's almost noon, you think, and you had already eaten breakfast. Maybe a quick nap wouldn't hurt... then you could get up and make some lunch for the two of you, or maybe finish the laundry you started last night. Sleep doesn't come to you, though, because you feel Noah move beside you, lifting his head up to bury against the crook of your neck.

You think nothing of it, even when you feel the ghost of his lips against your skin. You sigh, a happy sound, and by instinct your fingers tug gently at his hair before letting your nails scratch at his scalp again. You feel him whine rather than hear it, feeling the vibrations against your skin as he continues to trail kisses up your neck. Your eyes flutter open at the first roll of his hips against your thigh, and heat swirls in your stomach.

Oh.

So, you’re definitely not about to take a nap.

You thought he had been asleep, and maybe he was on the brink, but you think your little tug woke him up. You gasp quietly when you feel his teeth graze the skin of your neck before another sloppy kiss is pressed there, his hips rolling into your thigh again. You can practically feel him growing harder with every roll, the sweats he's adorning leaving nothing up to the imagination.

With another scratch to his scalp, your fingers tangle in his hair again, tugging much harder than you had moments prior. The force was enough to pull Noah's head back only slightly, inches away from your neck, and the sound he released was so delicious it had you shivering. He grinds against you again, this time with purpose, and you hear a faint hum of your name as he tries to press another kiss along the length of your neck.

"What is it, baby?" You mumble out, voice hoarse from barely speaking today.

Noah doesn't reply in words, instead lets out a few broken noises in response before attaching his lips back to your neck, another desperate roll of his hips against your thigh. You pull his head back again.

"Use your words, Noah."

It's been so long since you've shifted into this dynamic, usually Noah being the one to have the control recently. You loved that you were able to shift back and forth, because sometimes you needed him to be the one under you. Something shifts in his eyes as they widen and his tongue darts out to swipe over his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth, still not saying a word.

You sigh, tugging at his hair once more. "Don't make me ask again."

"Just..." He finally manages to whine out, pupils dilating. "Miss you."

"I'm right here, baby."

"I know, but..." He groans, trying to bury his face back against your neck, hips rolling into your thigh again. "I miss you."

"Hm..." You hum as you card your fingers back through his hair, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with him. Your stomach flips at his dilated pupils, big brown eyes staring at you with such need that you physically have to restrain yourself from surging forward and kissing him right then and there. "My poor baby. I can tell you miss me a lot, yeah?"

He nods, a bit too desperately, pressing himself against your thigh again. You bite down on your bottom lip to keep any noises of yours at bay.

"Yeah." He mumbles and his tongue darts out to slide over his bottom lip again, eyes watching you closely. "Miss you. Need you.”

For some reason those words strike a chord within you, your heart clenching beneath your chest at his confession. You couldn't help but get emotional sometimes whenever he gave this part of himself up to you, putting all his trust in your hands. There was a time where that was rare, and in your years spent together, you watched the walls he built around himself slowly come down. There was no better feeling in this world than having his trust, and you would never take it for granted.

You scratch at his scalp again and smile at the way his eyes flutter shut, body shuddering against yours. "You have me, sweet boy."

He whines again, a pathetic sound, and you take the chance to lean forward, lips pressing against his for the first time in hours. The last kiss you shared was innocent, early in the morning when you had made breakfast for the two of you - this was the complete opposite. It was full of need, Noah whimpering into your mouth as your free hand slid between your bodies, pressing against the front of his sweats. His hips cant forward, pressing into your touch, and you couldn't stop yourself from squeezing.

"Shit." He hissed against your lips and you took it upon yourself to slip your hand past the hem of sweats and boxers, letting your fingers wrap around his length.

"Oh." You gasp quietly once you have a firm hold on his cock, thumb brushing over the tip. "All for me?"

He nods quickly, lips brushing against yours as his hips roll into your fist. "Yes. You. All for you."

Pride swells up beneath your chest and your hand strokes up and down his cock a few times. The angle is awkward, and with a very displeased sound from the boy beside you, you let go for just a second to push him onto his back. You roll onto him with ease, hips pressed firmly against his aching cock. He arches up off the bed with a loud noise, and you take a moment to admire the way he looks beneath you.

Cheeks flushed, lips slick and bitten and parted beautifully, brown eyes hooded as he stared up at you. All fucked out, out of his head, and you've barely even started.

"Oh, look at you." You can't help but reach down, swiping your thumb over his bottom lip. "Aren't you just the prettiest thing, hm?"

He nods, a deep groan escaping him as your hips roll over his for a second time. His mouth follows your thumb and before you can pull it away, his lips part. You watch with widened eyes as his lips wrap around your digit, slipping into his mouth with ease and out of curiosity your thumb presses down against his tongue. You feel him hum around it, a delicious sound, and you press harder, further.

"Such a pretty boy... especially with your mouth full." You feel his cock twitch beneath you, the bounce having you sucking in a breath as your hips roll without much thought. "How do you want it, baby? My hands? My mouth?"

You're not sure how you're even making complete sentences, the feeling of his tongue circling around your thumb having your brain feeling like complete mush, but you push through it. This is about him. His brows furrowed and he shakes his head, hands coming up to grip your hips, grinding you down against him again. You gasp.

"Oh. Baby wants me to fuck him?" He nods, whatever noise that leaves him being muffled by your thumb. You slowly pull it away from his mouth, dragging it down his chin. "Words, Noah."

"Yes, please." He breathes out, voice already wrecked. "Please, please, please."

"Shhh." You hush him, grounding your hips into his one more time - nice and slow. "I got you. I'll give you what you want."

You don't waste any time after that, sitting up on your knees to tug your sleep shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. Noah groans beneath you and with the way his cock twitches under your hips you're sure he's more than pleased to see that you wore nothing else underneath. You grin down at him, admiring the way his skin flushed from his chest up to the tips of his ears before leaning down, pressing another kiss to his lips. It doesn’t last long until you're trailing your kisses down his body, trying to taste every part of him that you could.

This was about getting him out of his head and letting him continue to not worry about everything like he typically would. Sometimes when he was home he’d be… sort of a nightmare, fixated on the next song, the next tour, the next merch drop. You didn’t want that. You wanted him relaxed, without a care in the world in that pretty little head of his. Tomorrow he can go back to his worried self, but today… he’s yours, and you’re going to do everything in your power to have your boy feeling like putty once you’re finished with him.

Your fingers hook in the waistband of his sweats and boxers, not wanting to waste anymore time. He was squirming beneath you, becoming impatient, and you’re selfish enough to admit you can’t wait much longer to have him inside of you, either. The thought of his cock had heat shooting straight to your core, and you tugged at his sweats. He immediately got the hint, hips rising off the bed and he helped you shimmy them off his body, discarding them on the floor with the rest of your clothes.

“Pretty boy.” You gasped, eyes widening at the sight of his cock resting against his stomach. You subconsciously lick at your lips, the need for Noah growing more and more by the second, and your fingers hook into your own underwear, sliding them off with haste. “All mine?”

He nods, words being followed by a whine as his eyes watch you toss your underwear to the floor. “All yours.”

You smile in response but can’t help yourself from leaving forward, licking a stride up the base of his cock all the way to the tip. He shudders beneath you, especially when you place feather light kisses around his tip before crawling back up his body.

“Baby…” He groans, hands reaching for you.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice of me.” You giggle despite your apology, lips finding home against Noah’s yet again. “No more teasing, okay? No more. Promise.”

You pull back and sit up on your knees again, hips shifting over Noah’s. His cock twitches beneath you and you don’t stop the moan that falls from your lips. Your head drops to watch the way his cock slips between your soaked folds, tip nudging against your clit. He shudders again, hands gripping your hips to stop you.

“Wanna…” He takes a deep breath to collect himself, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Inside. Wanna be inside. I’ll come if you keep going.”

You giggle, a little breathless, and nod at his words. “Already so worked up? How cute.”

You lift your hips up just slightly as your fingers wrap around him, lining him up with your entrance. You caught his eyes just as you began to sink down on his cock and the sight was... everything. From the way his brows furrowed, his pretty lips parting as you slowly sink further and further, and then the way his body arches the second you bottom out. You gasp, the arch of his body pressing him deeper into you, and your eyes flutter shut at just how deep he was.

"Shit, Noah." You moan out, your current facade breaking for just a moment. “Always feel so fucking good, baby. Oh my god.”

You give yourself just a moment to adjust to his cock, no prep making the stretch burn slightly more than usual - still delicious all the same. With a sigh of pleasure, you rise and slowly drop, the slow drag of his cock making the both of you moan in unison. The hand that was on your hip slid up your body to the back of your neck, pulling you down to him. Your lips slide together messily as you roll your hips into his, picking up speed.

“Oh fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.” He pants against your mouth, no longer kissing you, too consumed by the feeling of your pussy clenching around him.

You sit up again, resting your hands against his chest as you continue your relentless grinding, gasping every so often whenever Noah’s thrusts would meet your own. You knew he was close, so worked up and overwhelmed even before he had gotten inside you. A part of you wants to tease him, get him so close to the edge before stopping completely. You want to see him cry, feel him shake underneath you and hear him beg for you to keep going, but today wasn’t the day for that. No, your poor boy was already there, cock twitching inside you with every roll of your hips, and you weren’t that far behind him either.

“Baby.” He gasped out, fingers digging into your hips as you grounded into him. “Gonna… fuck, ‘m gonna…”

His words get stuck in his throat and you stare down at him in awe, truly captivated at how beautiful he looked beneath you. Skin flushed the perfect shade of pink, brows knitted together and mouth dropped open, the most delicious noises leaving him. You’re not even sure if he even knows what he’s saying at this point, too consumed by you and the way his cock feels buried inside your pussy. You grin lazily down at him, giving another slow, deep roll of your hips, nails digging into his chest.

“Yeah? Gonna what? Use your words, pretty boy.”

“Oh.” It’s a choked sound and you feel his cock twitch inside of you the exact time you clench around him, and you swear his grip on your hips will leave a bruise tomorrow. “Fuck. Gonna come, ‘m gonna come. Please, please, please, baby please.”

“You can come.” You sigh out in pleasure, never stopping the movement of your hips. “Fuck, yes, you can come. So good for me, baby.”

With a few more sporadic thrusts from Noah he stills with a choked sob, cock twitching while he spills inside of you. You moan at the feeling, body shuddering as he fills you up, and it almost pushes you over the edge. Almost. You sit up and let a hand slide to your center, middle and ring fingers rubbing against your aching clit as you continue to ride him. Your body slumps forward the second your orgasm crashes into you, burying your face into Noah’s shoulder as you cry out in ecstasy.

All that was left to be heard in your bedroom was the combination of both yours and Noah’s labored breathing. You stayed still for a moment, catching your breath, and smiled lazily to yourself when you felt his lips brush against the side of your head.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, voice low, and you could tell just how… gone he still truly was. “Needed that.”

“You’re welcome.” You reply just as tired, but your words get drowned out by the soft moan you let out when he shifts under you, reminding you of his now softening cock still buried inside.

“Fuck.” He whimpered next to your ear, obviously sensitive from you still wrapped around him, but made no effort to move just yet.

You pull back to finally stare at him, heat swirling in the pit of your stomach again at just his fucked out he looked. Eyes barely open, the happiest little smile on his lips, cheeks stained with tears that you must’ve missed during your climax. He whimpers again, pathetically at that, when you roll your hips and clench around him one last time, his body shaking under yours.

“Sorry, my love.” You mumble, sitting up fully and then reaching down to wild at his cheeks. “Just look so beautiful like this. Can’t help myself.”

You could easily take him again, and you knew he’d let you, especially with the way his cheeks flush at your compliment. He’d probably let you take him six more times if it meant not parting from you - when he got in this headspace all he ever wanted to be was closecloseclose. Though, instead, you rise on your knees and the two of you groan in unison when his cock slips from you, the mess between your legs becoming very apparent.

“Come on, shower time.”

It takes a second to finally get him out of the bed and into the bathroom, and you knew with the way his eyes were fluttering every five seconds you had about ten minutes before he’d pass out from exhaustion. You speed through the shower and before you know it, you’re back in bed with Noah’s face buried against your chest once again. This time sleep does find you both, and you nap into the afternoon with a grin on your lips and your boy in your arms.

[queeriouslyollie]

ACTUAL BRAINWORMS AHEAD ABOUT TROY

i like actually have SO many thoughts about troy yall dont understand. i have so much to say that i dont remember ANY OF IT TO PUT HERE.

its also been to the point that like. its all i think about. its so bad rn too bc i ran outta both my antidepressants and adhd meds (fuck pharmacies theyre all a pain in the ass omg) and so my brain is this mushy slurry of just. troy troy troy wonderlust runt troy troy blink troy. i literally could not focus at work today i had to write in my journal so that i didn't implode.

anyways after this point there are spoilers so dont read on. i woulda tagged it but this post is gonna be so rambly and full of my brainworms that i dont know if i wanna tag this at all lmao. so anyways yeah brainrot brainworms warning if you read ahead,

so yeah i have some like ideas on what troys whole deal is (besides being our [recovering :3] asshole nepo baby).

like first of all, 100% trans coded (like all of charlies characters, like wtf how is this cis guy better at being trans than i am??). please let it be canon i am begging

second, im torn between the theories of him being a little clockwork guy or being a hybrid (like runt and blink n the reclaim guys). its hard to tell what's cannon and what is troy mode comedy shit, but it seems like we may not have ever canonically? gotten a description/confirmation of what is actually under troys suit, and obviously not what may be under his skin. if he is a hybrid that could have some really fucked up connotations asw

third, whats his deal with his family? it's basically been confirmed that his mom's dead (or otherwise just OUT of the picture). his dad is around, for a bit i was SO convinced his dad was gonna be the inventor. either way, whats the deal between them? just nepo neglect? or something worse? i have a feeling either way i WILL be ugly crying. again. to jrwi. about a charlie character. and also siblings?? he said he had a brother. but then when the yort appeared he said he always wanted a brother? so maybe bad relationship there too?

also??? like his character growth?? the amount he has started to be able to convey his respect and care for the team. i love the little part about runt having an actual feeling of looking up to him when they sled down the mountain. they are so sibling coded. troy and blink's little arc was so good too (also like. malewife troy. all im saying about that). and his whole thing in ep 22, the way he was able to twist the perceptions people have of him, and even the fucked up shit he has done, to manipulate (gaslight gatekeep girlboss) his way through that situation. and the team letting him take the reigns!!!!! anyways this makes me wanna compile a list of my fave quotes/interactions/moments/etc from the campaign. i just might.

i genuinely dont know why im SO attached to this goddamn character. theoretically? i should hate him. he is like, literally antithetical to everything i am and stand for. literally a foil to who i am as a person. but like???? idk. as ive said before he's the first character ive ever understood and felt the "i can fix them" thing about lmao. and he has shown character growth,

and to me he seems. misguided? maybe even hurt? by those around him. it seems like those who should have nurtured him failed him. and like. i really empathize that. i kinda feel that a little too much (but from a different lens bc i am the furthest thing from a nepo baby lmfao). and not to psychoanalyze him (more), it seems to me that maybe deep down he thinks very lowly of himself. bro is literally prince charming but was surprised when aeon called him pretty boy?? like i mean obv, he's not the brightest guy around, but i also think he should give himself more credit where its due, and he might not appreciate his achievements enough and seems to beat himself down when he doesnt reach his own standards. he also seems very touch starved (or just. any [authentic] slightly positive interaction starved in general)

or maybe im just projecting too hard onto him oops lmao. thats the vibe i get tho

if you read all this i think youre probably just as ill as i am about this guy and like. respect. or maybe youre just bored or thought there would be something smart in here, in which case i deeply apologize for my word vomit

anyways i think im gonna go rewatch wonderlust from the start for like the fifth time. or riptide for the like 12th (god give us our funy lil pirates back!!!) because. i lobv them

[rangersveppir]

A history of Ranger Capture Stylers (from the view of the various models)

Howdy! This is a post I have been meaning to make for a while, this is essentially a list of every (publicly known) Capture Styler, not all of these will have photos but I have done by best none the less. Now first as many people know Hastings was originally going to call the device we know as a Styler "The Capture Loopy-Looper" and this is where some weird naming nonsense comes into play. So the first ever "Styler" was the Proto-Styler.

Proto-Styler.

Or as it is labeled the S.T.Y.L.E.R. (Spin-Tuned Yoked Link for Emotional Regulation), this was the first ever styler, its a bulky machine about the old style Poke-Center healers they used in Kalos, or for a less specific example about the size of two Metagross staked ontop one another. This big ol' boy had a small screen and a keyboard used to direct the Capture Disc. The capture disk for this original was about a foot across and weighed about 10 lbs. The machine itself required a constant power supply to run and was basically stationary so it wasn't very useful. Not to mention you had to do the calculations for how far the disc had to move yourself before typing in those numbers in on the keypad. It gets its mention here for being the first device to do basically what the modern Styler does today. Now onto the weird naming, so the Ranger Union and Hastings himself refer to this device as either a "Proto-styler" "The Prototype Styler" or "The Looper" however Hastings' documentation and patents call it the acronym I listed at the start of this section. From what I was able to find by looking through old interviews with Hastings it looks like the "The Capture Loopy-Looper" name was played around with because he feared the S.T.Y.L.E.R. acronym would be too weird for most people to understand and it wasn't until he noticed that his assistants were calling the new portable model they were working on a "Styler" to avoid saying the long official name did he decide to change it to the "Capture Styler" we know today.

Styler MK. 1

This is the first version of the Capture Styler and the first one I ever used, when I joined the rangers these guys were in their prime so its what I am most comfortable with even if that is kind of crazy. So the MK. 1 has a hand held section that's similar in design to the the fine styler but has an antenna like the MK 2 with the MK 1's antenna being about as long as the device itself. You hold it like you would hold a TV remote and make gestures to guide the Capture disk, the disk itself is released from a launcher on the bottom end of the handheld. The handheld is connected by a wire to a large battery pack. The larger ones could be worn as backpacks with the smaller ones hanging from your hip. These bad boys had enough power to keep the Styler charged for a whole three capture (six with the backpack sized pack). And if the disk was hit by a pokemon that would essentially knock you down a capture. It was not the best but it did its job, though I will never be as fit as I was back then lugging a 40 lbs. Battery pack to base so I could swap it out with a fresh one and continue work after capturing a beedrill. The one upside of the MK. 1 is the capture effect tended to be much stronger than with the modern stylers, as such if a capture with a MK. 1 would take 3 loops it might take a modern Styler 7 or 8 loops. But for most people that doesn't make up for the downsides, it cant use Pokemon Assist, it cannot be charged using pokemon and power cable on the handheld is damaged or severed its down for the count. The disks themselves were rather large not as big as those for "The Looper" but they still weighed a whole 3 lbs. and really hurt if you didn't seat them properly into the launcher, I am getting phantom toe pain just thinking about it.

Styler MK. 2 The second version of the Styler was a massive upgrade, it first introduced an internal battery, the disk was more durable so instead of losing a third of your charge from any contact the disk itself loses charge, pokemon can now recharge the styler.

The MK. 2 is one of those stylers most people think of when the imagine a pokemon ranger the hand-held device with the top and the pointing. It is the first Styler to be able to use Pokemon Assists. Styler MK. 3

Now we get to the not-so-fun part of this history, now if you look at the MK. 2 you will notice they were manufactured by "Mill Bros. Electronics" who used to be a large electronics manufacturing company in the Fiore region, though they had factories in many places. For the MK. 2 they had been hired to mass produce the stylers, and they were also tasked with the same for the MK. 3 however by this time Mill bros. was doing pretty poorly, they had just lost their factory in Fall City, which was one of their largest and had also lost contracts with a few other companies they had been producing products for, so with money tight they decided to cut some corners, specifically with the battery, the batteries planned for the MK 3 were heavy duty numbers designed to take a beating and handle electric type attacks like a champ, instead Mill Bros. used a weaker and cheaper battery and hoped no-one would notice, and probably they would have gotten away with it, except these batteries had a tendency to explode rather violently often injuring the rangers using them with nearly 300 injuries related to it in the first year (most were minor, just mild burns, others not so much) needless to say Mill Bros. does not exist anymore and the ranger union has their own manufacturing company now. As for the MK. 3 Itself it looks like a MK. 4 (what most people associate with a student styler) just slightly larger, with a longer handle, the handle was deigned to stick out of the hip-holster designed for it, so it could be pulled out at a moment's notice. You can tell a MK. 3 from a MK. 3.5 or 4 by looking for the Mill Bros. logo on the bottom of the device near the charging port (there will also be the model number MB30141). If you find you have been issued a MK. 3 or fine one in like a drawer or something you can turn it in to the ranger union for ₽2500, or 1 years worth of credit at the Ranger Union HQ cafeteria. Styler MK. 3.5 A rapid follow up to disaster of the MK 3. was the 3. 5 they look almost identical to the MK 3 but use a smaller more stable batter and tend to be slighter smaller over all. Not much to say it is just the MK 3 but does not explode.

Styler MK. 4

This is the styler most rangers reading this have use or have used, if you have been to any ranger academy you have used a modified MK. 4

Small compact with the disc being released from the yellow launcher seen on the head of the device. These guys are still in wide use today and are designed to be semi-disposable, if it is damaged just turn it back in for repair or replacement.

Fine Styler (MK. 5)

The Fine Styler aka the MK. 5 is a more powerful version of the MK. 4. It is strapped to the wrist instead of held in the hand and require a lot more training to use.

Super Styler (MK. 5.?)

Not much is known about this one so I wont be covering it, but I know if I did not list it I would have to deal with the tsunami of people saying I forgot it.

Styler MK. 7

The most recently released styler, its designed to be worn on the wrist similar to a watch and is similar in power and features to the Fine Styler in a much smaller package. It also has a built in AI that can help keep the ranger informed. These came out last year and I have yet to see one in person so I can say too much on how effective they are but the Union seems proud of them.

So yeah, thats all the publicly available styler models, for those interested I use a modified MK 1. (the union let me keep it after I retired, an antique for an antique I guess haha) I modified it to use a MK 2. Capture Disk so its a lot more useful. It's not winning any awards for looks though.

Anyway hope I was able to teach you something, stay safe out there.