#might try coloured inks next?

[phierie]

Rosie ep 6 outfits collection

[dead-dove-yandere]

You’d heard about crazy fans, even seen a few of your bandmates on the receiving end of some concerning letters, but you never thought it might happen to you.

TW: Stalking, unhealthy parasocial relationship, harassment

♡ - You see countless fans at meet and greets and it’s impossible to remember them all, even if you make an effort. When some girl named Laura comes around, she’s nervous, trembling, chewing her nails. She can barely stammer out a greeting.

♡ - Hi. My name’s - my name is, erm. I’m… I’m Laura.”

♡ - You give her a sympathetic smile. It’s nothing you aren’t used to - in fact your manager ensures you and all your fellow idol bandmates are coached on how to deal with nervous fans.

♡ - You greet her, tell her it’s so nice to meet her, thank her for all her support. Nothing special, just what you tell every fan. Yet her eyes seem to light up, as her face goes red with a fierce blush. Security ushers her along, and she’s gone. You’ve forgotten all about her by the time the next person in the queue comes along.

♡ - And it would have stayed that way if she hadn’t come back.

♡ - Several fans later, you’re surprised to see her in the queue again. She’s just as nervous before, maybe even more so, and she’s wringing her hands.

♡ - She looks as though she’s about to burst into tears.

♡ - You chuckle and make a joke to try and cheer her up. “Back so soon?” You ask her, to which she gives you another nervous smile.

♡ - But there’s something off about it - too much teeth in her grin, her eyes too wide.

♡ - She says something to you, but it’s incomprehensible. You politely nod and try to rush her along, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

♡ - You see Laura a third time that night just as you are leaving. She’s sobbing and begging a security guard to be let in somewhere. Your manager ushers you away quickly.

♡ - It’s weeks afterwards and slowly you have put the strange occurrence out of your mind. These things happen - overzealous fans aren’t uncommon.

♡ - You sit down to open some of your fanmail, and scan over the first letter you pick up, freezing when you see the name underneath - Laura.

♡ - Thinking perhaps it’s just a creepy coincidence you open another, then another, then another.

♡ - Hundreds, all in the same writing, with the same colour ink, all signed Laura.

♡ - The postmarks on the envelopes show that many were posted the same day. Some are short, some are longer, yet all of them amount to the same message. You pick up the first letter again, this time reading it properly, your stomach twisting with nausea.

♡ - “I’m sorry I was a coward and couldn’t confess my love for you at the meet and greet. I was so nervous seeing you again. But I shan’t give up. We’ll find each other again soon. - Laura xxx”

Dividers Credit: See Pinned Post

[onsunnyside]

🍓° 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Mafia!Ari Levinson x lovesick!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | fluff, sweet soft!reader, she’s a little oblivious. size difference: 6’8!Ari, he’s a total beefy hunk. neighbours au, a little tumble, stripper!reader, brief mentions of mafia business, undeniable daddy energy.

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | It was a little ridiculous how in love you were… With a single glance, he could make you melt until you’re a pile strawberry ice cream, tied with a pretty ribbon, and sitting on his doorstep.

𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑

𝗪/𝗖 | 2.45K

𝗔/𝗡 | just a little something I wrote inspired by Melting by Kali Uchis (also where the title is from). this is my first mafia fic but there isn’t much detail since this is a real itty bitty au. as always, all mistakes are my own. [all posts/asks]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

˗ˏˋ𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Time seems to slow when he jogs by, clad in shorts and a loose tank top with sweat seeping through the grey. His tan skin is covered in a light sheen, making the dozens of tattoos appear darker. From your seat on the porch, they still look like black blobs and lines stretching from his broad shoulders to his hands. 

You’ve never seen them up close, but you have a few ideas of what they might be—a whole page in your diary to be exact. 

Your eyes fall to his muscled legs, firm and thick thighs strain his shorts and just the beginnings of dark ink poke from underneath the fabric. You barely notice the ice cream melting down the cone to your hands, too deep in a daze when tingles blossom from your chest to your toes. A dreamy sigh flows from your lips as the wind flutters through his long brown hair, brushing along his bearded cheeks. 

He turns to you and flashes a bright smile before turning the corner and disappearing down the street. That single glance makes your heart pound ten times faster, and all of your thoughts tangle into one ball of ribbons, varying in colours, prints and lace, but so evidently you. 

If you could, you’d gift him that mess just so he could know how much he affected you without even trying. 

"Oh no!" You quickly wipe your hands from the melting strawberry ice cream but it's useless, the pink stains your white dress and drips down to the ribbon around your ankle. 

It’s almost too symbolic—the pretty pink bleeds all over your ivory clothes, ruining your life just like the fluttering trapped in your rib cage. 

Honestly, it would’ve been easier to hate him, but he was so damn big that you didn’t have any space left in your heart to hate him. 

To say you're in love would be an understatement. In every fantasy and daydream, he's the main focus, your co-star, your lover, your saviour draped in silk button-ups and silver rings. Oh, he's everything you've ever wanted! As if you manifested him when you were a young child and wrote about the perfect boy to sweep you off your feet and make your life a living fairytale—everything you scribbled in glittery pen has come true before your very eyes.

You don’t even mind that he and his biker friends rev their engines at three in the morning, but your roommate doesn’t agree, she’s never agreed. 

The front door slams shut and you stiffen, hurriedly flipping through a random page in a magazine and desperately trying to act like you were not staring at his house next door. 

"Did you do it?"

"Do what?" You ask, voice already on edge. Vibrant red hair comes into your peripherals, as well as a pair of angry green eyes. 

Natasha groans, setting down her bag on the kitchen counter. "You chickened out again? I need my sleep before I lose my mind. I can’t get any if he and his dumbass friends treat this street like a fucking race track!”

“They aren’t even that loud—and I bought you earplugs.” 

“I am not touching those things until those assholes learn how to be decent human beings!” She rolls up her sleeves and grabs your arm, yanking you from the barstool. 

"Wait! What are you doing!" 

Her heels stomp on the hardwood floor, nearly shaking the picture frames on the walls, “I messed up five drinks today, do you know how bad that looks when they’re my recipes?” She huffs, "he's out there right now mowing his lawn and you're gonna talk to him."

You grab onto the nearest thing which happened to be the couch and clutched it for dear life. “No—you do it!”

"He doesn’t listen to me!" She digs her fingers into your sides making you yelp and feebly swat her away, but you just screwed up big time. “Just try, baby, please! For me!”

That’s the last thing you hear as you stumble out the front door, tripping over the damn welcome mat and tumbling down the stairs. It’s only a few steps, but it stings when your back thumps onto the stone walkway, your poor elbows cushioning your fall.  

You barely catch the engine cutting and rushed footsteps before he appears. 

He stands over you with sweat brimming at his hairline, a deeply concerned expression etched onto his face, "awh shit, are you okay?" 

As always, the air goes thin and you’re under that dumb lovesick spell again. The sun glows around his head like a halo, melting you to the bone, and leaving a mess on the stone in the same shades as your love—strawberry ice-cream pink. 

It’s terrible that you don’t know how deluded your tender heart is.

"You're bleeding," he crouches low, gently examining your elbow, "did your roommate push you down the stairs?” 

"No! No, I-I fell.” Obviously! “But I'm okay." You utter, avoiding the peeping redhead through the curtains. Your gaze lands on his long fingers wrapped around your arm. He’s warm, warmer than you thought. Heat radiates off his body and envelops you like an old friend, familiar and calm. 

"Are you?" He inquires unconvinced, "here, let me clean you up." He leaves no room for protests as he helps you up and leads you to his porch. 

After you sit on the couch, he disappears inside the house before emerging with a large white case. He sits next to you and opens the kit on the table.

"That's a lot of stuff." You note, staring at the packed first aid kit. There are various rolls of gauze, different ointments, and bandages, far more things than your tiny plastic box under the sink. 

Judging by his shiny sports car, and his collection of perfectly tailored suits and watches, Ari lived a very different life than you and you’d do anything to know about it. Your naive heart aches for him so badly it almost hurts. 

“It’s better to be safe than sorry. Can I touch you, sweetheart?” 

You watch him tend to your injury with slow and careful movements, his dark brows knitted in concentration. You’ve never been this close to him, the sudden rush of blood almost makes you lightheaded, but his scent brings you back down. The woody cologne floods your nose, followed by a dash of vanilla with underlinings of musky spice.

“What happened to your other dress?” He glances up, eyes shaded under his thick lashes. 

“Oh… It got dirty.” 

He hums, “what a shame.” He delicately presses down the edges of the bandage. “That’s one of my favourites. It always makes my day to see you wearing it.” 

You swallow down a whimper and clench your thighs, seconds away from dropping to your weak knees. Embarrassment fills your chest, tinged with guilt, “I’m sorry, sir.” The words slip out before you could think.

He cracks a small smile, shaking his head, “it’s okay, just be more careful next time, yeah? Can’t have you ruining the little purple one too, that’s my second favourite.”

Dull thumps hammer inside your head, muffling his raspy voice. You nod silently, digging your sock-clad feet into the concrete. 

You take the chance to memorize his tattoos, from the intricate rose by his wrist following the thorn stems up his arm where they entwined with a heavily shaded skull. Thin script is scattered along his skin, you can’t make out the exact words but they’re in swooping cursive, clinging to his flesh like wet chiffon. 

His arms tighten as he cleans up, the muscles shifting under his paper-thin t-shirt that left nothing to the imagination. Every unconscious flex clouds your head, tunnelling your vision until he’s all you can see.  A small whine sounds from your throat and his eyes flicker to yours, blue as can be. 

“I don’t see you leave very often.” You were either inside or sitting on the front porch with a treat and a magazine, or in the backyard tending to that small garden. “Do you work?”

“I… I did, then I got fired.” The wound was still a little fresh. “But it wasn’t my fault, I swear!”

Ari perks up in interest, although he knows plenty about you, this was strikingly new. Aside from your basic profile, he knew about your past as well, including where you grew up, where your parents lived, and how long you’ve been in this city. 

It was only right to know about the two girls living next to his late grandmother’s house. Curtis insisted since Ari wouldn’t let him stay in the old two-storey home, but instead the house down the street.

He came here to be alone and mourn, but that was hard to do with a cute neighbour always staring at him. Yet he stopped caring after you left a small bouquet of hand-picked flowers on his doorstep and an adorable ‘welcome to the neighbourhood!’ note. 

He forgot how good it felt to be sought after, rather than feared and honoured like a living legend. You gave him that sliver of normalcy with your longing loved-up looks and quick dashes inside when he pulled into the driveway. To you, sweet-spirited you, he was an ordinary guy, not someone with a history coloured in hues of red and dripping all over his shoes, smearing the black ink of his future; an eternity tied to his family’s glory that’s now his. 

“This customer was being so mean and I know I should’ve stayed professional but I was havin’ such a bad day already.” Your bottom lip trembles, flashes of that terrible day flickering through your head, “first I slept through my alarm, then I missed the bus, and my make-up broke in my bag a-and everything was all ruined.”

He reaches out, rubbing your knee soothingly. Poor girl, if it was up to him, you’d never be mistreated. “Where did you work?”

“Venom Vixens.” You sniffle, hoping he isn’t the judgemental type, you’ve known too many people who would humiliate you for your chosen career. “I, uh, I wasn’t one of the girls on stage since I was still new but I liked it there. My coworkers were nice, I got free drinks, and…”

“And?”

“I felt,” you look down at your hands, they were so much smaller than his, “I felt pretty. People go there to look and flirt, and I didn’t mind being on the receiving end of it.” 

Ari wouldn’t mind giving you all of that instead. 

He licks his lips, imagining you in a tiny lace set, the sheer fabric clinging to your figure while you swayed around the dimly lit club. A piece of art in the sea of ogling and drooling patrons, blooming beautifully under the flattery. 

“You liked the attention.” 

You giggle, “Yeah, a lot. Sure, some customers were gross and would say nasty things, but others were nice, real nice—they’d tip a lot and compliment me. Most of them were just lonely, they wanted someone to talk to or someone to spoil.” 

You don’t regret accepting their fawning or expensive gifts, hell, most of your jewelry was from your loyal clients. Sparkly things paired with sweet words were a one-way ticket to your good books. 

“How about your boss?” Ari asks, “how did he treat you?”

Venom Vixens wasn’t only a haven for the lonely or where perverts got their fill, but of course, you wouldn’t know that. You’d have a heart attack if you knew of the shady people who walked in and out of those doors, you’ve probably served a few of them, flashed that bright smile and earned yourself a big tip—unknowingly pocketing the filthy, blood-stained money. 

“Mr. Hansen was very friendly, but everything went through him. If we wanted to change a routine, we had to perform it for him first and get his approval. He said it was protocol.” Ari snorts but you don’t catch it, all too distracted with twisting the ring on his middle finger. “He was nice when you were nice to him.”

“So he must’ve always been kind to you. You’re the loveliest girl I’ve ever met.”

You preen under his praise and nod happily, questioning why you were so nervous around him in the first place.

Ari was a flirt—and you loved being flirted with. 

“Mr. Hansen called me his favourite before he fired me. That was over two weeks ago, and Nat said I could take my time but,” you sigh, “I feel like a bother.” 

He wonders if your best friend would still hate him if she knew he was the reason that her cafe was still standing. Without his ruling over the South district, there would be chaos, and that little joint would’ve been ransacked long ago. 

Did he also call for extra protection because you frequented the establishment? Proudly so. 

“Are you still looking for a job?” He takes your distant hum as a yes, “Do you want to work for me?”

Your head snaps up, your sparkling eyes wide in surprise. 

“I’m opening a new club in a few days and I’ve got a spot left for a performer.” He didn’t, but he had no problem giving someone the boot to make room for you. 

Your mouth opens and closes several times, and the thought of Ari owning a club flies straight over your head. You’ve watched him more than your favourite movie but you still didn’t know a damn thing about him, except that he smokes, liked to work out and alternated between a white mustang and a sleek black motorcycle. 

Oh, and sometimes he changes in front of his bedroom window. 

“You’ll be my boss?”

Say the word, and he’ll be much more than that.

He smirks, gripping your jaw and turning you from side to side, blue eyes flickering over your features, “Sure will. I have a feeling this pretty face will be the main attraction every night.”

Your heart swells when his fingers dig into your cheeks. “I-I would, but Nat won’t like that. She kind of hates you… and your friends.” He adds pressure and your lips pucker, “you’re all s-ho loud wit ya’  bikes ‘n engines.”

Ari bites his tongue, it was either the motorcycles or the blood-curdling screams of the poor soul in the basement. He made a mental note to speed up the process of that soundproof room, he couldn’t have you losing sleep over his business. 

“She doesn’t have to know.” He replies, releasing your face in favour of loosely grasping your throat. Your pulse thumps under his fingers, hard and fast, speeding up as he leans closer, “c’mon, don’t you want to be a star? Get all that attention again and make me proud?”

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i just love sweet!readers, they're my faves 🥹 and pairing them with big hunky (secretly soft) men is heaven !! i can't get enough !!!!

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! I love you all very much 😚🫶

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

[erinawritesheadcanons2]

Could I ask for either a poly or love triangle with the DreamTale twins? They’re my comfort characters and I’m not doing too well emotionally recently. Love what I’ve read of your work! Have a good day! <3

Nightmare Sans and Dream Sans Love Triangle Headcanons, Ink and Error Love Triangle, Underfell Sans and Underswap Sans Love Triangle

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A/N: Hello there @artsyfangirl! I hope you do not mind that I am adding Fell and Blueberry as well as Ink and Error. Just take it as a bonus for you since you don't really have a good day!

Warning: Cursing from Fell

Gender: Neutral

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Nightmare Sans and Dream Sans

Almost impossible because the two of them are different and we cannot forget that Dream Sans and Nightmare Sans would always fight with each other as Nightmare is the leader of Bad Sanses and Dream Sans is the leader of Star Sanses.

It is like a war because the two of them are going to end up fighting with each other despite the war between the Bad Sanses and the Star Sanses ended many years ago but it's not as aggressive between Ink and Error Sans

Dream Sans going to steal your attention by trying to make you laugh with his silly antics or his stupid but funny jokes as he would talk with you.

He would also try to steal your attention by giving small but meaningful gifts, something like little trinkets, keychains, or maybe a hand-made sweet ( I headcanon that Dream can bake).

And he would also always listen to you talking about anything even though he does not understand. He would try to understand them and give the response that you want but sometimes....it fails.

Unlike Dream, Nightmare is much less obvious when he tries to steal your attention away from Dream Sans. He would secretly tell you about all the bad things Dream did.

When Dream is not around, he keeps you in his room and not letting you go out but keeps you around as his tentacles would hold you. Sometimes, his words could make you turn red because he would whisper those 'You look dazzling my dear in this outfit but you look even more amazing if you don't wear them.' (AYO- WHAT THE FUCK)

Trying to impress you by showing you what Dream might not have but he has it (For example, if you love the library. He would allow you to read the books in there and he would be your tutor).

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

The stars sparkle under the darkness of the sky and two creatures stand together to see all of the stars since the stars shine the brightest at twelve at midnight. A skeleton with a golden cape and light blue jacket standing close next to his crush. They/he/she has (H/C) hair colour with (H/L) hair length with a pair of mesmerizing (E/C) eye colours and (S/C) skin colour.

Using his powers and the staff he always brought around, he created a portal into the Outertale Universe, a place where the stars were brighter than ever, and dreams seemed to come to life. (Y/N) was completely captivated by the mesmerizing beauty of the Outertale Universe. The stars twinkled with an enchanting light, and the whole place exuded a sense of peace.

On the other realm were a pair of cyan eyes seeing the sight from the crystal ball. A skeleton with tentacles and goopy slime all over him watched his brother being romantic to (Y/N) from the shadows, jealousy brewing within him as he saw Dream Sans and (Y/N) together in the Outertale Universe.

It did not take much time for a dark and swirling portal to appear far away from where Dream Sans and (Y/N) stood together to enjoy the sight of the stars, and ominous black tentacles emerged. They snaked towards you, reaching out like a rubber band and wrapping around (Y/N).

The cold sensation around the waist made (Y/N) (L/N) gasps in aghast, horror, and surprise. It was tight enough so you could not escape from the grip but it was not hard enough to hurt you in any way since he did not want you to get hurt. Nightmare Sans, who had been lurking in the shadows, had seized this opportunity to snatch you away from Dream Sans

Dream Sans was taken aback, a mixture of shock and horror painted across his usually cheerful face. In the blink of an eye, the person with (H/C) hair colour and (S/C) skin colour was taken away from Dream Sans and Outertale, leaving him in a stupor. "Oh no! I should go to Nightmare's castle!" He pulled out the staff from his belt.

On the other side of the world, (Y/N) crosses her/his/their arms together and stares at the goopy skeleton with a black stare. You are clearly not amused by his little stunt. "What are you looking at, don't give me that look," Nightmare Sans rolls his pinpricks. "Really? Suddenly kidnapping me out of nowhere when I was hangout with Dream?" (Y/N) squints her/his/their eyes. "Ughh, what so great about Outertale? I can bring you there every day if you want. I could even bring you to a better place," Nightmare scoffs.

The battle between the two brothers raged on, neither willing to back down as they wanted your attention and no one else could have it. . As this pattern continued, (Y/N) grew increasingly not amused with Dream Sans and Nightmare Sans constantly kidnapping her/him/them out of nowhere.

The constant fighting between the two skeleton brothers had become more of a burden than a romantic pursuit, and they/she/he wished for a way to break free from this never-ending cycle. "You two really acting like five years old. I'm even more impressed nowadays kids seem to be more mature than you two," (Y/N) mutters.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

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Ink Sans and Error Sans

If the love triangle between Nightmare and Dream Sans is already bad. Ink Sans and Error Sand would be much worse than those two because they would constantly FIGHT for your attention.

It is so bad that sometimes it feels like you could just take a chair and popcorn just to watch the drama between these two because they would fight for anything, not just your attention.

Ink Sans when trying to get your attention is by bringing you to the portal and showing you all of the beautiful Alternate Universes to impress you since he is the protector of Aus.

He would also just steal you away when you have free time to draw together with him. Sometimes, he would throw bits of compliments on your drawing, even if it was bad. He just likes your creativity.

He would also try to create something out of his paintbrush, small gifts maybe something adorable such as plushies and giving it to you to make you happy.

Error Sans is not as romantic as Ink Sans sadly so he had difficulty stealing your attention but I can see that he would bring you to some beautiful AUS despite him being an AU's destroyer, to watch the star.

Protects you from the other skeletons surprisingly and not letting anyone touch you, especially Ink Sans as he glares at the protector of AU's since he knows Ink also has a crush on you.

Also, he's a bit of a bully. To get your attention, he would make fun of you and give you tons or ridiculous nicknames just to piss you off and he's always amused each time you react to him.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

On the small beanbag inside of the living room, a person with (H/C) hair colour with (H/L) hair length and a pair of (E/C) eye colour as well as (S/C) skin colour sitting on it with books sprawled around the small chair. (Y/N) had been enjoying a peaceful afternoon, nestled comfortably in the bean bag. Their/her/his eyes scan every word of the book.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, the perfect ambience for your novel. You had just begun to immerse yourself in the world of words when, out of nowhere, a mysterious portal appeared in the corner of the room. The portal was glowing with the colour of the rainbow decorating it.

Startled by the sudden appearance of the portal, (Y/N) dropped their book, their heart racing. From the portal emerged the skeleton with a spot of ink on his cheek, a giant paintbrush on his back and a giant brown cape draped on his back. The protector of the multiverse as he would protect the universes from certain skeletons.

"Hey (Y/N)!" Ink said cheerfully, a wide smile on his face. "What are you doing?" "I was just reading, Ink. What's going on?" Still, a bit bewildered by the unexpected visit, (Y/N) stammered to Ink Sans. "Well, I had this idea for some collaborative drawing, and I thought, who better to join me than you? We could create something amazing together!" Ink's pinpricks twinkled in excitement.

(Y/N) was initially hesitant because the books that you had been reading had not finished and it was in the chapter where the main character faced their rival. But the idea of spending time drawing and the thought about the possibility of creating art together with Ink sounded fun too. "Sure, why not? Let's go," (Y/N) agreed with a smile.

With a bright smile, Ink Sans gestured for (Y/N) to follow him back through the portal and leave behind the book that (Y/N) still had not finished. But all of that excitement was gone as (Y/N) and Ink went inside the portal. Unsurprisingly, there is another guest who was not invited by Ink. "Oh no....you gotta be kidding me," Ink sighs.

The skeleton stepped off from the strings once he saw Ink and (Y/N) on the ground. The familiar black skeleton with a black coat, blue hood and black slippers strutted up to both Ink Sans and (Y/N). "iT HaS BeEn SuCh a LonG Time Isn'T it? bUddY?" A smug smile spread across his face. "Error, Leave us alone. You had already spent time with (Y/N) yesterday. Today is my turn," Ink Sans rolls his pinpricks. "NaAh. I Don't ThiNK sO," Another portal appears behind him.

Ink Sans quickly took the giant paintbrush from his back so he could create a shield for you but he was too late because the strings were wrapped on every one of your limbs. Error Sans created another portal of his own and, with (Y/N) wrapped on his strings, stepped into it, disappearing from Ink's realm.

You couldn't help but let out a sigh of frustration. Turning to Error Sans, he was smirking and holding you as if you were his captive. "Error, you know we spent time together yesterday. You could have given Ink a chance. This isn't fair to him," you scold him,your irritation was evident in your tone.

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Underfell Sans and Underswap Sans

A love triangle between Underfell Sans, You, and Underswap Sans might be a little ridiculous because it feels like you are taking care of a skeleton that acts like a golden retriever and also some kind of skeleton that acts like an emo with anger issues.

The other one is going to bully you just to get your attention and just to see your reaction and the other one is trying to hog all of your attention and will follow you everywhere.

Underswap Sans can be a little bit of an attention seeker because he would try to make tacos ( and end up burning all of them or using the wrong condiment and creating something inedible).

If you are busy, would give you that sad look on you before begging you to hang out with him and when Underfell was too late to ask you, he would secretly smirk.

He actually knows that he does look innocent and cute despite he hate of getting called cute but when Fell was angry at him and you saw him. He will use his cuteness to get you on his side.

Underfell Sans can be a bully just like Error Sans but a little bit worse because he won't just be calling you ridiculous names. He would make you dress up for a deal, make you watch a scary movie, and be a menace.

Not surprisingly he would bring you to Grillby's bar to hang out with you and surprisingly he asked Grilly to help him out. Even though, he would end up having more tabs. He would pay for your meals and drinks as he wants you to taste the monster food too.

Underfell Sans also steals your attention by playing games together with you. I believe he knows many great games and he always invites you to play a multiplayer game with him.

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The temperature of the kitchen is rising as the sun goes up in the middle of the day, a person with luscious (H/C) hair and striking (E/C) eyes sat in the kitchen, typing away on your computer. The soft glow of her screencast a warm, amber hue across your face, illuminating the (E/C) eye colours.

It had been a long day, and they/she/he was racing against the clock to finish the mountain of files that had been assigned to her/him/them by the old-bladed head manager. But it won't stop nature from doing its job as (Y/N)'s stomach chooses this inopportune moment to growl with hunger.

You could not help but let out a quiet sigh, torn between your desire for food or the commitment to completing the tasks that had piled up. (Y/N) knew that they/she/he couldn't afford to lose any more time, but the rumbling stomach seemed to have other plans. With a heavy heart, (Y/N) decided to take a brief break.

She/he/they stood up from the chair and stretched their/her/his tired limbs and (Y/N) knew a hungry tummy would only distract the process of working and finishing the papers. In the fridge, you found some leftover chicken and colourful bell peppers. It was the perfect opportunity to whip up something quick and satisfying.

Before (Y/N) could make something, you could hear someone scream, "Mwehehehee! The magnificent blue is here!" Startled, (Y/N) turns around to see Underswap Sans. "Oh, hey Blue. Do you need anything?" (Y/N) tilts their/her/his head a little bit in curiosity. "Human! I heard your stomach grumbling! It was quite loud, human! how 'bout I whip up some tasty tacos for you??" The skeleton asks.

(Y/N) couldn't help but glance up at the ceiling, remembering that the Jolly Skeleton wasn't the best cook. His previous attempt at making tacos had been a disaster, he managed to burn them, and then, in a whimsical attempt to salvage the situation, he had sprinkled glitter on the charred mess. (Y/N) had tried to be polite and take a bite, but it had been quite a horrible mistake.

As (Y/N) hesitated, contemplating whether to accept his offer or not, the door to the kitchen from the living room was suddenly slammed open, causing both Underswap Sans and (Y/N) to jump in surprise. Standing in the doorway was Underfell Sans. "Oi, loser, You said you're hungry? Why don't we get some grillby on the corner? The dumb baby tacos aren't edible for your intestine," Underfell Sans grumbled as he glanced at Underswap Sans.

(Y/N) felt relieved as Underfell Sans gave a solution or an easy way out of the situation. You didn't want to hurt Underswap Sans's feelings, but you also didn't want to endure another round of eating burnt glittery tacos. (Y/N) turned to Underswap Sans and gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks for the offer, Sans, but I think I'll go with Underfell Sans this time. I'm craving for French fries," You told him. "B-but those are unhealthy! They have so much grease!" Underswap Sans said.

Underswap Sans couldn't hide the disappointment that washed over him when (Y/N) rejected his offer. He let out a resigned sigh and watched as Underfell Sans escorted (Y/N) out of the kitchen. There was a pang of sadness in his eye sockets before his eyes shifted to Underfell Sans who silently glared at him, puffing his cheeks altogether.

He turned to look at Underfell, who was secretly smirking at him. Underfell was well aware that he had managed to steal (Y/N)'s attention away, and the competitive edge between the two skeletons continued to burn.

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[inkyvendingmachine]

Mobs and Stalkers Season 4, Episode 3

💀 Call of Cthulhu: Haunted Hijinx Masterpost 💀 Call of Cthulhu Season Four Masterpost (Coming Soon)

Warning: This campaign is an edited version of  a Call of Cthulhu scenario from the Tales of the Crescent City book. While a lot has been changed, there IS spoilers for it throughout these posts.

Who is this guy and why is he following us? Why are we following him?? Why are we interreacting with mobs again??? How does this keep happening to us?????

Art Credit: @inkdemonapologist : sketching + inking @inkyvendingmachine : concept + colouring

IT IS THE NEXT MORNING. EVERYONE WAKES UP AND NOBODY (who slept over at JDS) IS MISSING, OR DEAD.

THAT’S GREAT.

Bendy even slept on top of Jack during their slumber party, trying to give the same comfort as an Beans might give. It might’ve been weird otherwise, but after all the hectic nonsense going on and not being able to feel safe going home, in this case it was welcome.

Joey slept on his research notes. 

But it is a work day (at least it’s friday,,,) so the cots are shuffled away before people start coming in and questioning the group about the spontaneous night in. And foreseeing this might be a future issue if stuff goes haywire and they have to hide out at JDS more, Joey takes the holiday opportunity to get everyone out of the office for a while.  Enjoy New Years Eve off, go party! Also New Years, to recover from the party. And also… the day AFTER New Years, to do all the things you meant to do on New Years but you were recovering from the party!! Look how nice Joey Drew is, giving so many thoughtful days off. Nobody come back until Thursday or else.

While everyone else is getting some work done, Joey checks in on Norman who didn’t even call in. He seems fine, but he’s still adamant about staying at home. Okay you do you.

(Joey sends Susie to hang out with Norman, as his inside woman and also because the Norman vs. Susie perception of the world will be nice when more things just. C h a n g e.)

The team has two big leads for trying to find Alan Leroy: Chandler Kreel and Amanda Cornish. Both of them are apparently good friends with him, and with addresses in hand, they split up to try and track down the danged clarinetist that they probably need to get to.

Jack and Sammy drive downtown to a bunch of law offices with apartments above, searching for Amanda. They’re able to get to her door pretty easily, but Amanda isn’t the one who answers. Her sister does! Luckily Jack’s there to run introductions because otherwise Sam’s scowling face probably would have just been turned away at that point. Sitting in the waiting room, Amanda soon joins them and admits that the last time she saw Alan was at a christmas party they went to… but seems to be kind of standoffish about any other information.

After some more charming by Jack, it’s revealed that she thinks he might be in trouble with the mob, and uh, Sammy… looking the way he does……. Maybe made her think they were the mob?? But with confirmation that, no, they super aren’t the mob and in fact are trying to find Alan before he possibly gets in trouble with a mob or two, she’s a bit more relaxed. Something weird is happening, because Alan really doesn’t seem like the type to be in trouble with the mob. And the last weird thing she remembers happening with Alan was… well, he got freaked out over some book she gave him for the holidays!

What’s so scary about a book? It was a pretty interesting read, here she’ll go grab it for ya!!!

Sammy is looking away Sammy is looking away Sammy refuses to look in any direction near Amanda as she, indeed, brings out a little black book with the Yellow Sign on it. 

Jack immediately feels it wiggle into his head. But at least he’s able to wrap up the conversation with her in a… semi-normal manner? While Sammy’s eyes, darting anywhere else, find a photo on the mantelpiece that features Alan Leroy and friends, hanging out at a party scrawled with the note: Skinner Place, May, 1934… and Sammy is CERTAIN he recognises the man.

Oddly, his clarinet in the photo is missing one of the extensions he'd expect for a professional player...…….

Joey and Henry take the brown Mercedes to check out Chandler Kreel, who luckily lives in a nice part of the city that feels like a Mercedes might be somewhat… less… easily noticeable. 

He answers the door but seems extremely nervous, like Amanda was. Leroy is great! So good at clarinet you wouldn’t even know he was down a finger!! Also totally a swell guy who shouldn’t be in any trouble so why are you heeerree?? 

Through Joey’s uh, storytelling skills, and Henry's good calming daditude, they get the idea he’s a loyal friend who wants to make sure he’s helping his buddy and not handing over information to the mob or any other parties that might be after Alan… Which means, he probably has information on where Alan is. Since it’d be suspicious to just plain ask, Joey goes the heartfelt “please reach out to us we’re here to help,” direction and hands off contact information. 

While returning to the car, Henry and Joey find someone oogling over it… and this time it’s not some girl trying to declare herself Henry’s lifelong love, but the pale-faced man in a black suit that’s been seen everywhere recently. Their conversation is short, as the man mentions looking for a “wandering player” that needs to be returned to his place, and he walks off after some vague threats about what happens if you are in his way. Or if you lie to him, don’t do that either.

His mask-like face doesn’t move while communicating any of this.

Henry tells Joey once they’re alone that he thinks that guy is Fowler. He has the same nervous fidget Fowler used to…

Jack and Sammy go to stop by Norman’s on the way back, and find that… his place is apparently a block down from where it used to be!! 

GREAT!!!!

When he answers the door and is immediately and frantically questioned about this, he takes a look around and confirms, shrugging and simply stating “it seems like I’ve moved.” 

He invites them in for a housewarming party.

Susie and Norman have been playing cards. There’s no updates on Avadon. Jack and Sammy update them about the few tidbits of information they’ve found, and Norman finds a piece of junk mail to hand off to Jack before they head out. Since… the address on there seems to have changed too, so if Norman ends up moving again, well… they’ll know where he is!

The four of them meet back up at JDS to exchange information about Alan Leroy, and also eject the yellow sign from Jack’s head asap. Sammy's still worked up about this clarinetist's missing E flat extension, but Joey dismisses this as old news -- obviously; he's missing a finger. Keep up, Sammy. Peter has kind of also met back up with them, leaving a message on Joey’s phone talking about sightings of the masked man going through some magic shops in the city. And the fact that despite all his digging, he really can’t find anything about where this Leroy guy came from…

Joey tries to call Peter back by memory and it doesn’t work. We’re not going to talk about the fact that Joey has Peter’s number memorized. Pulling out his phone book, indeed, Peter’s number on paper has changed and that one DOES work. 

Before they get much of a conversation going at all, Joey hangs up on Peter to try something. Instead of dialing a number in, or looking one up… he just wills himself to dial a number in to call Alan Leroy.

It kiiiindaaa works.

Joey manages to call Alan Leroy’s phone, but the same servant picks up and insists that Alan hasn’t returned home. Joey hangs up on him. 

Peter gets a call back. Okay so there’s those Magic Shops he wants to check out, and also he has a lead on the gangster guy who shot the gun during the charity event. To keep Peter from doing nonsense alone and probably being abducted to Carcosa, Jack and Joey decide to go with him to investigate magic shops, while Sammy and Henry uneasily go to the bar to find info on the gangster guy, once Sammy is reassured that this won’t be like last time and all he has to do is eavesdrop. This surely will only go well.

At the bar, Henry casually brings up the charity dinner shooting while trying to fish for information, and maybe he talks a little too much, because suddenly all eyes are on him. What! Sammy wasn’t doing any talking so Henry was just trying to… do….what Joey would do? Henry trying to do what Joey would do has never gone wrong before…

Sammy and Henry are in a mob car, only kind of against their will. They are escorted to a restaurant, where they meet the extremely average looking Italian mob boss, Johnny Nero, who wants to know what they know about this pale masked man. At first it seems like they’ve made another great terrible get-yourselves-kidnapped-by-a-mob mistake, but the boss seems surprisingly rattled, and after some grilling from Sammy, Nero admits that… he’s seen some stuff that shouldn’t be…

… and Sammy hits the nail on the head when he asks, have you seen the y͟el͜l͘ow sig̵n?

Henry steps in and decides to offer to help him… to get him on our side, and understand that we are not a threat to him, we’re simply trying to remove the same thing from the city. After some pressure, Nero is convinced, and goes through the extremely normal process of Henry writing eldritch symbols with his own blood to remove the sign from him. After the nightmare has been yeeted from his brain, Nero turns out to be a wee bit nicer: he gives us all the info he has, but insists that if we find whatever the pallid mask guy is looking for, to give it to him so he can use it to get the guy gone.

And then he kicks them out without even offering them a ride back to their car at the bar.

Wrow.

What an extremely average super not classy even mob boss. 

That’s gonna get you a terrible review on yellowp my dude.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, it’s time for

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*SHOPPING✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*~~!!

The first store is called Cool Jewel Skull. It has cool jewels and skulls. Surely that’s exactly what it says in the book, because it’s extremely not a legit shop, and Jack spends the entire walk to the next shop dunking on it to keep Joey's spirits up. They did find out that not just the Phantom but Leroy had been through it though!

The next stop is an apothecary, and it does seem a lot more actually occult stuff. The guy recognizes a photo of Leroy and confirms he came through looking for protective charms, but when he went to buy one, he dropped it upon touching it and immediately left?? Then the Pallid Mask guy came through later… Not much info on him, except that he was creepy, but we already knew that. The interesting thing is though, the charm that Leroy dropped? It has the same symbol on it that Henry uses to expel the yellow sign from people’s heads. So… weird that he didn’t take it with him…. And seemed allergic to it as well.

The three leave and try to go to the last shop on the list… but the address is missing from the paper now. Like… completely gone. Joey gets the great idea to try his “I'm going to will myself there” trick and closes his eyes, imagining a route to this store he’d never been to before, and giving Jack directions to drive there. Suddenly Jack slams on the brakes and manages to keep from completely smashing into… a man in a suit… and a pale mask…. There’s definitely a dent in the bumper now though, because Jack wasn’t that quick, and apparently a moving car is not more solid than this thing is. 

Joey immediately starts cursing him out, but he insists that Joey called him?? before going around to the side of the car and opening the back seat door… where Peter is sitting. Not having this AT ALL, Joey tries to beat him out of the car with his cane, only to be thrown back against the dashboard. 

With Jack frozen in terror and Peter having an oddly difficult time moving to even the other side of the car away from this pale jerk, Joey immediately decides he cAN AND WILL RIP THIS ASSHOLE OUT OF EXISTENCE. 

And… somehow, it works.

It sure tears something into him alright, and manages to boot him out of the car, giving enough time for Joey to demand Jack step on it. And Jack, panic stricken, somehow manages to follow the command and at least not run into anything else as they drive off into the night – But just as he’s hit the gas pedal, he does feel the cold of both glass shards and … something else, as  he gets touched by a hand smashing through the window in the last second. 

Luckily Jack bought the first car on the market in the US that had safety glass so he’s not going to be fucked up much from this in the physical department, except for his wallet maybe.

Mentally though? Memories flood in… 

memories of a time he visited a dream with his eyes closed, and almost had his head removed.

After they’re at a safe distance, a shaken Peter manages to pull the door closed. 

And thank them.

[callmewrinkles3]

Fresh Ink

Summary: Dan decides to get a new tattoo that Em has inspired. She decides to be a little more spontaneous.

A/N: we don’t have a full oneshot, so have a lil drabble we’ve been keeping close to our chests!

August 2018

In the short time she’d spent with Dan, Em learned to not be surprised by the weird ways their days could go. From sitting on the couch for a lazy day, to being surprised with a trip to see the Reputation tour, anything could and did happen. Which was why she wasn’t surprised when she got a text from Dan saying he was going to get a new tattoo and wanted her to come with him. Daniel “I’ll just get a big one and then no more” Ricciardo getting a tattoo wasn’t a new thing and she loved the ink already on his body and the differences in the artwork they both had. But what did surprise her was what he was getting.

A couple of weeks before she’d sent him a text before a race. She was up watching and it had been a shitty practice and qualifying, the car kept failing on him. Her little Shine on, Handsome, text was supposed to just make him smile. She didn’t want to call and distract him, or wish him luck make him think his performance was what she cared about. She didn’t expect his little heart emoji response to make her grin and giggle like a kid. But her Sky Sports subscription was on the telly and she watched with rapt attention until he had yet another DNF and she wanted to throw something at the stupid car that kept failing him.

But they never mentioned the text after that. Not that Sunday night when he arrived at her front door with flowers and his suitcase. Not the next day when he kissed her goodbye before going to the sim and coming back to her that night. It was too easy to spend time together.

But he’d come back early from his summer break to spend time with her and had dragged her to a fancy tattoo shop in the middle of London to show her the perfectly printed font for her text. The “shine on” that was going onto his bicep where everyone could see it and she felt stupidly proud of it. He’d just asked if she wanted to be there while he got a new one and surprised her when they got to the shop. If he hadn’t mentioned that he knew the owner the tears might have come out in pride but she held them back.

“You are actually insane, you know that. Right?”

“I drive a car hundreds of kilometres an hour every single week. We knew that.” He grinned and gave her a shrug as the rest of his answer.

They were waiting for the tattoo artist to finish setting up as she looked in the glass showcase of piercings. The only ones she had were the gold studs in her earlobes. She’d had them since she was a kid and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually changed the studs in them. She just liked looking at shiny things and ended up staring at a tiny little nose stud with a small opal on it. The colours hit it and showed the iridescent sheen and she loved looking at it while Dan was talking to someone she didn’t know. At least he was until an arm went around her shoulder and his lips were against her temple.

“Find something you like? Cause I just found someone I really like.” He smiled against her ear, whispering lowly so only she could hear. “Gonna get a new one? You’d look cute with a tragus, or maybe something in your upper cartilage.”

“Nah, not really. Besides I don’t even want to know how much one of those cost here.” It was only half a joke as she glanced up at Dan and then back to the accessories.

“Did you plan to get a new one? You’ve loads of space in your ears for whatever you want.”

“Ha, no, I’m too cool for that now. I mean I always wanted to get my nose pierced. Mum would have killed me if I did it when I was younger and now I’m too old for it.” Her mother’s words echoed around her head that she’d look like a cow with a ring in her nose, how would anyone ever want to marry her with it? She shook her head a little to try get it away from her.

“You just turned 28. I’m barely 29. Are you calling us old?” It was mostly a joke.

“Definitely.”

“Meanie.” He squeezed her shoulder to soften the word. “But you should get it. You’d look really good with a nostril piercing. A little gold hoop would be cute and match the rest of your jewellery.”

“What if I don’t like it?” That knot of anxiety bubbled up a little.

“You take it out and let it heal over. It’ll leave a tiny mark that nobody will see. The only person who gets close enough to see something like that is me, and I won’t care about it.”

“Who told you that you’re the only one who gets that close?” It was said jokingly but she saw how he stiffened slightly.

“Hey!”

“I’m joking!” He was still tense and she squeezed his arm. “I’m joking, Danny. You really think it’ll suit me?”

“You’re gorgeous anyway but it’ll look good on you. Plus, there’s one there with a shiny lavender opal so I call it destiny.” He pointed at the exact one she was looking at.

“And I’m calling you a bad influence.”

“I’m a bad influence who’ll hold your hand when the needle gets close to your face. Sound good?”

“And I’ll hold your hand when you’re getting your tattoo?”

“See, teamwork.” He turned around and called someone over. “Em wants to get her nose pierced, do you have space?”

She grinned and started filling out the paperwork, signing it and picking out the temporary jewellery while it healed. And true to his word, Dan held her hand for the entire time.

[kumezyzo]

going with bf!sapnap to get his first tattoo!

🐬

we talked about this idea cause we both said we had tattoos, so reader has tattoos. cause i said so 😤 we also talked about how he talked about getting it on his thigh... so yea...

anyway, enjoy! or dont :) m.list

bf!sapnap who would look at all your tattoos and run his hands all over them, ask you questions about them. his favourite question to ask is if it hurt.

bf!sapnap who likes asking you what kind of art style would look best on him. then he'd proceed to ask for your opinion on if a specific design would look alright. then the colour. then he'd look up places to get it done. but its all out of curiosity... obviously.

bf!sapnap who has you help him pick out his tattoo with him. seriously, this time. and then he talks about getting it on his thigh.

you looked up from your phone, watching your boyfriend scroll through more reference pictures. "where would you get it?"

"like...right here," he says, drawing an imaginary box on his thigh. you gulp comically and try your hardest to suppress your dirty thoughts.

bf!sapnap who gets his tattoo done with the same artist you did cause he loves how it looks on you so much.

bf!sapnap who asks you to help him shave the area before you guys leave. he thinks its so weird how smooth his skin is after.

he also thought it would be easy to not cut himself with the razor, cause you made it look easy. but after he did it on his ankle (per your request) and immediately knicked himself with it, he realized you were practially a god with the blade.

bf!sapnap who didn't expect it to hurt so much at first, but powered through it with your motivating words. "if you do good, i might give you a blowjob."

bf!sapnap who tries to distract from the pain by talking to you or holding your hand. when you stand next to him, he reaches over and just kneads your thigh as if he were giving you the same tattoo he was getting.

bf!sapnap who cant stop looking at the inked skin after you two leave. he thinks he looks just as cool as you now.

bf!sapnap who almost cries when you have to take the second skin off after. and when the gross black liquid spills out from it, he gags and you have to finish it for him.

"fuck!" he yells, refusing to look down at his leg. you sigh and pull the rest of the dripping plastic off his leg. he groans loudly and looks down at his leg with a grimace.

"still worth it?"

i have so many tattoos that mean nothing despite my mother telling me not to. to be fair, she was a bad influence growing up 😤😤 she would ask us to help her pick out tattoo designs and stuff. two of her tattoos are dedicated to me and my sister 😌 -nony

[mi-i-zori]

From In-Between the Lines

CoD Fae!Au - Fae!Price x The Writer (Fem!Reader) - Part 1

SYNOPSIS : When the writer runs out of inspiration, she decides to do what she has always been afraid to : take her writing away from the safety of her little apartment, in the outside world where ideas are often said to be flourishing. What she doesn’t realise is that she might find more than what she came for - hidden in the mesmerising smile of a peculiar stranger.

WARNINGS : Predator behavior (Fae VS Human), anxious thoughts…

I do not give permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform.

Writing has never been an easy thing.

It works like a muscle : for it to function properly, one would need to train it constantly, again and again, until it eventually starts giving conclusive results. A concept devoid of limits such as this one is made to offer more than a thousand opportunities for one to get better, to keep opening new doors leading to countless universes. Each and every world is unique and fascinating, waiting for a wandering soul to find it before blooming like a flower, wild and colorful.

Many people find it easy to put their discoveries in writing, claiming how it is as effortless as breathing. Words flow through the ink of their minds, using their newfound freedom to paint thousands of mesmerising landscapes with the perfect assortment of letters. Their characters are never afraid of the idea of evolving, constantly diving in the depths of their own existence to try and understand the paths they’re trying to follow ; and their creators easily fulfill this endless choregraphy, their pen gliding across a piece of paper without missing a single beat.

For some other writers, however, following them on this stage without stumbling over their own feet turns out to be much more difficult. When ideas disappear and the ink stops flowing, when their characters hide in the darkest corners of their thoughts, reducing them to being unable to give any kind of meaning to their words for days, it becomes impossible for them to breathe life into their stories.

Those are the exact thoughts that run through her head as the Writer sits at her desk, trying to muster enough inspiration and courage to write. Her laptop lays in front of her, the cursor blinking in the middle of a blank page. Countless papers pile next to the keyboard, holding as many scribbles of ideas and dialogues as possible in their grasp. Covered in highlights and colorful post-it notes, their precarious balance threatens to send them flying with every tired sigh crossing her lips. A few cups of coffee stand nearby, their contents long forgotten. She shifts in her seat every few minutes, and she finds herself unable to stop a hiss from crossing her lips when her fluffy socks twist uncomfortably around her ankles. It is way too early to be thinking so hard about a story, she thinks, feeling her tired eyes drift towards the bold « 9:32 » displayed at the bottom of her computer screen.

A shout echoes oustide of her window, and the streets suddenly become much more interesting than the never-changing aspect of her document. The autumn wind blows waves and waves of dried leaves, igniting the sidewalks with a mesmerising gradient of warm colours. They illuminate the concrete as they dance along the road, and she immediately compares them to the fireflies twirling in the summer nights, both extremely similar and drastically different.

A part of her wonders what it would be like to lose herself in her own world while being lulled by the colorful breeze. She doesn’t leave her apartment often, especially not to write, and the prospect of having to face the many dangers of the noisy streets and their unfamiliar faces is far from appealing. But she needs to refill her inspiration, and something tells her some fresh air could help ; the kind of air her apartment will never have, even with the help of an open window.

Following this train of thoughts, she gives up on her fluffy sweater and socks in favour of a warm yet comfortable outfit. Her trusty backpack is filled with her writing essentials before being thrown over her shoulder while her anxiety is painfully shoved in the back of her throat. She stumbles through the front door before it can try to convice her to give up on this endeavor, one of her sneakers barely secured around her ankle.

- You’re not helping, she mumbles, tucking her foot correctly inside of the shoe while exiting the building.

The wind doesn’t waste a second before offering her a shivering greeting. Its kisses are cold on her cheeks, and she lets out a grumble as her nose is quickly buried within the warmth of her scarf. Her hands take a few seconds to fumble with her headphones. She then finally begins her adventure through the neighbourhood, her head swaying gently along the rhythm of her favourite playlist.

It doesn’t take long for her steps to guide her to the small forest standing at the edge of the town. It thrives under the city’s protection, its borders mixing with a park to offer a fleeting moment of rest to those who wish to forget their urban troubles. The Writer has always liked to follow the trail marking the limit between the organized aspect of the human civilisation and the wilderness of those woods, savouring the scent of nature while on her way to the many small businesses flourishing along the streets hiding on the other side.

And today is no exception.

The trees hold the warm hues of autumn in their grasp, and so does the soil at their feet. She can make out the dancing reflections of the morning dew on their leaves, glinting mischievously whenever a ray of sunlight dares to greet them. The scent of petrichor adds a dreamy touch to the whole painting, hidden among the graceful swirls of a delicate veil of mist. She has always liked spending time in nature, admiring its ever-changing beauty and gathering all the inspiration it has to offer to embellish her stories.

Yet in this moment, as a sudden gust of wind forces her clothes to dance around her shivering form, leaving a trail of disturbed flora in its wake, she can’t stop an eerie feeling from crawling in the back of her mind. The light above her suddenly seems to dim, the road curving slightly to cross the borders of the wilderness.

She loves this forest.

But at the same time, she doesn’t.

Perhaps this peculiar dichotomy comes from the many disappearances a part of these earthy paths keep witnessing, or the dark, ominous trees surrounding them. Their thick, mossy branches swallow every ounce of light the sun has to offer, leaving only shadows to dance in-between their roots. Something in her mind tells her to stay away from them, to never let her feet leave the expanse of her little road of dirt. Her steps are quick, and her heart pounds wildly against her chest. She focuses on her destination, trying to ignore the knots forming progressively in her stomach, the goosebumps running down her skin.

She pretends not being able to hear the mischievous laughter hiding in the whistling breeze. These voices would probably get a comfortable role in her stories ; but, in real life, their echo is too unsettling to be admired.

Her pace only slows once the soles of her shoes meet the familiar texture of concrete. She breathes out a sigh. Holding a hand on her chest as if it could help her catch her breath, she mindlessly follows the line traced by the sidewalk. Her lungs are slowly being set free from the iron grip that seized them, but her blood keeps rushing in her ears for what seems like an eternity.

Her thoughts suddenly come to a halt as the aroma of freshly baked goods flows around her. There, a few meters away from her, a small café reveals itself to her curious gaze. Its daily menu stands proudly in the middle of the path, its contents shamelessly tempting her, even more so when she notices the very few people sitting behind the windows. Her curiosity gently tucks her previous fears aside as she pushes on the door, momentarily focusing her attention on the little bell giggling above her.

She pauses her music as she goes to stand in line, her body immediately rocking back and forth to follow the rhythm of the lo-fi echoing against the bricks of the walls. A series of succulent hang from a couple of shelves, their green hues enveloping the spines of a few decorative books. The man in front of her moves slightly to the side, and her eyes fall upon the counter, where rows of delicacies of all kinds greet her sight.

A silent tremor overwhelms her stomach, and only then does she notice the fact that she is yet to have a proper breakfast.

She settles for a warm drink and a small pastry before finding a small table in a corner of the room. It doesn’t take long for her notebooks and laptop to quickly fill the whole space, piling next to one another. The same blank page automatically opens itself on her screen, greeting her with a small jingle before she sushes it with a trembling hand, cursing herself for forgetting to do it earlier as her gaze immediately darts around to see if anyone noticed her clumsiness. However, only the big Monstera plant sitting next to her meets her gaze, and she allows one of its leaves to pet her arm reassuringly, silently thanking it for the comfort it immediately came to provide.

- Back to work, then, she mumbles, grabbing a pen from a pocket of her coat. Those characters won’t develop themselves.

The ink flows smoothly over the pages of one of her notebooks. She lays as many ideas down as possible, trying to connect them to form a more interesting concept. Some of them end up being crossed out, giving up their place to another set of words that would work better with the story. From time to time, she takes a sip from her drink, munches on a bite of her food, as if trying to bribe her thoughts into working more efficiently. Yet it doesn’t prevent her from stumbling over her main character ; his essence refuses to adopt a defined shape, no matter how hard she tries to focus on the potential details she could weave into his soul. Stubborn as a mule, he remains a vague silhouette in the fog of her mind, mocking her with a voice she can’t even hear properly.

Her pen fall from her grasp, and she barely holds back a frustrated growl as she rubs her tired eyes. Displayed on her computer screen, her Pinterest board stares at her blankly, devoid of any source of inspiration despite the many portraits it holds. She shuts it down, focusing her attention on the other clients crowding the café. Perhaps a few minutes of people-watching could help, she thinks, silently detailing the different silhouettes living not far from her.

Her eyes abruptly stop on a figure sitting on the other side of the small room.

There, a man lounges with his back against the wall, one leg lazily thrown over the other. A tiny cup of coffee dangles from one of his hands, the other holding a book open for his own eyes to explore. The light coming from the window highlights his pale complexion, curving around the muscles the sleeves of his cardigan decided to unveil. He seems relaxed, even slouching a little the more he focuses on the volume in front of him ; yet the corner he decided to settle in only brings out the broadness of his shoulders even more as he brings the drink to his lips, runs a hand through the short, thick beard adorning his face.

He holds a calm, yet imposing presence, and the Writer finds herself mesmerised. A peculiar feeling pulls at her chest, as if this man held the magic she needed to set her inspiration free. Her character slowly starts to take his place, brought to life on the stage of her thougts.

Her hand snatches her pen before she can even realise it. A string of words flow from her mind, only stopping when she focuses once again on her muse to find the exact terms she is looking for. Half an hour passes before she is finally satisfied with what she came up with.

Her sigh of relief gets stuck in her throat as she looks up from her notebook, her eyes suddenly locking with the stranger’s.

She startles, barely catching her drink before it can flood the entirety of her notes. She busies herself with the last few bites of her pastry as she tries to tame her racing heart - distracting herself from the weight of his gaze on her trembling form. She can only hope he will quickly divert his attention elsewhere, hoping he didn’t take offense in her staring.

Yet he doesn’t.

Temporarily setting his book aside, the man leans even further back into his chair, his interest awakened by the young woman squirming in her seat. He had been trying to catch her gaze for a moment now, torn from the imaginary world sitting in his hands by a tingling feeling on the back of his mind. If he wondered for a moment about the amount of notebooks, post-it notes and individual papers laying on her table, he found himself much more curious about their owner.

He noticed how, despite her clear interest in her surroundings, she never really seems to sit straight, as if trying to make herself smaller in her corner of the café. He believes it to be done subconsciously, however, for he can see how focused she is on her work. A faint wave of magic dances around her, small enough for her to probably not even know of it ; yet he can sense how it is constantly impacting her life. Feeding her inspiration, helping it flourish ; drawing it towards ideas a part of her can’t fully comprehend.

Luring her to him.

What an appetizing thought.

Their eyes meet as she slowly lifts her head up once more, and he raises his cup in her direction, a warm smile drawn on his lips. She offers him a small nod before turning away. A timid hand comes to cover her cheek, and his teeth suddenly feel too sharp behind his lips ; his mouth way too empty.

A part of him longs to get closer to her. Strike a conversation. Throw himself into the hunt. But it is far too early for him to pounce. His centuries of experience showed him more than once how rewarding it could be to wait, to let his prey simmer in a blissful ignorance as he takes the time to enhance the flavour of their body and soul.

The young woman sitting in front of him already has the potential to be a delightful meal. But for now, he shall be content with the taste her sole presence sets on his tongue, this delicate aroma taking over the bitterness of his coffee.

He just needs to be patient.

[multific]

Slow Dance

Jesse Cromeans x Reader

Summary: You always admired his tattoos.

Every time he wrapped his arms around you, you just admired the ink on his skin.

Of course, your favourite was the one in the middle of his chest. You kissed that one many many times. 

But his arms were filled. Right up to his shoulders both of his arms were covered and he even had some on his legs. One of his favourites was a newer one he got, a rather cliché one but he made you wear dark lipstick and kiss a piece of paper, you were so confused but the next day he came back with the exact print of your lips on his chest, right above his heart. 

He did that for your anniversary and you had a doubt the red lace you had in mind was nowhere near as good.

Jesse was a strange man, he was very particular. He was very clean and organised. Everything had its place. In the beginning, you found it strange that such a man would allow ink to be put in his skin but it soon started to make sense.

The Skull on his chest showed his status, his true self. 

Chromeskull. 

At the start, you thought that the Chromeskull was just an identity of his, but soon you realized Jesse was more like the part he's hiding and the Chromeskull is his real, true self. 

But you loved both, and both loved you. 

He was sitting at his table, you assumed working while you sat on the small couch in his office with your legs laid in front of you. 

"Found a new piggy?" you asked as you saw his eyes shine in a way it only did when he found something new. It was a very different shine from the way he looked at you.

He nodded and turned his laptop. The woman on the screen looks almost identical to you, same hair colour, and around the same weight. 

Your expression dropped a little, your eyes met his. So far, the women he killed were nothing like you. Complete opposite so to see someone who looks almost like you, gave you the expression he wanted to kill you perhaps. 

"She- uh...She looks nice, hope you'll have fun with her." you said as you quickly walked out of the room and into the bathroom. 

Why were you panicking? Throughout the many years you spent with him, it never once occurred to you that he might want to hurt you. So, why were you so on edge right now?

You never even noticed the door opening next to you only when you caught something moving out of the corner of your eye.

"I'm not feeling well." you said as you turned to wash your face.

"She looks like you and it bothers you." his text-to-speech said as you dried your face and looked at him.

"It's just-"

"I'd never hurt you." 

"I know Jesse, its just-"

"I'll never hurt you, she looks like you, yes, but that is it. I will never hurt you, you mean too much to me." you knew that, he didn't have to say it, you knew that, but then why did you react the way you did?

"I know, Honey, I just never expected for it to really... None of them ever looked like me and I know you will never hurt me, it just worries me."

"I'll find a new Piggy." the voice said after a couple seconds. "I will not be able to do it, she will remind me of you too much."

"You don't have to if you don't want to, really I'm okay with it."

"I wanted to try out something new, someone different and that's how I found her, I didn't even realize she looked like you until your reaction." you nodded, understanding that sometimes he really didn't see the person but rather the piggy in them.

"It really is okay, Jesse. Do as you wish, I'll be here. I'm hungry so I'll go and make something, would you like dinner?"

He nodded before he took a step and hugged you, pulling you close before he too joined you in the kitchen.

He could tell you weren't 100% sure so he wanted to comfort you. 

And he knew one was to do just that. After dinner, you two went to the living room, you were searching for something to watch on TV while he turned on the radio, putting a nice slow song on, you looked at him.

He had his hand out, waiting for you to take it. And you did. He started to slow dance with you, the same song played as on your wedding, it really reminded you of it. 

You had two weddings, on for the public and the other just for you where he wore his mask.

Sometimes it still surprised you that a man who is so gentle with you can be so cruel to others, but you didn't care about others. You cared about him. 

He then suddenly pulled back and removed his shirt, letting your eyes roam along his delicious-looking skin, you looked up at him. 

He then pulled you back, placing one of your arms on his back, the other on his chest, and you felt his heartbeat.

You recalled how truly handsome he was before the accident, you still found him very very handsome, you made sure to often tell him so he wouldn't forget. You remembered the past as the song played, as your fingers roamed his skin.

"I love you," you said not like he didn't know. You placed a kiss right where is lips tattoo was as your eyes locked with his, you knew he felt the same, you didn't need to hear it, he proved it every moment. "You go and get that piggy."

He wanted to smile but his scars didn't really let him, so he just nodded once. 

Because right in that moment he realized, no matter how many women he kills, no matter how many of them look like you, he will never be able to hurt you.

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart​​ @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports  @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa   @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow @crazzyter  @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79  @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​​ @paola-carter​​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

[chickenstrangers]

Pat's Shirts: An Extended Analysis

Since Bad Buddy's on the brain, I'd like to present an analysis of a show through a Pat's-shirts-centered critical lens.

Literature review: Many very smart people that I will try to link to have analyzed Bad Buddy through this lens already, but I would like to contribute to the discussion, specifically focusing on the iconography and text on the shirts. For great analysis that also incorporates colour, look to @dribs-and-drabbles whole series (x). Thesis statement: Pat's shirts convey his inner thoughts directly to the audience, generally going unnoticed by other characters, like a soliloquy. They provide insight into his emotional state and aspirations as they shift throughout the stages of his narrative arc.

Pran is more reserved about his feelings, and often expresses them through external signs such as the smiley face on his door. Pat can also be interpreted through the same lens, using external signifiers such as t-shirts to show what he is thinking. Pat is so expressive that he needs to literally wear his feelings on his sleeve (or chest).

In the first several episodes, there is a sense of optimism and possibility. In episode 1, Pat wears a shirt that reads "turn up the saturation" while talking with Pa in his old room. He looks over at Pran's house, Pran obviously on his mind. This showcases how things are just getting started. His feelings for Pran have been reignited after seeing him on campus. Pat wants to turn up the saturation in his life, make it more vivid, and already he's connecting that sentiment to Pran.

The feeling of hopefulness continues when Pat wears his Lucky (Charms) shirt. When their friends get into another fight, while Pat's wearing this shirt, his professor tells them they're lucky no one got seriously hurt, but there's more luck at play in this moment; they're lucky that they have found each other and are in each other's lives again. They have their first real conversation while they're patching themselves up, where they decide to work together to stop their friends from fighting and exchange chat IDs. Things are (slowly) starting to come together.

Pat next wears a Tim Hortons shirt from the Smile Cookie charity campaign. This is an interesting adaptation of Pran's signature motif, Pat mirroring the smiley faces that Pran surrounds himself with. Pat wears this shirt when they eat together at the food truck, so the food-related shirt is thematically relevant, especially one associated with sharing and giving. Pat and Pran share food (or more accurately, Pat steals Pran's wonton) but it’s a playful moment that they'll return to later in the show when Pran gets an extra wonton for Pat to steal. The shirt represents Pat's happiness at being close to Pran again, at being back in the game they play.

The optimism embodied in these shirts is also reflected in a shirt that Pat doesn't wear yet, but is instead hinted at. On top of Pat's pile of laundry is another smiley face shirt that he will wear five years later in the finale. Pat holds onto this shirt that represents Pran and his aesthetic, long before they start dating. The teasing of this shirt is the ultimate symbol of optimism, brimming with possibility.

We then move on to Pat's confusion and realization arc. The first shirt I'd like to discuss is the Salome shirt he wears at the photoshoot with Ink. There are two literary and artistic references here: Salome, the biblical story and its adaptations, and Picasso's painting of his close friend Jaime Sabartés.

Picasso painted many portraits of Sabartés, and dedicated many more to him, but this specific painting is from 1939, humorously portraying Sabartés as a sixteenth-century courtier. This might reflect Ink and Pat's relationship in this moment. Ink gives Pat this shirt, putting him into a costume like Picasso did with Sabartés, and there is an interesting juxtaposition between subject and artist at play.

Sabartés recalled about a previous painting, “When he put the painting up on the easel, I was astonished to see myself … the spectre of my solitude, seen from without.” About the 1939 painting, he wrote, "[it] has all the characteristics of my physiognomy, though only the most essential ones. If the way Picasso put them together does not coincide with the way the majority of people see them, this is because, thinking about me, he took them from his memory, with the intention of giving them form in a picture […] while people who look at me directly as I am forget me when they are trying to remember me." (x)

This is reminiscent of the way that Ink seems to knows Pat's feelings maybe more than he knows himself and her lack of surprise that Pat and Pran get along. From her perspective, they have always been friends. As artists, Ink and Picasso see their subjects in a different light. It is in direct relation to Ink that Pat comes to realize his feelings for Pran, by testing out Pa's patented technique. This whole situation discombobulates him, which is captured in Picasso's Cubist style.

The second aspect of the shirt is the biblical story of Salome. @dribs-and-drabbles (x) made the excellent connection between the femme fatale in this story to the faen fatale in Bad Buddy (Ink), although Bad Buddy explicitly subverts this trope. I also find it interesting that one of the most famous adaptations of Salome was written by Oscar Wilde, so some queer connection could be teased out. It is also worth noting that one of the themes of the play is the dangers of looking, especially since the shirt is worn during a photoshoot. Herod begs Salome to free him of his promise, apologizing for looking at her too much: "Neither at things, nor at people should one look. Only in mirrors should one look, for mirrors do but show us masks." Perhaps Pat can also be seen as wearing a mask, one he is not aware he is wearing all the time.

There seems to be little connecting Salome and Picasso that I could find, though both are playing with ideas of historical adaptation, from the biblical play to Sabartés in costume. Bad Buddy also toys themes of the past as Ink is introduced, casting new light both on Pat and Pran's historical relationship and their relationship now.

The next shirt is another one that is given to Pat. Pat borrows the friend/unfriend shirt from Pran when he sleeps over in Pran's room. They are figuring out how to relate to each other, and especially in this scene, how the other feels about Ink. Pat wears this shirt on a "date" with Ink at the food truck, another relationship that he is trying to determine how he feels. The friend/unfriend shirt reflects a pivotal question about Pat and Pran's relationship. They are not friends, but what does that make them instead? What is "unfriend", the negation of friend? Is it enemy? Is it lover? They both desperately need it to be something, to be in each other's lives in some way.

During and after his next "date" with Ink, Pat wears a black shirt with an abstract face on the front. This echoes the Cubist style of the Picasso shirt. However, in this design, the face is even more abstracted, configured with just a few white lines on a black background in unrealistic proportions. Just as the Picasso shirt implied Pat's burgeoning confusion, here he is slammed with the new revelation that he likes Pran as more than a friend. @dribs-and-drabbles pointed out the splash of red right over his heart, signifying his newly discovered feelings (x). This design is stark, impressionistic, boiled down to the bare essentials of a face and disassembled. Pat is taken apart and feeling lost knowing how much he wants Pran. The shirt speaks to the confusion Pat feels in this moment.

The next phase is about yearning and seeking connection. Pat knows how he feels about Pran; he has fallen, and fallen hard. Now that he has discovered this, he changes into the Baseball Mom shirt to tell Pran of his feelings on the rooftop. In this scene, Pat tells Pran he doesn't want them to just be friends, and through his shirt he tells Pran he sees a future with him. The shirt evokes a future of love and family (though not confined to the heteronormative idea of family). It is about closeness and partnership and possibilities.

During the flirt-off, Pat shows up to the Kwan and Riam audition with a blue shirt mostly covered by a burgundy button-up. The only clearly visible words are "YOUR / MAN?" This is a declaration, he wants to be with Pran. He's asking, can I be your man? as @dribs-and-drabbles writes (x). He's almost staking a claim on Pran, but subverts this by instead declaring himself to be Pran's, similar to when he cedes the competition to Pran.

Looking at the text more closely, however, a few words are visible. The shirt has a quote from On the Road by Jack Kerouac: "What's your road, man? - holyboy road, madman road, rainbow road, guppy road, any road. It's an anywhere road for anybody anyhow. Where body how?" Combining the full text and the selective framing visible on screen, Pat seems to be asking to go on this road together, wherever it may lead.

Once Pat and Pran start dating, Pat's shirts reflect the joys and tribulations of a newly established relationship. He wears the "Proud to be a [Noles] Hater" when practicing the play with Pran. Pride is written clearly on his chest, but it also hints to insecurities. Pat is being perhaps too proud for Pran, posting pictures on Instagram and flirting to openly. Moreover, this shirt is a reference to the sports rivalry between the University of Miami and Florida State University, and as the previous scene showed Pat playing rugby, the shirt signals the continuing rivalry between the architecture and engineering faculties. The theme of rivalry is also ever-present in their families' rivalry, which as @dribs-and-drabbles discusses (x), originated with university. This showcases that while Pat and Pran are happy together, there are external forces working against them.

After a tense argument with his father, Pat wears a white shirt with [SELECT] written on the front. In this scene, Pat is asking Pran to choose him—to select him. The framing of the text in square brackets is also reminiscent of a hyperlink or code, perhaps further emphasizing the act of clicking/selecting. He wants comfort from Pran but is unwilling to ask for it directly, to bother him with his problems. Pran hears the unspoken message and comes home to cheer Pat up, prioritizing him.

When Pat gets out of the hospital, Ming surprises them both by thanking Pran for helping Pat get his name cleared. During this scene, Pat wears his California shirt, which @karometeenk has deciphered. To summarize, it is a slogan for a German pharmacy that reads "Here I am human, here I shop" which is a play on the Faust quote which can be translated as "Here I am human, here I can / am allowed to be one" (full credit to @karometeenk for translation and analysis, along with @dribs-and-drabbles and @airenyah's discussion (x) (x) (x). There is something sinister underneath this message. This shirt alludes to Pat's desire to escape, to be free, but also signals the obstacles to this, especially as he wears this when talking to his dad, who seems to be behaving decently, but there will be future complications. The slogan appropriates a quote about one's humanity commodified to sell products, commercializing people's identity. While Pat and Pran are happy together, they cannot yet just be.

The theme of seemingly cheerful shirts with a sinister undertone continues later in the episode. Pat wears a shirt with the words "SUN SUN SUN", reflecting the happiness he feels to be with Pran, as well as directly mirroring Pran's "radiate positivity" rainbow shirt. Together they depict the sun emerging after a period of rain. However, the optimism conveyed by these shirts is undermined by the peril they find themselves in, the danger of getting caught in Pran's father's office and the looming revelations about their families' rivalry that could destroy their relationship. The storm is not yet over.

You may be wondering why I have skipped over a crucial subsection of Pat's wardrobe: his Hawaiian shirts. Fear not! I would like to discuss these shirts collectively, as they convey a similar theme that does not fall neatly into the chronology of the other shirts. They reflect an idea that the show keeps returning to every time Pat wears them. They stand outside of time.

These shirts symbolize hope and yearning, but they are often tainted by a feeling of despair and desperation. Dreams thwarted. These shirts are aspirational for Pat, conveying the sense of peace and freedom that he wants but cannot yet achieve. He often wears them in moments of crisis. In episode 5, Pat wears the blue pineapple shirt when he gets in the fight with Wai. He is seeking clarification about their relationship but winds up in a physical altercation and Pran leaves without giving him any answers.

He wears the Golden Gates Bridge shirt when he gets shot—this was a chance to reconcile their two friend groups, but it ends in disaster. However, in the end, that event literally builds bridges between them (I am including this shirt in this section though it may not be a Hawaiian shirt). The elephant shirt Pat dons in episode 11, as @dribs-and-drabbles has discussed (x), shows Pat wanting to forget, wanting to start anew on the beach with Pran without their families interfering, but the elephants belie this message as elephants never forget.

Pat wears a lot of Hawaiian shirts at the beach, both times. On the first beach trip, there is a feeling of opportunity, now that they have kissed. But at the same time, while Pat wants Pran to open up to him more, Pran is trying to protect himself. The beach symbolizes a chance at freedom, a chance to be open about their feelings. It makes sense that Pat would wear these shirts there. Except they are not confined to the beach, they traverse space and time.

I'd like to look specifically at the shirt Pat wears when he runs away. He is wearing it when his dad finds them together at the mall, and during the confrontation with both their parents. Here in the city it seems out of place, but it reflects Pat's desperation to love Pran freely, to escape the restrictions being placed on them. And then they do escape to freedom, to the beach where there is hope that they can be together, and Pat continues to wear the shirt. It depicts a dream that seems so close to being realized.

When they get back home, Pat is once again wearing the shirt he wore when they ran away. Nothing has really changed, despite their temporary escape, the same problems with their families persist. The repetition of the shirt brings this message home. But it also an interesting choice for both of them to wear the same shirts, it feels intentional. Like a disguise. They are going home, pretending that nothing has changed, that they broke up, but are keeping the truth hidden.

The shirt Pat wears in the finale is a callback to the first episode when we saw it in Pat's laundry basket. Pat has incorporated Pran's style into his own, reflecting smiles back at him. He wears it in front of his family, a hidden signal of their relationship. This shirt shows that the optimism of before paid off, that they can achieve the open-ended future they are fighting for. That there is hope.

[eastwindmlk]

Prompt 7: Bet (798 words). @prongsfoot-microfic Very quickly turns NSFW, so press at your own risk

It was a simple bet, really. A ‘boys will be boys’ sort of thing. Besides, everyone made questionable bets with their best mates. There was nothing strange about that. Even if the bet might be perceived as such by others. That is what both he and Sirius had agreed on.

Still, sitting across from his best friend with his hand down his pants.

“And we are sure this isn’t weird?” He asked, looking at the mirrored posture. Sirius was slouched back, legs wide and one hand moving down the front of his briefs. “How is this weird? We’re just seeing who can last the longest.” He replied, winking across the abandoned dressing room. A venue they agreed would not be too intimate.

The problem was, there was something exciting about it too. Just the thought of slagging off and having a shag in the dressing rooms had his cock half-hard. Even if this was his best mate.

“How are we going to know the other isn’t cheating?” Sirius asked suddenly, shifting against the wood, trying to her more comfortable. “Like, no dry hands or just pretending.” He added for clarification.

Making a questioning sound somewhere in the back of his throat, James thought it over for a moment. “Right,” he hummed, licking his lips before nodding with determination. “Simple. We’re both going to be naked. Or pantless, at least.”

“I am not going to sit here in just my shirt. Full nude or bust!” The rebottle made him snort. “Interesting wording, Padfoot.” James teased, pushing himself up to pull the shirt over his head. “And what about the dry hands?” There was a prolonged silence as both of them stripped. He was still standing, his boxers unceremoniously hanging from his ankle when the solution came to him. “I’ll spit on your hand, and you’ll on mine. Then we know what the other is working with.

As he said that, his eyes took in Sirius’s body, slowly drinking him in. The moment he turned 18, he started to collect ink. His skin was marked and adorned with new designs whenever he got the chance. It made James want to reach out and trace their lines. But that was not why they were there.

Something James had to remind himself of quite sternly. In part because he did not want to lose this bet. The idea of getting his hands all over Sirius had him strangely worked up. In a way that was not productive at all, not right now. Feeling his cock now fully hard, flopping against his stomach.

There was a beat where he could have considered his next words, but he didn’t. Clearly. Because his next words were: “Maybe to make it fair, we should see who makes the other come first. Since, you know, we know what we like and what we’d want to avoid.” James paused, swallowed and offered a smile. “Seems fair.”

Not expecting Sirius to echo him. “Yeah, seems fair.” A faint blush colouring his cream cheeks. Both osculating for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Mouths opening and closing as they both worked through it.

“Sit down?” Sirius motioned awkwardly to the bench, and James nodded in response, lips pressed together as he moved. Both of them sat there, thighs pressed together, nude and hard. Moving at the same time to spit on their hands before locking eyes. ‘Are we really doing this?’ Was the silent question asked, and both of them decided that it couldn’t hurt.

After all, this was just a bet being conducted fairly. Even as they both swallowed a groan, hands wrapping around the other. Heads leaning against the cool tile behind them.

James was careful at first, making long, even strokes, trying to get a feel for him. Building up to something. Making a note of how long he was, how girthy. Modest compared to him. A good size, though. How his sounds were throaty and keening, hissing as his thumb swept over his head, smooth and curved.

Sirius, on the other hand, was not going to let himself be distracted by feeling him up. He was pumping, fast and almost reckless. Just the way he’d go about it himself, near utilitarian. Making him groan, a guttural sort of sound. Hissing as too soon, he felt the muscles in his stomach starting to tighten in a familiar way.

James tried to keep the same pace, but he couldn’t. A litany of curses started to tumble from his lips. Almost instantly losing their bet when Sirius, the cheat, leaned down, lips pressing to his shoulder and whispered. “If you just lose already, I might let you finish me with your mouth.” The purr of his voice rattled through James and made him explode all over his hand.

[nuokis]

please post a tutorial or walkthrough or even just a longer process video talking about how you draw!! im obsessed with the textures and colors but i cant seem to wrap my head around it!! (i would pay money for a whole mini course tbh if you were interested in uploading one to gumroad or wherever 😵‍💫)

thank you, i'm flattered :') texture and colour are really important to me so i'm always fine-tuning them to find what works. to be honest i feel like i'm not qualified to teach others since i haven't really even settled on a process, i just kind of mess around until i like what i'm looking at. there are certain things i do much of the time but it's definitely not a linear process!

that being said lately i've been experimenting with traditional media and i've found i really enjoy how gouache behaves so i've been trying to replicate the process in digital. i'll try and explain how i've went about it recently using this super boring piece of a random person...

i'm using a basic pencil brush and a default procreate brush called gouache. i picked it for the name when i was looking for something similar to the paints i'd been using but honestly it looks more like a marker to me.

i find trying to do separate inks on top of a sketch distracting so i just erase what i won't need. i'll add a darken layer on top of the sketch and go over it with a single colour as a kind of underpainting. i did the flat colours on a separate darken layer here but generally i'll just work on one layer.

we'll add some colour variation and shading, it looks super subtle here but i'll punch it up later. i think the critical thing with this kind of brush is working with transparent layers so you don't lose the texture and you can play with mixing colours.

i'll often mess with the curve tool a lot but this piece is pretty simple and i ended up only using it once or twice. when i'm happy i'll duplicate the colour layer and see which blending mode i like, testing stuff out at different levels of opacity until i find something cool. i think i went with a transparent overlay layer here.

the lineart is getting buried so i duplicate that layer as well, drag it to the top of the pile and repeat the process of stacking blending modes. something i like to do is add one layer with the lineart blurred to give it a softer look.

i'll fill a new layer with a dark colour, add about 80% noise scaled up a bit and set the layer to saturation. again you can experiment with the blending mode but i've been using this one recently.

this next part might be pointless but i save the image, open the new file and resize it without actually changing the resolution much, then sharpen it to bring back the detail. maybe it's in my head but i feel like this makes the image look a tiny bit more finished and adds some crunch.

finally i duplicate the whole thing, blur the layer on top and set it to luminosity on low opacity to create a soft glow effect.

final touch-ups and you're done!

sorry for the convoluted explanation! my process tends to messy, i get distracted and don't often work in distinct steps but i think i managed to describe some of the things i do the majority of the time. i hope it's even a little helpful :)

[bloody-bee-tea]

24 Days of Satosugu 2023 Day 11 - Direct

Satoru stares up at the tattoo shop in front of him, dread pooling in his gut. He never thought of stepping foot into one of these, never even wasted a moment to think about getting a tattoo and now that he has to he feels vaguely sick.

He wonders if it’s too late to turn back, or if he simply can make a run for it still, but he knows that it’s futile. Shoko will know and then she’ll be merciless for at least another year, and rightfully so.

Satoru lost that bet and the stakes were exactly this: getting a tattoo at a tattoo parlour of his choice.

“Fuck me,” Satoru sighs out, before he straightens up and steps into the shop. It’s kind of homey and not at all what Satoru expected; there are warm colours everywhere, it’s decently warm in the shop and soft music is coming from a speaker somewhere.

It would be a nice place to stay if it didn’t mean that Satoru would have to get some ink into his body.

“Hello there,” a voice calls out to him, and Satoru’s eyes snap to the person behind the counter.

It feels a bit as if the entire air is being sucked out of him, because the guy is hot in a way that makes Satoru believe his image might have been taken directly out of his head.

“Hi,” Satoru breathes out and the guy gives him a kind smile.

“First time?” he asks and there is real sympathy in his voice as if it isn’t strange at all to see a grown-ass man nervous like this.

“Yeah, that easy to tell, huh?” Satoru asks, scratching the back of his head.

“You get an eye for it over the years,” the guy explains with a shrug. “I’m Geto Suguru, what can I help you with today?” he then asks and Satoru warily steps closer to the counter as if a tattoo could jump at him any moment.

“I’m here to get a tattoo,” Satoru says, trying to put some conviction in his voice but he knows he failed when Suguru raises an eyebrow at him.

“Are you now? Could have fooled me,” he laughs out and Satoru is mesmerized by him.

“Rude,” he still gets out somehow and feels strangely accomplished when it makes Suguru laugh again.

Satoru thinks that might be a sound he could get addicted to.

“Are you certain you want to get a tattoo? We also offer piercings, if that’s more to your liking,” Suguru offers after a moment and Satoru wishes he could get a piercing instead, but the bet was specifically about getting a tattoo.

“I am,” Satoru lies straight through his teeth and Suguru levels him with a look.

“Sure,” he replies, clearly not believing a word Satoru said but he does lean on the counter, looking expectantly at Satoru. “What kind of motive were you thinking, then?” he wants to know and it brings Satoru up short.

He didn’t think about a motive. He didn’t even think of a place where he could stomach getting a tattoo yet and it must show on his face because Suguru snorts.

“I see you came perfectly prepared.” He walks around the counter and shows Satoru a little seating area. “We have portfolios of our artists here. Why don’t you browse through them and see if anything catches your eye. If that happens, we can talk it over. Alternatively, we can brainstorm and I can draw something for you.”

“You’re a tattoo artist?” Satoru blurts out and briefly looks Suguru over.

There are no visible tattoos on him, and it’s kind of throwing Satoru off if he’s being honest.

“I am. Not everything has to be visible,” Suguru tells him with a wink and Satoru has to fight the urge to ask him to undress.

“Huh,” he instead somehow gets out and allows Suguru to push him down on the couch, dropping a folder into his hand.

“Go through these. I’m right here so if you have questions, feel free to ask, alright?”

“Thanks,” Satoru mutters, staring at the folder in his hands as if it’s going to bite him and then he turns because he’d rather watch Suguru walk away.

It’s a sight to behold, that’s for sure and it’s only when he vanishes deeper into the shop that Satoru turns his attention back to the folder.

He flips through it, before he takes the next one and then the next and while there are some nice and even beautiful artworks in there, nothing speaks to him.

Satoru thinks he is perfectly able to appreciate all of them on someone else’s body but he simply cannot imagine any of them on his own.

“So, how is it going?” Suguru asks eventually, having returned from whatever it is he was doing in the back and Satoru leans back with a sigh. “I see,” Suguru chuckles out and sits down next to Satoru. “A more personal approach might be it, then.”

Satoru isn’t sure where he got the sheets of paper and the pencil from but they are in Suguru’s lap now and he’s looking expectantly at Satoru.

“What kind of motive would you like?”

None, Satoru wants to say but he can already hear Shoko laughing at him, and he’s not going to give her that satisfaction.

“A butterfly?” Satoru blurts out, because it’s the first thing on his mind after seeing approximately twenty in the folders and Suguru freezes momentarily before he presses his lips together as if he’s trying to suppress a smile.

“Sure,” he easily agrees and then Satoru has the agonising pleasure of Suguru swiftly sketching him something.

Satoru is never going to admit it but he’s completely mesmerized by Suguru’s hand, by the swift and sure moves it makes and he certainly doesn’t do a double take when he spots a hint of dark ink at the base of Suguru’s hand.

“Like this?” Suguru asks after not even five minutes and shows Satoru a beautiful, delicate butterfly.

“It’s gorgeous,” Satoru says, because it is but still. It’s not something he wants on his body.

“But you’re not convinced,” Suguru easily reads off his face and Satoru shrugs.

“I’m just—not decided yet.”

“How about this then,” Suguru says and hides the butterfly away again.

Satoru hopes that it will eventually see the light of day again, even if it’s on someone else’s body, because it’s simply too pretty to hide away.

“You think about it some more and when you have a more concrete idea, you come back. I’m here most days, so we can figure out what you truly want. How does that sound?”

It sounds a bit as if Suguru is asking him out for a date, Satoru thinks before he vehemently pushes that thought away. Suguru is at work and he’s just being professional. It’s completely inappropriate for Satoru to think something like that.

“Sounds good,” he weakly says and certainly doesn’t mourn when Suguru gets up and walks away from him again.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you again, then,” Suguru tells him with a small smile and it occurs to him that Satoru never even told him his name.

“Satoru. Gojo Satoru,” he introduces himself belatedly, and Suguru’s smile grows bigger.

“Until the next time then, Satoru.”

~*~*~

Satoru is back in the tattoo shop three days later. He still doesn’t want a tattoo and he barely has an idea what he possibly could accept on his skin, but he wants to see Suguru again. He wants to hear him talk again and he wants to see him work again.

“Satoru, you’re back,” Suguru greets him when he steps into the shop and it makes Satoru freeze in surprise.

“Suguru, hi,” he finally gives back, his mind whirring because Suguru remembered his name.

“Are your thoughts any clearer now? Do you have an idea you want to discuss?”

“Yeah, actually,” Satoru lies straight through his teeth and waves a sheet of paper at Suguru.

He did come somewhat prepared after all.

“Oh,” Suguru says, clearly surprised himself and he comes around to take the paper out of Satoru’s hand.

“I’d like something like this, maybe. But—I’d like you to draw it,” Satoru says, because he can’t get Suguru’s butterfly out of his head.

It was just a sketch, done in no time at all, but something about it was so beautiful, so fragile—Satoru simply wants to see Suguru draw something again.

“I see,” Suguru says, folding the paper back up again before he hands it back to Satoru. “Take a seat, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Satoru does and true to his word Suguru is there before Satoru can do something stupid, like miss him.

“Didn’t take you for a flower guy,” Suguru idly mutters as his pencil flies over the paper and Satoru doesn’t actually know what to say to that so he simply shrugs.

Suguru gives him a smile in return, which feels like more than Satoru deserves, because he has no intention of getting that flower tattooed. At this point, he’s simply hogging Suguru’s attention and keeping him from his work.

“Listen, I can see that you’re still kind of uncertain about this,” Suguru says, still drawing and not meeting Satoru’s eyes. “I have a long-time client come in soon, I think he’d be fine if you’d want to watch him get a new tattoo? If that would help?”

“I—” Satoru cuts himself off. He has no intention of getting a tattoo, ever; it would just be a waste of time for him to stay and it will probably only be a disappointment for Suguru. “Sure,” he finds himself saying anyway and his stomach lurches a little when Suguru gives him a smile at that.

“I’ll ask Sukuna when he comes in, which should be right about—”

The door opens and a heavily tattooed guy comes in. He looks scary as hell, if Satoru is being honest, but then he gives Suguru a big grin and suddenly he’s not so scary at all anymore.

“Geto!” he calls out and Suguru waves at him.

“Sukuna, hey,” he gives back, getting up. “Listen, this is Satoru. He’s still a little nervous about his first tattoo, and I thought it might be a good idea if he could watch today? Maybe that’ll settle his nerves.”

“Sure thing,” Sukuna gives back with a thumbs up. “First times are scary.”

He says it without judgment just like Suguru is acting as if there’s nothing wrong with Satoru being hesitant, and nervous and undecisive. Satoru would have never thought these people to be so welcoming if he’s being honest and he is a little bit appalled at his own prejudice.

“Thanks, man,” he replies and then he’s being swept away by Suguru and Sukuna.

He stays the entire appointment, if only to have Suguru explain everything in that soothing voice he has, but when he stumbles out of the shop three hours later, Satoru knows one thing for certain.

He’s never going to get a tattoo.

~*~*~

Satoru is back not even two days later and Suguru laughs right in his face.

“Very rude,” Satoru huffs out, already turning on his heel to walk back out again, but Suguru quickly comes around the corner and catches the sleeve of Satoru’s sweater.

“No, Satoru, stay, it’s just—you looked like hell last time you walked out of here, I didn’t expect to see you again.”

It hadn’t been the most pleasant experience, watching Sukuna get that tattoo but Satoru is ashamed to hear that Suguru noticed.

“Yeah, well—” Satoru says and then doesn’t actually know how to finish the sentence.

“What are you here for?” Suguru wants to know, a sparkle in his eyes and Satoru shrugs, looking to the side.

“I thought maybe we could brainstorm some more,” he weakly says, knowing that no matter what gorgeous design Suguru comes up for him, it will never see the light of day, and Suguru seems to know the same, because he shakes his head.

“Listen, Satoru. It’s painfully obvious that you’re not a tattoo guy. You don’t want one. I can only guess as to why you stepped foot in here for the first time, but it certainly wasn’t to get a tattoo.”

Satoru deflates, even though there’s no judgement in Suguru’s voice.

“It’s a dare. I have to get a tattoo,” Satoru admits and Suguru shakes his head.

“Never let something like a dare decide this. That’s just stupid.”

“Don’t I know it,” Satoru sighs out and Suguru belatedly lets go of him. “Shoko will laugh at me for the rest of my life, though.”

“And your poor ego couldn’t take it,” Suguru says in sympathy and then laughs when Satoru pouts at him. “Okay, hear me out, and I might be overstepping here,” Suguru then says and Satoru is all ears immediately. “You’re not a tattoo guy and yet you keep coming back which makes me wonder, not gonna lie,” Suguru tells him.

Satoru prays to all the gods he knows that he doesn’t flush as brightly as he feels right now, but when Suguru smirks at him he knows it’s a lost cause.

“Why don’t you take the direct approach to whatever it is you want?”

“Because this is your workplace and it would be kind of inappropriate to ask you out here?” Satoru blurts out and then fights the urge so slap a hand over his mouth.

“I own this shop. If I find it inappropriate I’ll ban you, easy as that. So why don’t you try it out?”

There’s not much Satoru has to try out, not with the way Suguru looks at him, he’s certain of that and so Satoru takes a deep breath.

“Hi, I’m Satoru. Would you like to go for a coffee with me?” he asks, almost feeling not at all stupid and something warm blooms in his chest when Suguru smiles brightly at him.

“Hi, I’m Suguru, and it would be my pleasure. I leave in an hour.”

Satoru matches his smile and thinks that if everything could be as easy as this, then he might even get a tattoo one day.

Not today, though, because today he has a date with the cutest tattoo artist he knows.

(Satoru does eventually get a tattoo. Suguru asks him to trust him and so Satoru does; he walks out with a little infinity symbol on his hipbone, the initials S and G tattooed in the loops. Suguru never tells him if those are supposed to stand for Satoru’s name or Suguru’s own and Satoru thinks, in the end, it doesn’t matter. It will always be them, together, anyway.)

[briarsartblog]

So I think I am going to call this one done for now. I could probably work more on the background and in particular the sky and the grass could both use work I think but I am pretty happy with how the tree and the hut turned out, The stars didn't really get where I wanted them to but on the plus side the background hides that smudge by the hat that was annoying me for a while. Also I didn't end up using more acrylic for the hair. Dark gray water colour seems to have softened the hair enough that it works for me, I did leave the bit under the hat india ink black though in lieu of shading.

Not perfect but overall a good learning experience and it went wonderfully considering I was just trying stuff out on the fly quite a bit. So yes I will call it finished for now

I will take a little break to work on some side stuff before doing more fanart though, I want to try out gouache painting and some coloured inks before I start the next one. I think in particular some blue ink might come in handy for the magical effects. Can't wait to get started!

[formulaes5]

love notes in the kitchen (say it all)

To my lovely thief, please stop eating my secret chocolate. Don’t even try to deny it, I know it’s you sweetheart. - xo Mark Five notes that Mark leaves for Sebastian, and one that Sebastian leaves for Mark.

☆ 3.2k, T, ao3 ☆

1.

Seb woke slowly to the cold morning. He reached out in front of him instinctively, in search of Mark and the heat that his body usually provided, grumbling when he came up empty handed. He cracked open an eye, incredibly disappointed to find a disturbing lack of Mark in their bed. He rolled over to face the other side of the room on the off chance that he might find Mark over there. No such luck. As far as Seb was concerned, It was far too early in the morning for him to be leading a Markless existence. This wouldn’t do at all. 

He rolled back over, just snuggling back into the duvet when he caught sight of a bright splash of colour on his bedside table. He reached out from the warmth of his duvet cocoon and grabbed the blue post-it note, wondering where it had come from.

Morning Sweetheart, Went for an early run while the weather’s still good. Please don’t be mad. Look, there’s coffee! - xo Mark 

Well that wasn’t playing fair at all, Sebastian thought grumpily as he sipped at his coffee. He had sat up fully intending to sulk at being abandoned to the tender mercies of the cold morning, but Mark had managed to throw that completely out of sorts by being so effortlessly lovely. How was Seb meant to be mad at his boyfriend when he had left him a good morning note and a coffee in his favourite mug on his bedside table? Maybe he could take points off for the coffee being slightly lukewarm, that would show him.

Seb picked up the note again. Black ink scrawled lovingly over blue paper. He traced his finger over the sloping lines of Mark’s handwriting, stopping at xo Mark to move his fingers over the letters with extra care, feeling far more soppy than anyone should be at seven in the morning. How was Seb even meant to try and be mad at Mark when he left hugs and kisses on a fucking post-it note for him. How was he meant to play out the charade of grumpiness at his lovely, thoughtful boyfriend who knew which mug was his favourite and left him messages on sticky notes that he bought specifically in Seb’s favourite colour? Seb felt warm in his chest and he knew it had nothing to do with the way he had the duvet wrapped around him to shield himself from the biting cold.

Once it hit ten o’clock then Seb would accept that it was probably time to get up and go for a run – inside, on the treadmill, like any sane person would do in the freezing cold – but until then, maybe he could harass Mark into climbing back into bed with him for a bit when he got back. Then they could take a shower together and cuddle up on the couch to watch a documentary under one of the many blankets that could be found at Mark’s house, which was really Seb’s house as well in all but name. 

Seb settled back in to wait for his boyfriend, deciding maybe he could forgive him just this once. The coffee wasn’t even that cold anyway. 

2. 

Seb cast a furtive glance back in the direction of the living room where he had left Mark laid out on the couch with the dogs, quiet on his feet as he crept into the kitchen. He was a man on a mission, and he was determined to succeed. 

He reached the pantry, managing to avoid raising the alarm by neatly sidestepping the squeaky floorboard where the wood met the tiles of the kitchen. He looked around for a minute, trying to find the red tin that had once been filled with biscuits, but now held something far more enticing. A prize worthy of the search.

Aha! Seb thought victoriously, spotting it tucked out of the way behind the rice and next to the vegemite. A rookie error on Mark’s part, clearly. He went to all the effort of hiding the damn thing, only to “hide it” directly next to his preferred toast spread. A lucky day for Seb. Last time he had spent an entire five minutes searching for it before he spotted it under the olive oil, which had been a much better hiding spot, or at least much better than this pathetic attempt. It was like he wasn’t even trying anymore. 

He cracked open the tin, only to come face to face with another one of Mark’s special blue post-its stuck to the inside of the lid of the tin – the ones that he used exclusively to communicate with Seb – damn it, he’d been rumbled. Caught in the act. How Embarrassing. 

To my lovely thief, please stop eating my secret chocolate. Don’t even try to deny it, I know it’s you sweetheart. - xo Mark

Seb snorted loudly, breaking off a piece of chocolate in defiance of Mark’s not at all threatening note. He whirled around at the sound of a throat clearing; Mark stood leaning against the counter, arms crossed, with what was clearly an attempt at a stern look plastered across his face. The effectiveness of the look was reduced somewhat by the spark of mischief in his eyes, and the smile threatening to break though his attempted scowl. 

“Caught you,” Mark sing-songed smugly, “I knew it was you, little thief.”

Seb shoved the tin behind his back in a rush. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about liebling,” he said sweetly, batting his eyelashes innocently at Mark, who wasn’t even fooled for a hundredth of a second, but was no doubt amused by his antics.

“Sure you don’t Sebi, sure you don’t.”

“I am the pinnacle of innocence, I will have you know. I have never done anything wrong in my entire life, and that includes The Incident.”

He doesn’t say Multi 2-1, but they both know it’s what he means. Once upon a time a statement like that would have made Mark seethe with rage, but now it just makes him laugh and pounce at Seb, grabbing him in a bear hug and lifting him off the ground with a playful growl.

“Ah! Mark!” Seb shrieks, “Mark! No, put me down! I’m innocent!”

He shakes Seb around playfully, ignoring the clang of the tin as it hits the ground and peppering his face with kisses, “Stop.” kiss “Eating.” kiss “My.” kiss “Chocolate.” kiss. 

Seb is giggling like a maniac, pretending to try and escape from Mark’s embrace as his feet finally touch back down to earth. 

“Nope,” Mark crowed gleefully, arms still wrapped tightly around Seb’s waist, “I’ve kidnapped you as punishment for your crimes.”

He tilted his head, “My crimes?”

“Yep, grand theft cacao, that is,” Mark said sagely, “you know what the fine is for that, right Sebi?”

“... What?”

“One kiss, then I s’pose I can let you out on parole.”

“That’s a pretty steep charge Mark, but I think I can probably afford it.” Seb wrapped his arms back around Mark, one hand reaching up to cup the back of Mark’s head and pulling him down to meet in the middle in a soft kiss, sweet and slow. 

Mark leaned into the kiss with a hum of appreciation, carding his fingers through Seb’s hair as he dipped his tongue into his mouth. His lips were soft and they tasted like stolen chocolate, and Mark found that he didn’t really mind at all.

3. 

Seb was having a quiet day at home. Mark had left in the morning to spend the day at the Porsche factory in Stuttgart, saying goodbye to a rather adorably drowsy Seb with a kiss on the forehead and an “I’ll see you tonight then sweetheart.” before shouldering his day pack and leaving the house for the airport, leaving Sebastian and the dogs to their own devices.

There wasn’t really anything interesting on the TV, just more early morning reruns of D-list sitcoms and morning talk shows that nobody really paid attention to anyway. Seb certainly wasn’t paying them any attention as he scrolled idly through his phone, looking over a recent text from Lewis about grabbing lunch with him and a cute picture of Roscoe wearing a hat. He looked over from where he was sat on the couch to the two dogs sat on their beds, raising his phone to snap a picture for Lewis, “No hats for Shadow and Simba :(”, he replied.

Seb checked his watch, realising with a start, that since Mark had left early that they probably hadn’t had breakfast yet, poor things.

He called them over and reached out to stroke their heads apologetically as they arrived, tails wagging, “Oh I’m very sorry boys, let's get you fed.”

Seb got up from the couch and walked over to the bin where they stored the dog food, encouraged by the big baleful eyes being shot at him by the two dogs. He stopped short of actually taking the lid off the bin when he saw the sticky note.

Sweetheart, do not let them trick you. I have fed the dogs. - xo Mark

“Nice try boys,” Seb said with a snort, “maybe next time.”

4. 

Seb slumped down in his driver's room at the track. Mark was never going to be able to attend the race in support of Seb, considering that the WEC season opener was on the same day as the formula one Chinese grand prix, leaving Seb to go on without him. It was only his third race wearing red yet, and even coming fresh off his win in Malaysia, Seb couldn’t deny that having Mark there with him would have been a great help. He wasn’t really upset with him, that would be ridiculous. He was just upset with the circumstances that had left him alone. He couldn’t be mad at Mark, not for doing his job; they were both adults with their own jobs, no matter how unconventional their jobs happened to be, and sometimes these things just happened. Right now he was just taking advantage of the relative privacy of his driver's room to have a good old fashioned sulk, mindful of Kimi on the other side of the thin wall separating their rooms. He could just sulk quietly.

He reached into his backpack with a dejected sigh, pulling his water bottle free and taking a drink in what he hoped was a generally pissy manner, not that anybody was around to see, but it made him feel better, and that was what counted.

Seb ran over the itinerary that the ever-helpful Britta had left for him on the table, really just the standard stuff. Media, media, something about actually driving the car, and then, shock of shocks, more media.

He reached into his bag, rummaging through his stuff in search of his phone. He pulled out Mark’s Porsche hoodie – happily lent to him by his boyfriend after the very minimum of eyelash batting. Mark was really just so easy in that regard, Seb thought happily – and put it on, reaching into the pocket to find his phone to send a text to Britta regarding scheduling. 

There was something else in his pocket, he realised belatedly. He pulled his hand from the pocket, coming back with… A little blue paper heart? He didn’t remember leaving that there, maybe it was Marks? Hang on, he knew that blue! He unfolded the heart carefully, mindful not to tear what he was relatively sure was a note from Mark.

The note unfolded to reveal Mark’s trademark slanting scrawl.

Sebi, sorry I can’t be there to tell you this in person, but good luck out there this weekend sweetheart. Knock it out of the park for me. All my love. - xo Mark 

Seb felt himself choke up a bit, the clear affection in the note compounding on Seb’s lack of sleep and his already emotional state to make him even more emotional. Mark was so effortlessly sweet, and it was just so unfair that he was all the way back home in England getting ready for the six hours of Silverstone and not here in China holding Seb in his arms, he thought to himself as he took a deep calming breath. 

Stupid, thoughtful, lovely Mark and his stupid handsome face and little handwritten notes that still made Seb’s heart beat out of his chest like a schoolboy with a crush. Seb was going to kiss his face off when he got home, he decided resolutely. That’d show him. For now he had a race to focus on.

5. 

Mark woke with his alarm, shooting a hand out to his nightstand to silence it immediately, not really thinking that it would actually wake Seb – who could sleep through just about anything – but thinking it was better to be safe than sorry. Seb was snuggled up against him in an old, oversized Red Bull hoodie that theoretically belonged to Mark. He had his cheek pressed into Mark’s bare chest and an arm flung loosely over his waist, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. Mark resisted the urge to tuck a strand of hair behind Seb’s ear. He gently eased his way out from under Sebastian’s head, replacing his chest with his own pillow, trying his best not to wake him as he moved Seb’s head.

He went through the motions of getting ready, getting dressed and brushing his teeth before finally sitting down at the kitchen counter for a relaxed breakfast. He casually checked his phone, and nearly choked on his toast upon seeing an email from the airline he was flying with, informing him that his flight had been pushed forward by an hour. Mark cursed, mentally calculating that he would need to leave in about five minutes if he wanted to make his flight on time. So much for a relaxed breakfast. He started shoving toast into his mouth in an entirely undignified manner that would have had his mother slapping him upside the head if he tried it at her dining table. 

He had been meant to wake Seb to say goodbye in around half an hour, but now knew that his plans would have to change dramatically. He dropped his plate into the dishwasher and did a quick double check of the contents of his bag before sprinting up the stairs and into his office, rummaging through his drawer until he found his special blue sticky notes and a pen. Walking at a more sedate pace into the bedroom, he stopped and thought for a moment as he leaned over the nightstand, uncapping his pen and watching the gentle rise and fall of Seb’s back. He took in the slight part between Seb’s pink lips and the fluttering of his eyelashes as he cuddled into Decoy Pillow Mark. He knew just what to write.

Hey there Sleeping Beauty, my flight got moved up an hour. I know I promised to wake you before I left, but you looked so gorgeous curled up in my hoodie I just couldn’t. I’ll call you when I get into the hotel. Sleep well. - xo Mark

Seb would probably be a bit salty when he woke to find Mark gone without even so much as a goodbye kiss, but sometimes he was just too cute for his own good.

+1

It had been a big couple of weeks, Seb’s retirement finally having sunk in for the both of them. No more races for Seb, a minimum of public appearances, just Seb and Mark and their quiet little life in the English countryside, less than an hour down the road from Silverstone. Of course Mark would still make semi-regular appearances at races in his capacity as a pundit, but now it would be Seb accompanying him to races rather than the other way around, which felt a little surreal to Mark.

They were both home for the day, with no plans to do anything in particular. Seb was off somewhere in the garden, trying to encourage his tomatoes to grow, and Mark was wandering into the kitchen in search of a snack. He opened the pantry door and tried to make a decision. His eyes wandered over some oat bars and nuts, as well as assorted other relatively healthy snacks, before turning around and deciding to grab an apple from the bowl on the counter.

There was a tin on the counter that wasn’t normally there. His secret red tin that was about as secret as the Sun, which is to say not at all. He picked up the tin suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at the weight, or lack thereof. He never even had more than two squares a week, so there was no good reason for the tin to be empty, other than Seb striking again.

There was something small in the tin, clunking against the sides – probably another one of Seb’s IOU’s, he thought to himself bemusedly – whatever it was, he was still mentally preparing himself to come face to face with the disappointing reality of a tin devoid of his favourite chocolate. This time Seb was really going to get it. 

He opened the tin, seeing no chocolate, only a square of blue paper folded neatly around whatever had made the noise. He grabbed the paper, recognising it as one of his own sticky notes that he used to leave Seb notes. It had a little bit of a weight to it, whatever it was.

Mark moved to unfold the note, prepared for a token or maybe even a small pebble that Seb had picked up on a walk and liked the look of. What he wasn’t expecting was a thin gold ring, which immediately bounced out of his hand and fell to the ground with what felt to Mark like a deafening series of chimes against the tiles of the kitchen floor.

He finished unfolding the note with shaky hands.

Hi Mark, I’m sorry for eating your not really that secret chocolate again, but you really need to find a better hiding spot for it. Marry me? - xoxoxoxo your Sebi

Mark bent down to pick up the ring. What the fuck?, he thought, what the actual entire fuck? He turned the ring over in his hands, noting a small engraving on the inside of the ring: Love You Forever. Mark might actually be going into shock. No fucking way had Sebastian just proposed to him through the romantic medium of eating all his goddamn chocolate (again) and leaving an engagement ring as an IOU.

Where the hell was Seb?

Seb, as it turned out, was stood nervously in the doorway, and was entirely unprepared for Mark to walk quickly towards him and lift him by the waist onto the kitchen counter, letting out a surprised little squeak as Mark muscled his way between Seb’s legs, cupping his cheek and kissing him passionately as he tangled a hand in his hair, still holding onto the ring. His ring. His engagement ring. His engagement ring from Seb. Seb who wanted to marry him.

They had discussed marriage briefly in the past, both agreeing that they would like to get married at some point, but not putting any kind of timeline in place. It seemed that Seb had decided that his retirement would be as good a time as any.

Mark parted from him with a gasp, not quite believing what was happening, “Yes, you bloody idiot, I’ll marry you. But only if you replace my goddamn chocolate.”

Seb just laughed. He laughed a bright and clear laugh, interrupted only when Mark leaned in and kissed him again. Just for good measure.

[nagito-kissmaeda]

if it isn't real, why does the sun still burn?

CHAPTER ONE: Rise and Shine CHAPTER TWO: i guess its all up to me now CHAPTER THREE: Predictably, everything gets worse CHAPTER FOUR: good morning CHAPTER FIVE: Something to eat CHAPTER SIX: a start CHAPTER SEVEN: the party don’t start ‘til CHAPTER EIGHT: your full hospitality CHAPTER NINE: visitation rights CHAPTER TEN: gamer girl moments CHAPTER ELEVEN: prank patrol

Summary : Like most people visiting this tag. You have always dreamed of meeting Nagito Komaeda for real, what you would do, what you would say? Things don’t go as planned.

AKA: Reader from our universe ends up in danganronpa and is just trying her best to keep everyone alive. and maybe to make komaeda kiss her.

Contains: she/her pronouns, negative body image ment, cringe national treasure jokes

Read on Ao3

After Komaeda leaves, it suddenly becomes incredibly clear just how uncomfortable it is to sit in the gravel. Your sundress is long enough that you are saved from a potential ‘rocks in the panties’ situation, but it’s still digging into your thighs pretty badly.

You sigh, appreciative of the cool metal of the arcade machine at your back in the otherwise very sweaty weather. It’s weird being alone out here, you’ve been stuck inside Komaeda’s cottage for what feels like an age and you are instinctively nervous about what is to come next.

“Wait.” You whisper, quickly fishing the strange envelope out from the pocket of your dress, “What even is this?”

Only the manilla envelope containing the motive photos was present in the game, or at the very least, that was the only piece of evidence found in the game. It’s highly possible that Kuzuryu found something else that never came to light during the trial. Either way, the unknown is scary and you hate that.

The quickest way to make the unknown less scary is to make it known instead. So you quickly tear open the envelope.

“Huh.” You whisper, squinting at the notecard inside. Whatever is printed on it is completely illegible, a smattering of bright red and blue ink in the shape of what might be words. The longer you look at it the more it makes your eyes hurt.

“It’s colour code.”

You yelp aloud when someone else speaks, thwacking your head backwards into the arcade machine with a clang that rattles right through to your teeth. The notecard falls from your hands as you instinctively clutch at the back of your head, “fuuuuuuck……oww…..”

The other person drops to a crouch beside you and rests a warm hand on your shoulder, “You should be more careful.” they chide.

You dismiss them with a wave of your hand, “M’fine, it just-” You blink up at him. Him being Togami, “Oh. It’s uh…it’s you .”

His brows pull together, “Were you expecting someone else?” Yes. You had been expecting Kuzuryu. Though thinking on it, it does make sense that (with him not, ya know dead ) Togami would be the first person to come and investigate the motive. Especially knowing how quickly he arranged that party after getting the anonymous letter from Komaeda. If you weren’t so blockheaded you probably would have foreseen this outcome a lot sooner.

You swallow, “Um, no. Not really.” Togami raises an eyebrow, “You weren’t expecting Komaeda-san ?” he asks, probably noticing how instantly red that accusation makes you, “I noticed that the two of you were the only ones who didn’t show up to the urgent meeting I called.”  

Damn. He’s so organised. You are not organised.

“I was um, already here?”

Togami rests his forearms on his knees. He’s surprisingly dexterous, you wouldn't be able to hold a squat for that long without falling over, “After all the effort the others went through to prove your innocence, it would be very inconvenient for you to do something suspicious now.” he gives you a long stare, “So please, a sensible excuse would be appreciated.”

The real Togami wouldn’t say please , but he still manages to make it sound like a threat, “Yes, sorry.” You start, hands fidgeting in your lap, “I came here to check on the motive, same as you. I thought maybe if I got here first I could make sure it wasn’t dangerous.” “And Komaeda-san?” Even the mention of him makes you turn pink again, “Y-yes, he followed me, but he’s gone now.” You gulp a breath and try to meet Togami’s eyes, “I was just trying to help, Togami-san. Please believe me. I can tell that you aren’t the sort of person I want to make an enemy of, and I just want to make sure no one gets hurt.”

Togami stares at you appraisingly for a moment, and you feel your heart kick into high gear. After what feels like an age, he sighs and hangs his head, “I suppose there is little reason for me not to believe you, especially after so many of my classmates came to your defence.” he looks back up at you, he seems tired, “I will be keeping an eye on you, as I will with everyone else, but I’ll trust you for now .”

You nod desperately, “Yes, th-thank you. You won’t regret it.”

Togami joins you on the ground, sitting crosslegged in the gravel, it doesn’t seem to bother him, “So. This machine that you hit your head on is key to the motive, I take it?” You wince at the reminder of your recent injury, but manage a nod anyway, “Yes. The game it uh, well in short it recounts events that occurred during everyone’s missing high school years. The events aren’t pleasant.”

Togami nods and rests his chin on his palm, “That is troubling. I won’t ask who it involves, the safest thing would be for as few of us to view the motive as possible.” He glances at you from the corner of his eye, “The notecard you were holding when I arrived. Is that part of it?” “Oh, maybe? I’m not sure, I can’t actually read it. There was something else too, but I gave it to Komaeda-san already.” You shrug, “With his whole deal no one is going to find it unless he wants them to.”

“So the two of you are working together? That explains why Komaeda-san defended you so staunchly this morning.” “O-Oh?” You ask, trying to sound coy and not at all desperate for more information, “What um…kind of…things…did he say?”

Togami eyes you suspiciously, “He spoke to your tenacity for the most part, that and his unwavering trust in you.” Unwavering. Unwavering unwavering . The word circles around and around in your head until it becomes the only sound you can hear. You know that Komaeda was likely just posturing, but even still the warmth of the word settles low in your chest and you have to bite hard on your lip to stop yourself from smiling too widely, “That’s uh…that’s good.” “More importantly. That note of yours.” Togami says, pointing to where it is nestled in amongst the gravel, “It’s colour code. You need to view it through a coloured lens.” You pick the card up again, eyes widening, “Oh! Like in National Treasure!” Togami stares at you. “You know like, when he has the glasses that change lens colour and he-” You wither under Togami’s continued stare, losing confidence instantly, “Nevermind. It’s a dumb movie.”

Togami scoffs and pulls himself from the ground, dusting any dirt from the back of his slacks with his hands, “As defacto leader, I’ve been focussing on figuring out who is behind this whole ‘killing game’ as Monokuma has been calling it.” He looks down at you, “For now I don’t believe you had anything to do with it, and since delegation is a key part of good leadership-” he gestures to the card in your hands, “-I’ll leave solving that up to you.” “Yes of course! Thank you!”

“I’ll also guard this machine for the time being, to make sure no one else uses it.” He holds his hand out to you, “And you should go back to your cottage.” You gingerly take his hand and are surprised at how easily he pulls you up from the ground. Once you are standing you duck your head in a bow, “Thank you for trusting me, Togami-san.”

He chuckles quietly, “Don’t thank me. Though maybe when we get out of this you can show me that National Treasure movie of yours.” You say, “Maybe I will.” even though you know full well that you will not be getting out of this. ***

You don’t take Togami’s advice, making a beeline for the supermarket instead of going straight back to your cottage. Much like with everything, you hadn’t really thought about what effects Togami still being alive would have on the narrative.

Narrative? Is it weird to call life a narrative?

You dismiss the existentialism with a shake of your head and keep walking, you’ve become quite good at ignoring it.

Either way, Togami being alive is a net good for multiple reasons. Mostly because he’s a swell guy and you hated seeing him go so soon in the game, but also because he is smart and good at keeping a handle on things. You had just been planning to sit in the dirt in front of the arcade machine all day, and hope that Kuzuryu didn’t try to throw hands with you when you had to stop him from playing the game.

This is just like the situation with the party all over again, and that time you managed to get yourself framed for attempted murder. You need to be more thoughtful about all this, which is hard because you aren’t smart, but in the meantime, knowing that Togami is still around takes a weight off your shoulders.

For now, you need to figure out what the mystery note says. Lacking a set of the cool glasses from the hit film National Treasure, you are going to need another way to replicate the same effect. You had for a moment considered that the movie theatre might have a supply of 3D glasses, but the second island still isn't open so that's a moot point. So the supermarket was going to be your best bet.

Your legs are already aching from that serious sprinting you did earlier in the day, so it’s hard to keep up the brisk pace, but days are only so long and the last thing you want to do is waste any time. So you are almost out of breath when you finally half stumble through the sliding doors of the supermarket.

The cool air is utter bliss after the hours you have already spent in the hot island sun, and it’s hard to resist the urge to lay face-first on the cold tiles, but somehow you manage. As in the game, the Rocketpunch Market is full of every terrible diet choice that a person between the ages of 15 - 21 is liable to make and as tempted as you are by a packet of chips nearly the size of your torso, you force yourself to be a little more productive than that.

As you browse, you stop for a moment in front of the display that holds all of the tactical gear, chewing nervously on your lower lip when you notice that the knife Komaeda took several days ago has been quietly restocked. While it makes sense for Monokuma to want the stock of knives to never run dry, the fact that someone could take one and then it would be immediately replaced is not good. There could be so many loose knives about and there’s no real way of knowing.

Before you can get even more stressed, you finally manage to spot something potentially useful on a shelf closer to the back of the supermarket. Abandoning the knife selection, you break into a grin at a small supply of powdered drink mixes. They come in a variety of tooth-rotting flavours, but you are particularly interested in blueberry and raspberry. As you grab one of each, you also pick up two clear water bottles from another nearby shelf and pack them into a plastic shopping bag.

Feeling newly invigorated, you get ready to head back into the heat, when you are suddenly frozen in place at the sound of the doors sliding open behind you.

“Yo!”

Turning on your heel, you are met with Owari’s very wide grin, “Oh. Hi.” She comes walking over to you before crossing one leg over the other and leaning one shoulder against the shelving unit. You can hear a few chocolate bars go clattering to the ground on the other side from the impact. Owari doesn’t seem to notice, “You looking for a new swimsuit too, or what?” Your brain fails to process the question, “Huh?”

Owari grabs a random packet of chips from the shelf and starts munching, “Did the shrimp not invite you? He said he did.” Your brain finally catches up, “Oh! Souda-san! The beach! Yes, sorry, I totally forgot.” Owari shrugs, “Nah I’m not mad, don’t apologise.” she shoves another handful of chips into her mouth, “Anyways, if you forgot, I guess you’re not here for a swimsuit, huh?”

“Um, no. I was just uh, grabbing some drinks.” You raise your bag up to show her.

“Tha’s cool.” She tilts her head back and pours the last crumbs of chips into her mouth, “Since you’re here though, wanna look together?”

The last thing you could ever want to do is go swimsuit shopping, even in normal circumstances, “Oh, um, I dunno, maybe I should just-”

Owari wraps a huge arm around your shoulders and tugs you up against her side, “C’mon! It’ll be fun, we’re going to look fucking hot, dude!”

Before you have a chance to squirm out of her grip, Owari drags you over to the small clothing section on the far left side of the market, “Are-Are you sure you want to do this with me? I’m sure that any of the other girls would look a lot nicer in a bikini than-” Owari mercifully releases you, standing with her hands on her hips in front of the women's swimsuit display, “S’that what this is about? Did someone say somethin’ mean about you?” she punches a fist into her open palm, “Who was it? I’ll fuckin’ deck ‘em” “Huh? Oh no! God no!” You flounder, gesturing far too wildly with your hands, “I just have self-esteem issues, no one said anything, everyone is nice, please don’t deck anyone!” “Hm.” Owari says, her shoulders softening, “Well, then I guess you gotta be nicer to yourself, but it isn't any of my business unless you want it to be. So I’ll leave it at that.” “Oh, uh, thanks?”

Her smile returns in full force, “Your welcome!” she jabs a thumb in the direction of the swimsuits, “You happy to jus’ hang out while I pick out a swimsuit, then? We can chat.” You should go, but Owari’s enthusiasm is infectious. You give her a half smile, “I mean, maybe I can…pick out something too. Anything will be more flattering than those uniform swimsuits Monomi gave everyone.”

“Right on!” Owari exclaims, quickly moving to the racks to start rifling through the options, “You do gotta get out more, you know?”

You join her, trying your best to find anything in your size, “Um, I guess so. Though I’ve kinda been on house arrest, so it’s not completely my fault.” “Oh yeah, I totally forgot about that whole thing. I told four-eyes that you seem cool though.” She grabs a bright red one-piece and holds it up against herself before shaking her head and returning it to the rack. “Wait.” You say, “You defended me? I-I don’t think we’ve even talked before.” Owari shrugs, “Don’t have to. M’not good with names and stuff, but I’ve got a nose for this sort of thing. I can smell out a good person a mile away.” She pulls out a pale pink bikini with high-waisted ruffled bottoms, “And you’re a good person, I know it.” That gets a real smile from you, “Thanks Owari-san.” She grins, “Don’t mention it. Also-” she tosses you the swimsuit she’s holding, “I’ll bet this is your size.” You catch it from the air, ready to correct her but find that she is absolutely right, “Huh. You got it in one.” “Yeah, you seem like you’re into pink stuff.” She smirks at you, “Now you gotta help me find my swimsuit.” ***

You have to stop by Komaeda’s cottage before heading back to your own so you can grab all of your stuff. He isn't there when you open the door, which is the best scenario given your nervous disposition. It doesn't take you long to grab all of your clothes, and your Switch is still sitting on the couch from earlier in the day, so you are in and out within a couple of minutes.

It’s kind of weird unlocking your own cottage for the first time in days, it still looks exactly the same as you remembered it, but it feels empty and lonely.

You shake your head and toss all of your clothes onto the bed to be dealt with later, quickly sitting on the couch and pulling out the bottles of water you grabbed from the supermarket. Uncapping both of them, you grab a packet of strawberry flavouring and tear it open with your teeth before carefully pouring it through the opening in the bottle. As the water slowly starts changing colour, you do the same with the blueberry flavouring and watch with bated breath. It only takes a few minutes before you have one bottle filled with bright blue liquid and another with red.

You heave a shaky sigh and pull the illegible notecard from your pocket, “I really hope this works.”

Grabbing the red bottle, you hold it in front of the note and almost squeal with delight when the red shapes disappear, leaving clean, legible blue letters behind.   Temporary Monobeast Deactivation

Your heart nearly skips a beat at those words. The deactivation of a Monobeast would mean access to a new island, and if that happens to be the second island this whole thing is done and dusted. Your stomach is in knots, and you try to calm your breathing. While you had expected any updates from Naegi and Co to come directly from Monomi, there must be a reason that they decided to send the message this way instead.

Holding your breath, you switch over to the blue bottle and do the same thing as before.

Five Thirty in the Evening

You half scramble, half tumble off the couch as you try to find any sort of clock in your stupid bedroom before coming to your senses and whipping your handbook out of your pocket. Fuck. It’s already quarter to.

Despite the heavy aching pain in your legs from what feels like a full day’s worth of sprinting around the island, you work up enough adrenaline to make the run to the central island for the second time. Luckily the sun isn’t as hot at this time of day, only just starting to descend down towards the horizon. Your breath heaves and chokes in your throat with each pump of your legs and every muscle in your body is burning.

But you’re going to do it, you’re going to save everything, and you are going to be worth something for once in your goddamn life.

This is what powers you forward as you finish crossing the bridge and cover the final stretch to the gate for island two, still firmly closed, but as promised, with no Monobeast in sight.

“Yes! YES!” You cry out, running towards the gate and grabbing onto the hard metal, “Now I just need to figure out how to--GUH!”

Something whips hard into your gut, sending you flying backwards onto the unforgiving gravel and skidding a few metres back on your ass. Unfortunately not avoiding a ‘rocks in the panties situation’ this time. It takes you a second to get your breath back after having it knocked clean out of you, and when you look back up, you see the Monobeast is back. “Huh, what…but it-” You are cut off by a cacophony of irritating laughter and see that Monokuma himself has mounted the beast. “You- oh my god-” he breaks down in laughter, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes, “You actually fell for it, oh my god .” Dread rises like bile in your stomach, “...what?” “Fucking hell. If you’re the only help these kids have got you might as well bury them right now to save them the trouble.” He clutches his stomach, doubling over with another bout of laughter, “There ain’t even a ceiling out here, but I bet if I told you I’d written gullible on it you’d look right up, wouldn’t’cha? Upuhpuhpuhpuh~”

You manage to drag yourself to your shaking feet, feeling hot tears of anger rolling down your cheeks, “So was this just a joke?” You yell, “A fucking prank? ” Monokuma’s laughter stops instantly, and he jumps down from the Monobeast, “Sure was! I got you great didn’t I?” “Why would you do that?” You ask desperately, whole body aching and sore, trying everything not to burst into sobs, “I mean, what do you even have to gain?” “Oh?” Monokuma tilts his head to the side, “Did you forget my whole MO, did the nasty tiger hit’cha too hard?” You sniffle, “Huh?” “Despair, obviously! Watching you run across this whole island on your sore little legs just thinking-” your own voice starts coming out of his mouth, like he had just ripped the sound files from the code, “Oh! If only I could get to the second island! Everyone would be saved, and Nagito Komaeda would finally stick his-”

“JUST SHUT UP! STOP DOING THIS TO ME!” You cry out, hands balled into fists at your sides, unable to fight back the stream of tears escaping your watery eyes.

“Aw shucks, I could never stop. It’s just so funny!”

You cover your face with your hands, openly crying now and too embarrassed to let Monokuma see how thoroughly he has hurt you. It makes sense, in retrospect, leaving that card in the arcade machine was such a convoluted method of contacting you, and Monokuma was the one who arranged the whole motive, he was the only one with access inside the machine. You might have realised if only you weren’t so stupid .

“There there.” Monokuma says, patting one of your legs with a stubby paw, “Just let it all out.” You jerk away from him, “Don’t touch me!”

“Yeah yeah, Alright. All this crying is starting to make me sad, so I’m gonna head off.” You lower your hands to glower at him. Monokuma winks.

“I’ve got one last thing for you though, just a little present for being such a good sport.”

He leaps up off the ground and thwacks you in the chest. When you look down, you realise that he has stuck the dreaded ‘I'm sorry I was born stupid’ sticker on the front of your dress. You’re so far gone that it makes you start laughing a little bit. You suppose it is pretty apt.

“Real funny.” You say

“The actual funny thing is that if you take it off I get to kill ya.”

You freeze, “What.”

“Check your handbook, I’m not kidding.” You wipe your dripping nose on the back of your hand and pull out the handbook, quickly swiping through the rules section. There’s no point checking, you know that Monokuma doesn’t lie about this sort of thing, but even still, you feel cruel irony dripping down your spine like ice water as you see the new rule: Idiots must not remove their identification stickers for at least one day after assignment

When you look back up from your handbook. Monokuma is already gone.

Great.