#only don't because there is no POSSIBLE way to make that a logical name. for a software company

[marzipanandminutiae]

explaining modern brand names to a Victorian

me: so just like. a word, usually.

Victorian: a word related to the product, or-

me: no just a random word

Victorian: huh. because I'd have thought

me: yeah

Victorian: a word related to the product's alleged best qualities

me: no no it's just any word really. the founder might have some reason behind it, but it only makes sense to them most of the time

Victorian: interesting

me:

Victorian:

Victorian: but definitely misspelled right

me: oh EXTREMELY misspelled

[envy-of-the-apple]

Center of Attention

Dark! Geto Suguru x reader x Dark! Gojo Satoru

5.6k wc

Synopsis: Your boyfriend cheats on you with his best friend

(Warnings: rape/noncon, cheating, infidelity, forced relationships, piv sex, oral sex, afab reader)

In the beginning, things with Suguru were great. 

He was nice, considerate, sweet. Down to earth, honest. You'd only been official for a few months, but it felt real. Like it could last forever. 

And then, he introduced you to Satoru. 

It started from there. You hated everything about that man. He came from money and drove in loud, fancy cars. He was vapid and insulting. The way he behaved with you was just as disgusting. Calling you pet names like 'princess' and 'baby'. Touching your waist, your arm, your ass. Suguru once said they shared everything together. You were starting to wonder if Satoru thought you were on the table as well. 

It started a lot of arguments between you and Suguru. He'd always defend his childhood friend, barely even listening to your protests. It's just his nature, he doesn't do it on purpose, he does it with everyone. With how defensive he was about his best friend, you should have known. You should have seen the signs. 

Maybe then you would have been less surprised when you walked in on the two making out. 

You'd left Suguru's house after the last fight you had with him, once again about Satoru. You were halfway home when something like guilt spread across your body. Doubt. Maybe you were being too harsh on them. They were childhood friends. They'd always have a connection you just wouldn't be able to understand. 

You had come back with a bag of take out-an apology- on your wrists. You didn't think anything of it when the front door was unlocked, Suguru's clothes on the ground. 

They were on the couch, half-naked. Satoru was pressing his precious best friend further into the cushion. Suguru's hand was in his white hair, aggressively pulling. You could feel your heart breaking with every second. Every breath you took. 

"Suguru...?" They froze. 

It was your fault. You should have been faster. 

The food you'd brought drops to the floor as you turn, ready to bolt out the door, run to your car, drive far far away and just forget this shitty night. Satoru is faster. His slender hand wraps around your waist, pulling you back. 

"Wait. Just wait," he begs, his voice uncharacteristically desperate. Given any other situation, you would have laughed, but the tears were already streaming down your face. You can only stare at the empty couch, where those two had just been. Where you can see your cotton pink panties. 

God, this is all one sick joke, isn't it?

Suguru calls your name, but you don't bother to look. Satoru's grip is strong, and you're forced to wither just a foot away from the two of them. You feel everything. Humiliation. Heartbreak. Anger. 

You slap away the hand that tries to cup your cheek. It's all it takes to snap you back.

"Don't touch me." Through your tears, you try to wrestle your way out of Satoru's grip. 

"Let me go," you demand, your throat threatening to close, "Satoru let-let me fucking go—" 

"Not until you let us explain," Suguru begs. By now, Satoru had cornered you against the wall, and you feel yourself crying even harder because you don't want an explanation, you know what you fucking saw. 

"Jesus Christ-what could you possibly say that can-that can explain anything!" Your voice is too shrill, too high, too emotional, you need to bring yourself down but you just can't. It's so much. You need to leave.

"Satoru and I love each other." 

Your voice halts in your chest as you look up. Suguru's eyes are somber as he gazes at you. You want to stop yourself from examining him. The unruffled clothes, the dark hickeys on his neck. For some reason, the evidence breaks you more than the action. 

"We always have," he continues like he's talking about the weather. He was always the logical one, "Ever since we were teenagers." 

"Great," you respond, voice too damp to signify any real sarcasm, "how touching. Then just—" 

"—But it wasn't enough," Satoru rushes in, quick to cut you off. "We—we weren't complete. Like we would never have the right time....and then we met you." 

You don't like adoration in his eyes, like he wasn't just about to fuck your now ex-boyfriend. Disgust fills your stomach as you continue to glare at him. You hate him. You hate them both. 

"The first time Suguru brought you home, I knew you were the one for us," Satoru says. "You-you're our missing puzzle piece—what we've been looking for our entire life." He's good with words. He's a little like Suguru, in that sense. Maybe they do deserve each other. 

You can only stare at him, and then your eyes shift to Suguru. He has the same expression, though a little less obvious. Despite how much your heart hurts, a disbelieved laugh chokes out of your throat. 

"...that's your excuse?" you whisper, "you wanted a fucking threesome?" 

"It's not an excuse." Suguru steps forward, now they both are fully trapping you. His voice is soaking with emotion, almost like he was about to start crying. 

"It's the truth. I love you. We love you, and we want you to be with us." 

You couldn't believe them. You couldn't fucking believe them. It was all too much. The argument, the kiss. This, them cornering you and claiming that they love you. It was the first time Suguru had told you that he loved you. You thought you would have been happy to hear those words come from his mouth, given enough time together. 

Now, it just feels like another nail in the coffin. 

You look down, looking at the spilled food. You'd brought curry. It was currently all over the bare floor, leaking into cracks. Good. You hoped when you left and cried your heart out, Suguru would be here, cleaning up your mess. You wouldn't be able to hurt him as badly as he did you, but at least you'd be able to make him miserable. 

"I want to go home," you finally say. You pull at Satoru's hand. He doesn't budge. "I want to leave. Let me leave." 

He doesn't reply. His grip gets tighter, almost crushing. You stumble when he pulls you forward, nearly crashing into his chest. When you look up, he looks....wrong. Off, in some way. 

"You can't." His sunglasses are off. You can see his eyes. They're too wide, too manic. It scares you. "We—we just told you that we loved you. I love you. You—you can't just leave me—" 

“Let go, Satoru.” 

Satoru stops rambling, looking over at the other man. Suguru steps even closer. His hand reaches up, touching your hair. You don’t slap him away again, but you flinch. His frown deepens. You hate the look of hurt in his eyes, like he’s the victim here, like he spent months with someone who was just stringing them along. 

“You need time,” Suguru says, more to himself than you, “we get that. We’ll give you time. And then, you can come back to us.” You should snap at the blistering hope in his voice, but you don't. You grit your teeth, holding everything in until you're finally away from them. 

He steps back. Satoru doesn’t. His teeth mash together, jaw clenching like he wants to argue. Fight. 

Suguru’s eyes darken. “Let go, Satoru.” 

Slowly, you can feel his grip on your wrist loosen. You react, stumbling back, hands desperately gripping on the door. You can feel their eyes on you the entire time. 

You can give yourself credit, however. You don’t break into sobs until you get into your car. 

Two months later, and you still refuse to see them. 

It's not like they haven't tried to get in touch, much to your disdain. They called and texted and spammed until you blocked them. Then, you blocked them on social media. At work, you ask the secretary to start dumping the bouquets instead of sending them up to you. And you have to tell your mutual friends to stop trying to act like the middle-man. 

You can't do anything about the letters or the gifts left at your door every other day. Ignoring the full mailbox becomes customary, and you start passing off the chocolates to your neighbors and friends. 

"Can't you get them to stop?" You ask Shoko as she rummages through another gift basket they had sent, "seriously, I'm close to snapping here." 

"Oh, this looks expensive." She eyes the wine bottle. When you give her a look, she sighs. 

"You know I can't do that. Whenever they get obsessed, they don't take no for an answer. Maybe that's why they have such a great relationship." You wilt at that. 

"Did you know?" 

Her fingers twitch in a way that makes you know she's craving a cigarette. 

"I mean, I knew they had a thing for each other back in high school, but I thought it faded." You sink your face further into your hands. "Trust me, I wasn't in on whatever bullshit they did to you." 

Her fingers reach over to squeeze your thigh, a way of apologizing. You give her a timid smile, before ultimately sighing again. Her hands move to your back. You feel the urge to cry in her chest again, but you've been doing that for days now.

"Just keep doing what you're doing. Ignore them, and hopefully, those assholes will focus on something else." Shoko suggests. She shifts closer. You can smell her perfume. 

You nod. "Yeah, hopefully." 

Eventually, the gifts start to dwindle. The flowers stop coming, the gift baskets get more and more sporadic. Two months later, everything stops, and you're nearly crying in relief. By now, you're mostly over whatever you had with Suguru. You two hadn't been together for very long. Now that you think about it, the whole situation was more embarrassing than anything else. And the fact they both had the audacity to lovebomb you too? Humiliating. All you want to do is never see him again. Him or Satoru. In your eyes, they can both just fall off the face of the Earth and you'd be all the more happier for it. 

The date was nice. Cute, was the word you'd use. A nice dinner and peaceful conversation. And he wasn't that bad to look at. A nice smile. Dimples, you noted when he laughed at something you'd said. 

"I'd like to see you again." He said, right before you let yourself out of the car. 

You glanced back at him. And you stay there when he leans closer. The kiss was nice, too. 

You're giddy the entire short walk to your apartment. It fades just when you reach the door. 

Their arms are crossed, and it strangely feels like you're coming home to two disapproving parents. Satoru is leaning against a wall, sunglasses tucked underneath his collar. Suguru holds something in his hands—another bouquet. 

Your excitement fades, but secretly, you're relieved. You don't feel the remnants of your heart shattering the more you look at them. You feel....nothing. 

Nothing but the slight irritation that they were blocking your door. 

"Welcome back." Suguru starts, but Satoru is much less tactful. 

"Who was that?" He demands, but the car has already left. Thank god you would want to bring a man you'd barely met into your drama. 

None of your business, you want to snap, but it's too late for either of their bullshit. 

"No one," you say and their glowers only grow that more intense. 

"Can this wait until tomorrow?" you finally ask, "I'm exhausted." Satoru seems to get even more pissed at your comment, but Suguru steps in. 

"You haven't been answering my calls," Suguru starts, "and you haven't accepted any of our gifts. We're just worried about you." 

That's rich, coming from him. You can't help but let your irritation control you, at least for a little while. Just because you were over him, doesn't mean you were fine with what he did. 

"Sorry, but you lost the privilege to 'worry about me' when you started sucking your boyfriend's dick," you mention to Satoru, who stiffens, "Speaking off, was he the mistress here, or was I? How long had you two been doing it behind my back, anyway? Or is it technically not considered cheating because you said 'no homo' before making out." 

"I'm sorry," Suguru says, and to his credit, he sounds remorseful, "there's not a single day that goes by where I'm not regretful at how you found out." 

"Oh my God, absolutely not. You don't get to apologize to me to clear your conscience." You're hissing. "What? Do you expect me to give you and Satoru my blessings or something? Fuck off before I start throwing my shoes at you." 

"Would that make you feel better?" Satoru cuts in. "You can hurt us if you want to, baby. What—what do you want us to do?" He steps forward. You step back. "We can get on our knees, and you can punch us. Hit us. Wanna smash beer bottles on our faces? Anything, baby. We want you to forgive us." 

His sincerity takes you off guard. His eyes were wide. He was serious about what he just said. For a moment, you felt bad for Suguru. He was stuck with that. And then you processed Satoru's words. 

"Forgiveness?" You spit out. "You have to be fucking with me because there's no way in hell I'd ever forgive you. Do you know the worst part about this entire shitshow, Suguru? It wasn't the fact that you broke my heart, it was that everyone except me knew that my boyfriend was sucking his best friend's dick. Do you know how humiliating that was? Of course you didn't because you two were so busy thinking about each other that you didn't even think how it would affect me." 

By the time you were done, you were panting. You bit your lip, forcing the hint of tears back because if you broke, it would negate everything you had just said. Despite the tremor in your voice, it felt good to yell at them finally. The look on their faces made the cake that much sweeter. 

"Now, fuck off," your voice was quieter, almost hoarse, "leave me alone." 

They don't stop you when you reach your door. You can barely stop your hands from shaking, and you know you won't be able to hold yourself together for much longer. The door unlocks with a click. 

And then you're stumbling through your home with an added weight on your back. 

You almost fall into the carpet, quick to balance yourself and whirl around. They're already inside. Suguru is shaking his head while Satoru fiddles with the door. 

"Satoru—" Suguru starts. 

"Enough." He hisses. "We've tried doing it your way, and look where it got us. My way, now." The lock clicks into place. 

Suguru looks like he wants to disagree, but he holds himself back. He frowns, glancing over to you. 

"You're right," he says, "maybe actions are better than words." 

Something like fear pushes its way into your throat, but you're waving it away. You immediately reject the sudden increased thumping in your heart. This is Satoru and Suguru. Assholes. They are selfish bastards who care about nothing but themselves. But they wouldn't hurt you. They wouldn't do that to you. 

Right? 

You're certain of it. You know it, yet your voice falters the first time you try to speak up. 

"...What are you doing?" 

You can't keep the anger. It's gone, as much as you try to pull it back inside your chest, keeping it there. Instead of hot, you just feel cold. 

You don't like the way they're slowly inching towards you, like you're a scared feral animal—like they're hunters itching for a taste. 

Despite your clear discomfort, Satoru still has the audacity to smile. Not his usual grin, filled with unabashed confidence, this one is warmer. Nicer.

You think it makes what he's doing worse.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he sounds like he's begging, voice low, simpering, "I never wanted to hurt you. I promise." 

"What are you doing?" You demand again, but your voice wavers even more. 

"I get it. I get why you're so upset with us. You just felt left out, right?" Satoru's saying, and you should be getting angry at his words, but the way he isn't stopping is getting more and more concerning and something is wrong, they aren't leaving, why aren't they leaving?

"Just let us show you how sorry we are, how much we care," Suguru says, "Everything. All for you. I promise." 

"Get out," you're whispering, and it hope it has more bite than you can possibly give, "just get out. Leave me alone—" 

Satoru grabs you. You manage to scream before his lips crush into yours. The kiss isn't anything the way Suguru used to kiss you. Gentle, soft, giving, never taking. Satoru was all strength. The strongest. He pulled, and nipped, and bit until it wasn't even a kiss. It was just you being devoured by him. 

You push away (he lets you), but before you can suck in a breath, Suguru's there, grabbing the back of your neck. The kiss is less painful, but just as searing. Especially considering you've kissed him before, back when things were innocent, much less twisted. 

"See, Suguru?" Satoru whispers when the dark-haired man pulls away. "So much quieter, now. You just wanted all our attention, right baby?" 

You can't speak, not when you can barely breathe. You're pushing again, struggling to get out of their hold, but you are nothing against Satoru. You are nothing against Suguru. 

What are you when it's both of them at once? 

You mumble about a quiet 'get the fuck out'. It's too shaky to be anything intimidating. They both have the audacity to laugh in a way that makes you feel like a tiny kitten clawing at their owner's hands, desperate not to sink into the warm, soapy water. 

It's easy to manhandle you onto the couch, Suguru keeping you nice and pliant as Satoru fiddles with your pants. Suguru hushes you, like you were just playing around. Playing hard to get. Like the sobs and the tears and the tearful begs aren't enough to prove anything coherent. 

"Stop," you say anyway because there's a chance, there's always a chance, "Suguru—Satoru stop. What—what are you doing? Please just—" 

Suguru bites your neck, making you yelp. He apologizes with a warm tongue, ignoring you and glaring down at his companion. 

"Hurry up." It sounds impatient. "You wanted a taste, right?" 

Satoru clicks his tongue and they're both ignoring you, as if your opinion, your struggles, your screams is just background noise, nothing truly important. Your pants are already down at your legs, preventing you from kicking. Satoru's large hands squeeze at the fat of your thighs, and you jump as his cold hands brush over your sensitive skin. 

Your voice is muffled by Suguru's lips once again. The man moans into your mouth, loud and lewd. 

"I'm savoring this," Satoru says while you're distracted.

He pushes two fingers into your clothed cunt, shuddering at the touch. "You touched this pussy all the time. Can't say the same. Cut me some slack, man." 

Suguru reluctantly pulls away, leaving you panted and slightly breathless. He says something to Satoru, chiding. Satoru bickers back. You can only come back when you dazedly look down just in time to see Satoru push your panties to the side and attach his mouth to your pussy. 

You're not wet. How could you be? Satoru remedies that, eagerly licking until your hole is covered by his saliva. Your recent inactivity doesn't help either. You hadn't done anything, not since Suguru. Your body is starved for attention, something Satoru is readily giving. You become wet and needy in no time. 

Not one to be ignored, Suguru pulls your shirt over your head, abandoning it somewhere behind the couch. Your arms are useless, barely catching onto his wrist before he's forcing you away. Suguru's head dips down, running his tongue over the skin at your breasts, eager for a taste. He bites at one of your nipples, groaning when your hands reach up to wildly tug at his hair. Your actions seem only to excite him further as he squeezes your other breast, digging his fingers into your soft flesh. 

On the floor, Satoru is having more than enough of his fill. You aren't prepared to feel the long finger prodding your hole before easing its way inside your tight pussy. You give a faltering whimper, arching your back. Suguru pulls away from your chest with a pop. 

You're sobbing now. It doesn't prove anything, considering each sob is interrupted by a reluctant moan. Suguru leans up to kiss you. You squeeze your eyes, turning away. His lips brush your cheek. He chuckles at your act of defiance. 

"So cute," he says against your skin. Butterfly kisses across your cheek, your neck. "I missed this. I missed you." 

The words hurt, cut into your skin, enough to make you bleed. You cry harder. They are kind enough to let you. 

"Did you miss me too?" Suguru asks. When you give no answer, he laughs affectionately. 

He's unbuckling his belt as he traces more kisses across your skin. Suguru pushes away the hem of his pants, untucking his cock. You can feel its length press against your side. 

Below you, Satoru grabs you by the hips, adjusting you further down the couch until the new angle makes his fingers hit something deep inside of you. You gasp, eyes flying open. 

"Look at him," Suguru says, taking your chin, pointing your gaze down, "Isn't he so pretty?" 

Blue eyes stare back up at you, clouded with lust and need. You can't help but stare back through your tears. You've never noticed how beautiful Satoru's eyes were. They were always covered, obscured by his glasses. They're so pretty. Like oceans, merged with a starry sky. They're so beautiful. He's so beautiful. How could someone so beautiful do this to you?

"He wanted to do this for so long," Suguru murmurs into your ear, "would not shut up about eating you out, making you cum down his throat. Sit on his face until he passes out." 

Satoru says something, it sounds irritated, muffled by the slick sounds of your pussy. In response, Suguru grabs the back of his head, shoving him deeper between your thighs, keeping him there. You jolt at the sudden intimacy, another whine melting out your throat. Satoru seems to forget whatever he was saying, going back to worshipping your battered pussy.  

"If we're lucky, he'll suffocate down there," Suguru says with no real heat in his voice, "though I think he might like that idea." 

His voice is heavy, like he'd been running. Suguru grabs your hand, enveloping it in his own. The same hand that was touching his throbbing cock. When you try to jolt away, he doesn't let you, trapping your fingers underneath his own. 

"C'mon baby." He says through gritted teeth. You squeeze your eyes again, turning away into your shoulder. Suguru doesn't let you run away, not this time. He's quick to make himself known, scrapping his teeth against your neck. He moves yours and his hands up and down his leaking cock. 

"There we go." He sounds relieved. "That's it. So so good for me." 

You let him. You let them. You lie there like a doll, letting them maneuver you as they wish. Satoru's the loudest, moaning against your pussy, sucking on your clit. Suguru is more refined, shuddering into the crook of your neck as he forces you to grip his cock tighter and tighter. 

"Stop." It's nothing more than a pleading whimper. "Please please stop." 

Suguru kisses you again, sloppy and messy, just as Satoru sucks on your clit, hard enough to make you see white. You come right on his tongue and fingers, riding out your high. Against your will, your back arches, rising off the couch with a high-pitched keen. Your thighs squeeze around his head, threatening to crush his skull. He's more than happy to let you. 

Suguru follows right after, you can feel his cum coat your hand. Sticky, making you feel even more disgusted with yourself than you already were. 

You slump into the couch just as Satoru pulls away. Suguru tucks you into your chest, but you don't care enough to struggle. You can only watch as Satoru rises from his place on the floor, locking eyes with Suguru. 

"So?" Suguru asks, still panting, but there's a smile in his voice, "How was it?" 

There's something carnivorous in Satoru's eyes before he lunges. He aggressively kisses Suguru, and the latter returns the affection just as potently. Numbly, you realize that they were softer kissing you. They were holding back. Now, they go together like wild dogs, teeth clashing together. When they part, Satoru's lips are bleeding. 

Satoru turns his gaze on you. You avert your eyes, not wanting to bait the unpredictable animal. Luckily, his earlier inhibitions had been sated by the kiss. He falls on top of you two, burying his head into the crook of your neck, where Suguru has turned your skin into a patchwork of hickeys. 

"Fuck baby," he sighs into your skin, "you're an addiction, y'know that?" 

You focus on breathing. In and out, filling your lungs with much-needed oxygen. It works to keep you from processing the absolute awe in Satoru's voice. The sincerity. The adoration. So so much worse had he just been mocking. The way he usually was. 

But it was over now. It can't be anything more. You'd go insane if it were anything more-- 

"Now, I don't think it's fair anymore," Suguru's sighing into your ear, "you had a taste, right? Let me have a turn now." 

He's about to stand, but Satoru's placing a large hand on his chest, forcing him back on the couch. 

"Sit the fuck down." He spits out in irritation. "You're so greedy, y'know that? I'm fucking this pussy first, just like we agreed on." 

You can feel your breath hitch at that. The way they just stripped you down of your humanity. Like you were a toy, two toddlers were fighting over. It was horrifying. You can feel nausea build up in your throat. 

Suguru notices your distress first. He sighs, nuzzling his face into your cheek. 

"Okay okay, I yield," he relents, "don't start throwing a tantrum just because you don't get your way. Today is supposed to be about someone else, remember?" 

Satoru huffs, but he calms down significantly. He pulls away, you can feel his hands trail again your chest, like he's eager to put his mouth on something else, before he's stopping himself. 

By now, your fight has been sucessfully withered out by these two men. As though you ever had a chance, even in the beginning. Even if Suguru's threatening grip hadn't been present, even if the crazed look in Satoru's eyes wouldn't have manifested through his touch, this result would have always happened. 

Even then, you still squeeze your eyes shut when you hear the clanking of his belt. Your eyes sting again, and you tuck your face into the comfort of the fluffy cushions. 

Your thighs are clamped shut. Satoru easily plies them apart, sliding his way between your legs. Something hot and blunt lightly brushes against your entrance before he eases his cock into your pussy with one smooth motion. 

Despite the previous orgasm, it's not enough to obscure the pain. He's too long, and you're certain you could feel him right to your stomach. He curses a stuttered moan. 

It's useless, but you're reaching up anyway. Nails close to his face. Maybe your true goal is for his two beautiful eyes, ripping them apart, eager to see blue turn into red.

You don't get the chance to find out for yourself. Suguru's stopping you, restricting your body with his own. There's a punishing bite right on your neck. You yelp. Suguru grins through the blood. 

"Be good." He chastises. "Behave. We aren't hurting you, right? We're making you feel good." 

He's wrong. They have hurt you. They are hurting you. You feel it in your neck, the aching bruises, your battered cunt. It's everywhere. 

It hurts even more when Satoru doesn't even give you time to adjust. He's blabbering something; you can't hear through the blood between your ears as he collapses into your chest. The position is awkward, considering Suguru is still sucking on your neck, but never mind. They don't care if they suffocate you. 

The rhythm is rough and deep. He pushes his cock as deep as it can go inside of you, stretching your walls before he pulls back, only to restart the terrible cycle all over again. It's horrible. Excruciating, despite how slick your pussy is. Despite it all, you can't help but compare how differently Suguru and Satoru fucked you. 

Suguru's cock was thicker but wasn't as long. He was nicer, slow, only going when he knew you could take it. But back then, you didn't know Suguru's true intentions. You weren't aware of his sadism, the eagerness to rip you apart. Perhaps he was even worse than Satoru was. 

"Doesn't this feel good?" Suguru asks suddenly. His soft lips brush your cheek when you bury your face deeper into your couch. At least this time, he wasn't forcing you to face your unwanted assault head-on. You suppose you should feel grateful. 

But he's right. You hate that he's right. You get used to Satoru's rhythm eventually. When his cock brushes against something deep inside of you, you jolt around his dick, unable to stop yourself from squeezing your walls. Satoru hisses at that, but he barely falters. 

"Fuck fuck fuck," he's hissing, "squeezin' me so tight, gorgeous." 

He gropes at your tits, trying to give himself a reprieve from the sensation. You mirror him, squeezing your hands into fists, nails threatening to break skin. As if to comfort you, Suguru murmurs sweet nothings into your ear. 

Satoru's rhythm starts to falter. His breath hitches, indicating what's to come. His hands squeeze. His pace gets even rougher. Suguru frowns when you give a wilted moan, more pained than anything. 

"Satoru," he says, almost lecturing, "be nicer." 

When Satoru doesn't respond, Suguru is quick to retaliate. You flinch when he grabs Satoru's hair, yanking him away from your chest. Satoru whimpers. 

"'Can't help it—fuck, so fucking good." His voice is high and needy, juxtapositioning the crude way he's fucking himself into you, the way he's hiking a leg over his hip, driving himself even deeper inside your cunt. He starts drawing quick messy circles around your swollen clit. 

The angle proves to be enough to push you over the edge. You seize around his cock, spamming around him. Despite the harsh grip Suguru has on him, Satoru is quick to follow. He grits his teeth before something hot and horrible fills you. 

You stay like that, heaving in deep breaths. Satoru's breathing is labored too. He laughs, it sounds exhausted. You're helpless to do anything but comply when he grabs your chin to kiss you. It's messy, but not as rough as it was earlier. You're too exhausted to hate it. 

His cock slips out of you. His cum slips out, too, running down your thighs. You should be worried about it staining the carpet, but you're too out of it to think of anything. Suguru brushes Satoru's hair, looking satisfied. When Satoru has his fill of your lips, he pulls away. You catch his eyes. There's no unsatiable lust within them. Just warmth, as well as another emotion that makes you want to hurl. 

But it's over. It's finally over. It's the only part that keeps you from breaking apart. They'll leave. Leave you to cry in a corner while you pick up the pieces that were once you. 

Satoru tucks himself back in his pants. Suguru exhales in contentedness before he, too, rises from the couch. You wait for them to leave. 

They don't leave. 

With horrible gentleness, Suguru picks you up, corralling you into his chest. You whine when he moves your body, but you don't do much else. You can't. 

They share a laugh at your expense before he's carrying your broken, naked body up to the bedroom. It parallels the times when you were too tired to walk to the bedroom yourself. When Suguru was just a man you thought you could love. When you felt safe in his arms. 

Now you feel nothing but cold, despite how warm his hands are. 

He deposits you in the bed. Satoru comes up behind him, pulling an oversized shirt over your head. Their hands are uninterested in your body, working in tandem. 

The don't leave. 

You feel dirty and sticky. You're aching all over. You want to do nothing more but curl up in the hot shower and cry. They prevent that luxury from you too. The bed isn't big enough for all three of you, but they manage regardless. Satoru curls around you, sliding a hand across your back, bringing your face into your chest. You can feel Suguru settle in behind you, draping his hand across your waist. 

Someone kisses your temple. Someone yawns. 

They don't leave. 

You don't want to sleep. You feel like if you do you might not ever wake up from this nightmare. But your eyes are getting heavy, and for even a couple hours, you want to escape from thinking and hurting. 

"Isn't this nice?" Suguru says from behind, burying his face into your hair, he inhales deeply. 

"It'll always be like this from now on." He sounded relieved. Satoru hums in agreement. 

"All for you, baby," Satoru promises again, curling his hands tighter, "We're all for you."

Your heart drops to your stomach. 

That's what you were afraid of. 

[xhoneygirlxx]

We’re Not Friends

Best Friend!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: Eddie is just trying to help when he offers to be your date to your sister's wedding, but with all the love in the air will you and Eddie be able to stay friends?

warnings: lots of angst. reader's family sucks. reader's mom makes a comment about her weight. anxiety attacks. reader has low self esteem. fluff. best friends to lovers. fake dating. modern au. (this is titled after an Ed Sheeran song and I also use another one of his songs in the fic, sue me). slight smut. allusions to sex. alcohol consumption. swearing. minors dni!!!!!!!!!! reader and Eddie are both in their 20's. no y/n used, reader is referred to as Birdie. skin color/ethnicity/body type is not mentioned. spelling errors/shitting writing, just pretend you don't notice lmao. also the venue is completely made up and so is the location if you couldn’t tell, im not that creative.

*if I miss anything plz lmk*

a/n: hi my loves!!!! this is one of the last fics on my birthday fic list!!! I want to thank all of you for being patient and being so so supportive of my work. I love you all so much!!! also I do go back to work on Monday so I'm going to try to get as many fics pumped out by the end of the weekend.

And that's why friends should sleep in other beds

And friends shouldn't kiss me like you do

And I know that there's a limit to everything

But my friends won't love me like you do

The turning color of the leaves create the prettiest backdrop, tall trees blooming with orange, red, and a pinch of brown. The ones that have already fallen to the ground get swept up under the wheels of Eddie's car, lifting up and swirling around in a pretty dance, and falling right back into place waiting for the next car.

Although the crisp fall morning is peaceful you can't help but feel like you're living a nightmare. As he soft hum of Eddie's playlist flows through the speakers, you're coming up with a plan to turn the whole car around.

So far you thought about faking an illness, one that would stop the whole journey in it's tracks, only to dismiss it because you couldn't put your best friend through that stress. The idea of pulling the steering wheel also came to mind but you quickly threw that out of the window, not wanting to cause injury to the innocent man next to you or anyone else. Your final idea was one you're sure you could pull off as long as you used all the power within your being. If you pushed your feet on the floorboard hard enough, you could poke them out like the Flintstones and stop the car that way.

Between science and logic, you knew that wasn't possible no matter how hard you wished it would. Instead you'll stare out the window, watching all the pretty trees dance in the wind while you push down the rising anxiety that's forming in the pit of your stomach.

"You good over there, Birdie?" The deep voice next to you shakes you from your thoughts.

Turning your head Eddie's already looking at you with a lopsided grin. His demeanor matches the landscape outside, relaxed and serene. As you look at him you wish you could trade places, be as pleasant as he is.

"Yeah I'm just tired." Trying to sell him your answer, you smile lazily at him even though your response holds more tension than a game of tug of war.

Turning his attention back on the road, you watch as the pavement moves on the darkened lenses of his sunglasses. Eddie looks pretty like this, even though you always thinks he looks pretty. Usually he would be a grump having to be up this early, but today he wears his smile like a badge of honor. The dark curls of his hair cascade down his back, while some falls over his shoulders.

He's wearing the same red and black checkered flannel he always does this time of year, the same one you said was your favorite three years ago and it still holds that title. Underneath is a plain black tee shirt, the only one he has that's free of any band name, and a dark blue pair of jeans that have no holes.

He's still the same Eddie, his rings still sit on his fingers and his pick still hangs from the chain around his neck, but it seems that he only gets prettier and prettier as time passes by - like the turning leaves that still hang on the branches of the trees that you drive by.

"I think you're worried about this whole wedding thing," His voice is unwavering, screaming "I'm right" like it always does. "I don't get what's so bad about an open bar and free food."

Although his point is valid, Eddie couldn't be more wrong than that. This wasn't just an event to get drunk for free and stuffed to the gills at no charge. This was your older sister's wedding, the same sister that was the apple of your parents' eyes. Veronica was your arch nemesis since birth, a rival that you had no option but to defeat in order to survive.

You were the outcast of the family, the black sheep if you will, and you had to endure eighteen years of nonstop torture because of it. Your parents, Christine and Tim, were nothing but successful. The doctor and his trophy wife, the star couple in your small community, that had two beautiful and healthy children.

However you were the hardheaded child, the daughter that didn't have a bright future, you didn't carry as much promise as Vee, and your parents made sure to remind you of that every day. So when you moved out three years ago, you made sure to distance yourself as much as you could. But when you received a pristine white envelope with a glamorous invite on the inside, you were roped right back into the hell hole you worked so hard to leave behind.

You could've just ignore it, faked that you were on a trip and couldn't make it but your mother pretty much threatened you into showing up. So that's how you ended up in the countryside right outside of Chicago, driving in Eddie's Toyota Corolla to the Jefferson Manner on a Friday at eight am.

"You're right, Eddie, I should be so thrilled by that. Thank you so much for pointing it out to me." It's snippy with a hint of malice, and your eye roll held enough venom to injure an army of men.

Whistling loudly, Eddie chuckles lightly. "Woah, killer. Relax, I was just tryna help." He's still soft despite your outburst, sweet like your pumpkin spice latte that sits in the cupholder.

Hanging your head, you inhale a deep breath and release it slowly. "I'm sorry, Eds. I just really fucking hate my family."

He switches his attention from you and the road, taking in your saddened features. Reaching his right hand over the console, he places his hand searches for yours and laces his fingers through yours, which you gladly except.

"Don't apologize for that, kay? That's a valid reason for you to not want to go, I was just trying to make you laugh." The sincerity in his voice wraps around you, easing the nerves that go haywire in your body.

His palm is warm like the coffee cups that sit in the cup holders, his voice is as calming as the trees in the wind, and his smile is just as pretty as it was the first day you met him. You're safe with him, the safest you've ever been in your life, and here in the front seat of his car he reminds you of that.

"They just make me crazy, s'why I don't like seeing them." You feel shy being vulnerable, refusing to meet his gaze by focusing on tracing the back of his hand with your free one.

Eddie doesn't mind, instead he reassures you with a quick squeeze of your hand. "If it makes you feel any better, Birdie, I like you a little crazy."

Dimples deep as the sea and smile still as delicate as a flower's pedal, Eddie looks like a painting that hangs in the Louvre. You want to capture this moment of him to have for the rest of your life, so no matter what you can always remember him just like this.

"You say that now." You tease and he eats it right up.

Looking back over to you, he shines his smile onto you, filling you up with the light of a million stars. "And I'll say it till the end of time." There's no tease to it, nothing but truth in the way he says it.

It turns you into jelly, the feelings that swim through your blood stream, and now you've become too sheepish to answer. You decided to trust your touch over your words, squeezing his hand the same way he did to yours, trying your best to communicate the feelings you hold secretly in your heart for your best friend.

The cobblestone driveway leading to the entrance of Jefferson Manner is, for a lack of a better word, beautiful. It is a straight drive to the property, but once you get closer, a large fountain sits in the middle where the arch of the circle driveway starts.

Different colored cars are already lined up, some you recognize and the rest you have no clue who they belong to. Either way it's pretty evident that Eddie 2018 Toyota sticks out like a sore thumb.

The same dread that you left 45 miles back, is now running through you again. Unintentionally, you squeeze his hand harder as your heart begins to pound in your ear and if it hurts him he doesn't mention it. Instead, Eddie gives you one, two, three squeezes and then lets you continue your attempt to stop the blood flow to his hand.

Pulling behind the Mercedes Benz S Class, he puts his car into park and then shuts the car off. Reading your expression the way he always does, he sits in the silence of the car with you until your features loosen up.

"You okay, Birdie?" Even though he knows you're not okay, you still appreciate him asking anyway.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself a few times, eyes clamped shut as you focus on your breathing pattern. Once your head is above water and your heart stops racing, you open your eyes back up to the real world.

Relaxing your shoulders, you let go of the grip you're holding Eddie's hand in. "I'm okay. I'll be okay." Despite answering him, it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself of what you're saying.

Another brief pause goes by and Eddie continues to monitor you, sunglasses now removed so not only can he see you but you can see him.

Your gaze is unwavering, the thousand yard stare has fallen over you and you have yet to dig out of it. "Are you prepared for what we're about to walk into?"

The tone of your voice scares Eddie, the emotion being sucked right out of the words that you speak despite the feelings that battle in your mind that he doesn't know about.

"Honey, I'm prepared for anything as long as I have you." For a split second he winces, wondering if that was too cringy but when your face breaks out into a sweet smile he feels better.

The two of you get out of the car, retrieving your suitcases and dress bags from the trunk. When the door shuts you begin to count the steps it takes to get to the big wooden doors of the mansion.

You don't have to ask Eddie for his hand, he's already giving it to you and you gladly except it, gripping on for dear life the closer you get. Despite the beautiful landscape and the soothing sound of the running fountain, you feel like this is the soundtrack that plays before your imminent death.

The tall, thick, wooden doors sit menacingly in front of you, the skeletons of your past standing just right behind it waiting for your arrival. The ghosts that have haunted your dreams, the graveyard of your history, and the phantoms of your family, mingle and laugh right behind this door.

Eddie waits for you, not moving a muscle until you say so, and you silently thank him with a smile. Like a switch, he watches your face change from flight to fight mode. In a flash your looking over your outfit, brushing down the long black sleeved shirt that sits on your torso, and then straightening out the jeans that stick to your legs.

Your hair is the next thing you frantically fix, pushing it behind your ears and out of your face, letting it fall over your shoulders while doing so. Like a buzzing bee, you zone in on Eddie, fixing the collar of his flannel and then smoothing the material of his shirt. With out speaking, you pick off a singular piece of fuzz from his pants and then let it blow away in the wind.

Moving your hands back up to his chest, you center the pick on his chain. Then move his hair, fixing the ringlets that got blown around in the breeze. Once your satisfied, you move back to your spot next to him and sweep his hand right back into your hold. Releasing on more deep breath, you settle your pinched eyebrows and your determined eyes, and let the worst fake smile settle onto your lips.

The smile doesn't reach your eyes the way it usually does, your teeth push against one another so forcibly Eddie wonders if you'll shatter teeth, and you simply look like your in pain. Either way, you push open the big oak door and let yourself inside with him following right behind.

The lobby of the manner is everything you expected, high ceilings, a crystal chandelier, and every single family member of yours gathered around sipping champagne and speaking to each other like a potential client.

Even though it's magnificent inside with the beautiful décor and lively plants, the sight of everyone in their gaudy outfits and cheap laughter makes it feel like an eternal hell.

Eddie must feel the way your shoulders tense because he's quickly leaning into you, his voice just a whisper in the shell of your ear.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. You have me and I won't let anything happen." He reminds you, his smile is more sympathetic than anything.

Nodding your head you remain smiling, it's awful and it hurts even doing it but if you want to survive the whirlpool of piranhas, then you just have to fake it until you make it.

"If it isn't our lovely Birdie!" The sound of your mother's voice is like silk, smooth and confident, just like she always was. Walking over to you, she holds a champagne flute in her hand and you wonder how much the bubbling spritz cost your father.

The last time you've seen her was last winter, her million dollar smile outshining the Swarovski crystal tree decorations that sit behind her. Your mother has always been beautiful but her insides are rotten, ugly and maggot infested, all hidden behind the mask that she put on for everyone to see.

You gave up a long time ago trying to figure out her brain, finally accepting defeat to the maze that was her mind. Now when you look at your mother all you see is a shell, a hallow covering that has nothing to offer you other than it's pretty design.

Pulling you into a hug, you're hit with her scent. She smells like Dior and cashmere, the Chanel outfit that sits on her body scratches your skin, and the pearl necklace she wears jabs you right in your collarbone.

"Hello mother, thank you for inviting me to such a wonder occasion." You instantly revert back to your old accent, the same one your mother instilled into you from the time you could even under stand the English language.

A faux laugh comes from her bright red lips, "No need for that, darling, you're always welcome." Her manicured hand waves at you in fake genuineness.

The smile on your face continues to show and you hate to think it matches hers. Even with the sweet tone you use and the gentleness of your actions, the blood that runs through your body continues to boil the longer she stands there.

Eddie on the other hand stands next to you completely and utterly amused by your fake performance. The snort he lets out when you continue to use your "eloquent" voice is quickly covered up by a sniffle.

Like a vulture, your mother's eyes are quick to zero in on the curly haired man next to you. "Excuse my daughter for her bad manner of not introducing us, I'm Christine."

The minute her hand reaches out for a handshake, you're heart stops. This is the one thing that could make or break this whole trip and it was the only thing you didn't prepare your best friend for. Many years of your life, you were trained that a handshake is all it takes for someone to learn about you.

Without skipping a beat, Eddie simply picks embraces her hand like a prince out of a Disney movie and places a kiss to the back of her unwrinkled hand.

"What a pleasure to meet you, Christine, I'm Eddie. And might I say how beautiful you are."

He's all dimples and doe eyes staring at your mother, a true prince charming in his red flannel and jeans. His voice is like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day, it's smooth going down your throat and it warms your belly better than any blanket can.

That warmth is now tingling your body, a frenzy of butterflies flapping around in the walls of your heart. It clearly works on your mother as well but unlike you she doesn't hide it very well.

"You're really the charmer, Eddie." It's flirtatious and alluring, the same voice she put on for every pool boy your father ever hired.

Annoyance and anger floods through you and you know that your eyes would be shining green to anyone with a trained eye.

While she clutches her pearls and eyes Eddie like he's a four course meal, you intervene into the conversation before it can continue.

"Where's daddy? I'd really like for my boyfriend to meet him." You bat your eyelashes like a pageant queen and your arm acts like a python wrapping around Eddie's, making a mark on what is yours.

"Oh you're father's around here somewhere, you know how he is." She dismisses, taking a drink from her glass and swallowing down the golden liquid quickly. "So how long have you and Birdie here been dating?"

"It's going to be two years next month. Isn't that right, honey?" Eddie turns to you and gives you a playful smile.

Looking back at him you hope he can see the misery that hides being your eyes, a white flag of surrender.

Your mother on the other hand doesn't care about your answer, that's why she didn't ask you. She's reading Eddie, trying to see how much she can push your so called boyfriend until she gets what she wants.

"Well that's just wonderful, young love is a beautiful experience. You have to be careful with Birdie here, she's known to leave the nest quickly." It's a jab, a spiteful and mean comment headed right for your gut.

Eddie doesn't miss the way you're lips falter for a second, the flash of hurt in your eyes. It kills him watching you stand there and take all the comments from your mother like stray bullets.

Turning his attention back to your mother, he gives her a smile, one that you would know as a wicked one but to a stranger would seem kind. "I don't think that will be a problem. Birdie knows where her home is."

It's a direct warning, a clear sign to your mother to not mess with you or what is yours. Just him sticking up for you like that makes your stomach twist in excitement, a feeling you've grown so used to over the course of friendship with Eddie.

"Well, I'm glad she finally found her place then." Your mother responds coldly, clearly hearing the bite in his tone. "Why don't you two go find your room and get settled in, rehearsal dinner is in a few."

Before retreating into the large crowd of family, your mother turns back to you in one more attack.

"Oh and Birdie, wear something that will hide that stomach. Don't want anyone to assume you've been knocked up."

Once you've found your room, you all but rush Eddie inside slamming the door behind you. In the quiet safety of your suite, you can relax your shoulders that have been sitting high since you've arrive.

"Jesus Bird, you weren't lying." Eddie says as he flops himself on the queen sized bed.

You don't respond, instead you squeeze your eyes shut and try to calm the heaviness of your breathing. Behind the darkness of your eyes, little twinkles of stars flash from how hard you have them closed, the swooshing of your heart continuing in your ears like angry waves of the sea.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself over and over again, trying to erase the cruel words of your mother and the images of disgusted family member's faces out of your mind. You're not sure how long you've been standing by the door until a hand grasps at your wrist lightly.

"Birdie," Eddie's coax goes unanswered, "Come on, Birdie."

Warm calloused hands travel to the plump of your cheeks, lifting your face up just enough that he can see you. Finally opening your eyes, you're relieved to be looking into the golden whiskey pools of his.

Smoothing his thumb over your cheek he doesn't say anything, just lets your breathing calm down. Here you are, in the nice room behind the shelter of the locked door, and he's here.

Breathe in. It's okay. Breathe out. You're safe. Breathe in. You are here. Breathe out. So is he.

It's enough to let your feet move on the plush white carpeting, while Eddie leads you to the bed with the tug of your arm. Sitting on the plush mattress on crisp linen sheets you're grounded, and with the heat of Eddie sitting next to you and his hand in yours, you're anchored.

The rehearsal dinner goes over well enough, the Irish mule helping with every single speech that's given and every horror story of your childhood that is told. Luckily for you, Vee didn't ask you to be in her bridal party so you didn't have to attend the actual wedding rehearsal, and even better you won't have to deal with her for the real thing tomorrow.

Eddie does great at dinner, he talks to your father who surprisingly likes him, both getting along over their love for vintage cars. Your soon to be brother in law and his groomsmen also get along with Eddie, they laugh and cut up most of the time while clinking beer bottles together. Not to mention every single woman there wanted to get into his pants, swooning at everything he said and giving him the 'fuck me' eyes while doing it.

You hated it, every single minute of it. Like always you were ignored, simply looked over until some story was being told where you were ultimately the joke of. Any time someone asked you what you were doing with your life, you were met with cringing smiles and snickering laughs.

Four separate times your mother commented on your dress, the way it fit, the price value of it, and how it really wasn't a good color on you. All of your sisters friends rolled their eyes and whispered back and forth while staring at you, aunts and uncles acted dumbfounded when you told them that you were a freelance writer for a small music magazine back in Indy, and your cousins made comments about how badly you look since the last time you saw them.

It didn't matter anyway, even if your sister asked how you managed to get a stand up guy like Eddie to agree to be with you, in front of all of the guests. You had to remind yourself that you were there for the free booze and food or whatever the hell Eddie said in the car on the way here.

This wasn't a popularity contest for you, it was simply you being forced to do something against your wishes because your mother said so. You asked yourself why you even listened to her in the first place while letting the brown liquor burn in your stomach.

Why was it so important that you even showed up here? Why did you have to come to the awarding ceremony of favorite kid when you knew you weren't going to win? Why would you even set yourself up for such failure just because your mom said so?

Well, you're answer came when a flushed faced Eddie was laughing with your grandparents at one of the round tables in the corner. His eyes crinkled at the sides and his head was leaned back so you had a clear view of the neck you loved so much.

Then you looked over at your sweet looking grandparents who laughed loudly at whatever was said. Your grandmother had her hands on her cheeks, shaking her head back and forth, and beaming brightly. Your grandfather smiled around his cigar, big round belly jumping with laugher, and his cheeks smooshing up against the frames of his big glasses.

You didn't come here to win a competition. You didn't come here because your mother threatened you within an inch of your life if you didn't. You didn't come here because you thought it would be fun.

You showed up because you wanted to prove to the people who doubted you for so long just how happy you were. You wanted to prove that happiness doesn't come from the amount of money in your account or how many rooms sit in your house. You came here because you wanted to prove that they were wrong, that the grass on the other side of the fence could be green too, and that someone who grew up differently that you could still do amazing things.

Eddie was someone that your father would've had you kicked out over bringing him home in high school. Eddie was the boy your mother would tell you to stay far away from. Eddie was the kind of guy that your sister wouldn't look twice at because of who he was.

But right now, during the beautiful dinner the night before your sister's wedding, your best friend/fake boyfriend has them all wrapped around his guitar calloused finger.

-

Not much has been said between you and him, especially when he was the man of the hour. You're not really complaining though, you're happy that he made a good impression with them. When the night began to settle into your bones and the alcohol started to make you tipsy, you slyly walked up to Eddie and tugged on his sleeve to let him know it was time to go.

On the walk back to the room, you sway slightly with every step you take, balancing on the walls with one hand while the other holds your strappy heels. When Eddie stops and turns to the door of your room, you all but smack into him with clumsy steps.

While he fumbles with key, you're in blissful content with your eyes closed. The kick of the lock and the turn of the handle doesn't even pull you out of your daze, instead you hold your arms out like a mummy and feel around until you find Eddie's clothed back.

You can tell Eddie is laughing by the large breath that passes through his nose and the tell tale sign of him kissing his teeth. Large hands wrap around your wrists, guiding you into the doorway that you can't see.

Your cheeks are warm, the smile on your face is permanent, and the buzzing in your heart makes you feel light on your feet.

"Alright mummy, lets get you into bed." Letting go of his hold on you, you feel him slightly brush past you to close the door. His voice sounds like the way stars look, sparkling and bright, twinkling all around.

You giggle, eyes still shut and your nose scrunched up. "M'not a mummy but I could be if ya want."

Putting your arms out, you lean back and forth on your feet to mimicking what you think is a mummy but looks more like a zombie.

"Baaaaahhhhh, I'm a mummy. Be very afraid." You deepen your voice, dragging the syllables of every word to make them come out slower.

Eddie must be entertained because the sound of a loud raspberry comes from where he stands, the clear sign of him losing the grip on the laugh he'd been holding in.

Cracking one of your eyes open, you hope to find him with rose cheeks and dimples flashing, the look you love so much. Instead you see him, beaming at you without the shine of his canines. It's an admiring smile, one where your eyes go all gooey and your smile is simple yet dipped with so much love.

Opening your eyes all the way, you let your arms down slowly to rest by your sides, a meek look painting your face.

"Did I do good?" You ask, even though you didn't really want his opinion.

"I think you're perfect." It comes out even, smooth like the hilltops in December covered in a layer of the purest snow.

The two of you sit there for a while, soaking up the glow of each other and letting it sink into your souls. For a moment you wonder if he feels it too, the spark that you feel whenever he's around. You wonder if he feels like crying simply because he loves you that much. You wonder if he wishes this whole dating thing wasn't just a lie and that it was true, the same way you wish it was.

Once the moment ends for him, he's clearing his throat to clear any lovesick daze that's left. "I guess we better head to bed, huh?"

Scratching at the back of his neck, you try with everything in your power to not look down where his turtle neck rode up, where the patch of mouth watering hair trails from his belly button to underneath the waist of his pants.

A part of you wishes you stuck it out longer, stayed in your seat at the dinner table just to see him in his outfit longer. He asked you to help him pick it out this morning and when you think back to it, you get flustered with thinking how domesticated it felt. Making him try on different shirts and jumping for joy when he walked out of the bathroom wearing a turtleneck he swore he'd never wear. The khakis you pulled out of his suitcase was the cause of so much laughter and the pink tinge that sat on the rounds of his cheeks.

God, he looked so good, especially with his hair pulled back and the dangled earring that sat in his ear, but now it would all be a memory for you to file away in the back of your brain.

Eddie had already started taking off his dress shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed bent over and messing with the knots that kept the laces together.

The smile that once held your lips high and proud, now weigh down in a sad frown. Even after the success of the dinner and proving everyone wrong, you are now brought back to the reality of what you and Eddie were. Just friends.

"Since I'm a gentleman and I can't see to get these shoes untied, I'll let you shower first." His voice comes out strained from how hard he pulls on the knotted strings.

You don't say anything, quietly nodding your head before shuffling over to your suitcase that sits by the closet. Grabbing a sleepshirt and some shorts, you go to move around the lanky man that can't get his shoes off no matter how hard he tries.

Without a sound, you kneel in front of him, placing your clothes somewhere off to the side. Taking his calf in your hand, you place his foot on your thigh. Delicately, you remove the first shoe and then the next.

"Y'didn't have to do that." It's quiet but not enough to be a whisper, still you shrug.

"I didn't but I wanted to." It seems so simple when you say it, even though deep down inside you wanted that last piece of your fantasy before it goes away for the rest of the night.

"Will you help me with my dress?" You ask him, standing on your feet and turning so that the golden zipper is facing him.

In the mirrored closet door you can see him and how he hesitates for a moment, shaky hands lingering in the air before they close in on the gold slider.

The sound of the metal teeth unlatching from one another fills the room, clouding the unrhythmic beat of your heart. You try to remember the feeling of him on the sacred part of your skin, the way his light touch tickles you and makes goosebumps rise. You want to memorize it like your favorite song, so that when you leave this place and the fake nature of this whole thing goes away, you still have something to think about on those bad days.

It ends too soon for your liking, his hands retracting right back to the sides of his body like a measuring tape. With the fuzz of your tipsy has now wore off but the sting of everything still remains.

Giving him a small smile and muttering a thank you, you hide in the bathroom where the sound of running water hides the muffled cries that leave your throat.

Waking up felt more painful than any hangover you've ever had. The pain of Eddie's bare back facing you was heartbreaking. You force yourself not connect the freckles that litter his skin or trace your fingers along his spine and shoulder blades.

It's a sight you've seen plenty of times and sharing a bed is something you've done more than enough that you're not uncomfortable. Yet your heart squeezes, wrapping itself up in the tightest loop so that it hurts to even breathe.

The sound of his soft snores only makes it worse, imagining what he dreams about and if it's you.

You use all of the willpower that's left in your body, marching over to the small kitchenette that sits in the corner of the giant room. Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you try to focus on the swirl of dark liquid mixing with the coffee creamer and how they mix together so perfectly. Without much of a peep, you slide the glass doors that lead out to the balcony and sit down in one of the plush chairs.

You look out over the mountains of colors, tracing over the lines of trees that go on for miles. Although pretentious, you think Veronica did an excellent job and choosing this location.

Sipping on the hot beverage, you watch the clouds in the blue sky go by, wondering what it would've been like if your sister asked you to be a bridesmaid. You imagine that the two of you would've actually gotten along and maybe even laughed together. You envision what it would've been like to have your mother compliment you in your gown and how it would feel to take a picture with your family where all the smiles were real.

Tears begin to burn the back of your eyes, falling rapidly like a fall rainstorm. The skin of your cheeks burn slightly from the heated trails of water that fall. You're sad and incredibly so. Within the first twenty four hours of being here, you remember how much of an outsider you really are to these people.

Even with the company of Eddie, someone that truly loves you, you still can't help but feel so fucking lonely. To put on the mask you wore for many year back on and pretend that the man standing next to you is yours to claim is harder than any other time you had to do it.

This time you weren't really faking it, the love that you showed to him, the happiness you felt with him was real, just the titles weren't. With the cool fall chill, your coffee has gone cold but your tears keep coming.

"You made yourself a cup of coffee but not one for me, and this is how I find out? That's just mean." Eddie's curly hair pokes out from the small gap in the sliding back door that he's created.

His eyes are squinted from the harshness of the morning sun but his cheeky smile is forever unwavering. Sliding a space big enough for him to go through, he stalks out onto the small space in his plaid pajama pants and a hoodie he must've thrown on.

Trying your best to cover up that you've been crying, you wipe the back of your hand across your cheeks, but Eddie still catches your movements.

Instead of embarrassing you, he sits down in the chair across from you and looks out over the balcony.

"You okay?" It's a simple enough question, one that you can answer with one word and he wouldn't pry for more information to not overwhelm you.

Sniffling, you shake your head yes and then move your gaze to where his is. "No, yeah, m'good. The view really does something for me." You say, chuckling just a bit at your own joke.

Eddie also laughs, only this time it's not as genuine as it usually is, just a hard exhale through his nose.

"Yeah, sure does." He agrees, letting his eyes follow the red and orange of the tree tops.

A calm silence falls over you two, only the sounds of the birds that fly and the ruffle of the leaves can be heard from where you sit. It's peaceful.

"You know, I really thought this weekend would be different." It comes out of your mouth as easy as the breeze that blows. Still your eyes stay trained out in front of you and past the mountains of trees.

Eddie doesn't respond but the hole that he burns through the side of your head with his eyes tell you he's listening.

"When I was little, I used to imagine the day Vee got married. I would fantasize that maybe one day we could be close enough that I could enjoy this day with her and we could be sisters for once." You exhale an uneven breath, moving your sights to the cup that still sits in your hand.

"I just wanted all of us to be a family for once. I wanted my mom to actually act like she liked me, for my dad to say that for once he was proud of who I was, and for Veronica, I just wanted her to say she's happy that I'm her little sister."

Just like that, every single thing you've carried since you were little is now out in the open, whipping around in the wind like the dead leaves. Even with the amount of burden that's been lifted, the pain still remains the same. It all hurts, stabbing you over and over again in the scars that you worked so hard to patch up.

Eddie doesn't say anything and for a moment you don't think he'll say anything at all. You watch him pull out the pack of cigarettes he had nestled in his pocket and place one in between his pretty pink lips.

Another second goes by and he's flicking the wheel of his lighter, shielding the flame away from the wind so he can light it. When the end of the smoke burns red, he takes a big inhale and then lets the cloud of smoke out.

"I know what I say won't matter," He starts before taking another drag of his smoke, "But these people don't fucking mean anything."

"They're you're family and I get that but they don't fucking deserve you, they never have. A fake boyfriend, a new haircut, or a cool job shouldn't define their love for you. They're shitty people who were blessed with an amazing person and they didn't even realize it."

Eddie looks at you the same way he speaks, with nothing but truth. You let the words settle in your mind, letting them soak in, in case you forget.

The tears that once ceased start to flow again, except this time it's from relief. It feels good that someone else sees your worth, to know someone actually holds value to you.

"It kills me that they treat you the way they do, that they can say all those things without batting an eye. I know why you asked me to come here and I know I have a job to do, but man do I want to rip them all a new asshole."

Although he speaks with fire behind the words, you have to laugh from the thought of the actions. The moment you giggle, his own smile forms.

"I hope you know that I love you and when everything is done and over with, we'll give them the bird." To make his point, Eddie raises his middle finger high into the sky.

Repeating his actions, you hold your own finger to the sky and smile happily while doing it.

Letting his arm fall back down into place, he pats the tops of your thighs and stands from the chair.

"That's my girl, now let's get ready for an open bar and free booze." Holding his open palm to you, he helps you up.

The wedding reception was what you thought it would be, drawn out and boring. The only saving grace of the whole thing was Eddie's commentary, the scruff on his face tickling you every time he leaned close to your ear.

A lot of the things he was saying was probably just to make you feel better but you did have to agree, the dress Veronica picked out was a bad rip off of Princess Diana's and it shouldn't have seen broad daylight.

You did however get choked up when the vowels started, not because you were happy with your sister but because you wish that were you and Eddie up there instead.

All and all it was okay, even though one of your brother in law's aunt's wore a hat so big you couldn't see past it most of the time.

The wedding reception though was beautiful. The décor of the manner looked exquisite against the maroon coloring of all the bridesmaids dresses. The tables had beautiful bouquets sitting in the middle and you can't help but laugh imagining your father cutting a check for all of them.

To much of yours and Eddie's delight, there is an open bar that is stacked high with pricey alcohol. Again you laugh thinking about your father having to pay the tab, which you and Eddie will be happy to run up.

So far this is the most the two of you had fun, both laughing and enjoying the company that's around you. The table you've been stuck at is also occupied by other family rejects that enjoy the titles they've been given.

Eddie's hand hasn't left your thigh, which you're more than happy about, and every so often he flexes his fingers squeezing the meaty flesh.

You feel good, the boost from the drinks and the feeling of your best friend makes you bloom like a flower in the spring. You watch as he talks to the people at your table and how his hand moves with enthusiasm. You trace the muscles in his neck and watch his adam's apple bob up and down when he speaks. Your chin sits in the palm of your hand as you watch him be himself like he always is.

He's so beautiful, he always has been, and in this moment he gets to be yours. You don't have to think about what anyone else thinks, you don't have to question how the two of you look from another's perception, because you know that your heart bleeds for him and it always will.

Eddie's your home, he's your best friend, and he's your person. You think back to what he said to you this morning and how he called you a blessing but you think he's wrong. Eddie is the true blessing. He's sweet, he's smart, and he's so fucking caring it's disgusting. Behind all the jagged features and dark clothes, he's nothing but a giant teddy bear that wears his heart on his sleeve.

"Birdie." He smiles at you, all goo and mush it makes your heart skip.

You hum in response, still sitting in the same position, looking at him as if he were a painting.

"You wanna dance?" He blushes, embarrassed by the request and you feel like you're back in junior high.

"You, Eddie Munson hate dancing." You say, scrunching your nose cutely.

Laughing loudly, he nods, "Yeah, I know, but I'd dance with you."

That breaks you out of your daze, breath catching in your throat. "O-oh, yeah. I'll um dance."

Again he stands, holding a palm out to you so he can help you up. Leaning you to the dance floor, you can't help but feel jittery despite the wine that you've consumed.

Once out on the floor, he pulls you into his chest. Strong hands grip your waist through the silk fabric of your red dress and you desperately try to fight the need that rises in your guy.

You stand stiff, unsure of what to do with yourself and Eddie's quick to help you, placing your hands around his neck where they lay contently.

He looks good tonight, even better than last night, and you hate how it makes butterflies flap around in your stomach. The black button up shirt sits nicely on his torso, wrapping his arms so deliciously you want to take a bite out of them. The black slacks he wears fit nicely and you wonder if he had them tailored and you have to ignore the want to undo the sleek black belt with a bright golden buckle that holds them up. Again his hair sits in a low bun and that silver chain peeks out at you from underneath his collar.

"I can't believe you asked me to dance to Ed Sheeran." You say breathlessly, still nervous with being this close to him.

Eddie snorts, lopsided smile forming on his lips. "What, a guy can't like Ed Sheeran and metal? That's gatekeeping, sweetheart." He teases.

Rolling your eyes, you try to ignore that tingle that settles in your cheeks. "Whatever you say, Munson."

"I'm serious, Thinking Out Loud was in my top ten last year." The two of you hold eye contact until you can't take it anymore, both bursting into laughter at his admission.

"That's something you shouldn’t repeat." You sputter at him and he laughs even harder.

"Hey, I like this song, okay?" He defends, still swaying back and forth with you.

Raising your hands in defense, you pull back on your clowning for the sake of your friend. Placing your arms back around his neck, you lean your head on his chest and try to hear the beat of his heart.

The scent of him floods your nose, cologne and smoke, whiskey and linen, and you wish you could bottle it to keep forever.

"Why do you like this song anyway? It's kind of basic." You mutter at him.

His shoulders lift in a shrug, and he takes a moment to respond. "Honestly, I like it cause it reminds me of you."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you remove your head to look up at him.

"Wha'do you mean?" You mumble, eyes searching his for some sort of answer.

Looking bashful again, red tints his cheeks and ears in a blush. Sticking his tongue out to wet his lips, he hesitantly answers.

"I always felt like he said everything I couldn't, ya know? Everything I ever wanted to say to you, he put in a song."

It feels like the whole world stops, that time freezes and it's just the two of you. You're in shock and for some reason you can't wrap your head around anything he's saying.

"What?" You say harshly and again he shrugs, shying away from your burning focus on him.

"Reminds me of you and everything I ever felt about you. I always wanted to call you mine but if you hadn't noticed, I'm a chicken shit."

You don't say anything, instead you stare at him with your mouth wide open. Eddie starts to loose his cool, frantically flexing his fingers against the material of your dress, looking around at anything but you.

"Sorry, I - shit, I really fucked this up," He doesn't get to finish his sputtering apology because you quickly smash your lips into his.

His lips taste like brown liquor and chapstick, like love and forever, and you can't believe you waited this long to experience it. Two heart sync as one, two people fall together like the leaves outside, and anxieties are finally laid to rest.

You hate that you pull away first but the need for air is too much. Eddie bends enough so that his forehead leans on yours, both looking into each other eyes living in the moment of your blissed out hearts.

"Tell me if I'm being too forward but do you wanna get out of here?" He flirts and you respond simply by pecking his lips once more.

"Thought you'd never ask."

thank you all for reading!!! love you guys <3

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[bloodsbane]

what i love about laios is that he's actually very good at putting puzzle pieces together BUT HERE'S THE THING 1) he needs to HAVE the information, and 2) (this is important) he needs to KNOW it is information he should care about

and i think this could be said of anyone but the thing with laios is that people tend to view his lack of awareness wrt social etiquette and memory problems as pure indifference and/or obliviousness; sometimes they misinterpret his motives based on their inaccurate expectations of him and therefore don't give his thoughts on a subject the credit he deserves

one of the most obvious examples of this happens at least twice in the manga as i remember it, but the most recent incident was when they were trying to resurrect falin. there's a moment where laios mentions reconstructing both of the warg skeletons, as their bones are mixed in with hers. both chilchuck and senshi balk at this, with chilchuck complaining aloud, questioning laios' priorities,

and laios quickly, angrily retorts. his reason for making the suggestion is perfectly logical and practical, but because his friends are used to his interest in monsters influencing his judgement, often in ways they see as frivolous or dangerous, they don't come to the same conclusion. one which i'd argue is kind of obvious considering the situation

we see it again during his fight with toshiro, where toshiro demands to know what laios plans to do to save falin. laios takes a minute to answer, but he DOES answer, following the logic that if falin is a chimera because of (and controlled by) the mad mage, then the logical next step is to confront/defeat/usurp them

then in the following episode, when chilchuck brings it up again, laios explains what he (now) knows about thistle, mentioning that he's the same elf that laios saw in the living paintings, which is why he knows thistle's connection to delgal. the party reacts like this:

i'd say this is an example of them feeling frustration over laios' habit of having 'bad timing', not knowing when or how to speak at appropriate moments. theyre judging him for not saying something earlier, as if he already knew all this but didn't think to mention it when it was relevant, when the reality is that laios only just now had all the pieces he needed to understand the full picture

and i mention this bit specifically because i think it's a great way to explain what i mean by point 2: laios needs to know when information is important and worth considering

which, again, feels fucking obvious. but as someone who ALSO has debilitating issues with remembering important shit, i find this particular element of it pretty relatable and critical to my overall point. it's not laios' fault that he didn't know who thistle was or his significance - why the hell would he assume that a person he met in a living painting, presumably long since dead in reality, should be someone who's face, name, or motives he keeps in mind?

ultimately, i guess what i'm trying to say with all this is that the way others treat laios' intelligence is not congruent to how actually smart he is. one of the things i love most about laios, what is possibly his biggest strength and the reason he is such a great protagonist, is that laios is willing to think things through and find the most logical conclusion to a problem, no matter how outlandish or dangerous or seemingly impossible that conclusion may be. sister got eaten? race back down to go get her. can't afford food? fight, defeat, and eat dangerous monsters. sister's fully digested? use black magic to bring her back. now she's a chimera? defeat the mage controlling her and use that power to fix it.

anyways. what was even my point with this post? i guess it is that laios is smart, at least as smart as anyone else in the cast, arguably smarter than some. he is intelligent and utilizes that intelligence in many ways, not JUST when it comes to monster info (though that is his best and sexiest brand of knowledge)

and also please be nice to your friends with memory problems. it's rough out here for forgetful bitches

[quintinh43]

Fucking Canada | Luke Hughes

Summary: Luke is out with an injury, Y/n is on break from school. Obviously, the only logical thing is for them to head down to Vancouver to visit Quinn.

Pairings: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Meantions of Anxiety, Drinking (drink responsibly kids), Some light suggestive content. Use of the name Mariana. Let me know if I missed anything!

Wc: 4.9k

This one's for @toasttt11, stay awesome 🫶🏼

---

Luke had been been out with an injury for a week. And it was driving him insane. He had begged and begged the trainers to at least allow him on the ice with the team. He'd batted his long eyelashes and given them puppy dog eyes and the famous Hughes pout, yet somehow they resisted and firmly told him he was not to touch a pair of skates until after his two-week check up.

And that was only if his check-up came back all ok. So in his boredom, he flew down to Michigan to spend time with you, and then decided that as soon as your break started he was flying both of you down to Vancouver for the week, because fuck he missed his big brother.

He rolled his wrist around in its brace, and you smack him in the chest. "Stop doing that. You're gonna aggravate your wrist and make it worse."

"Baby, I swear its fine," he whined, "The trainers don't know what they're talking about."

You snort, and grab his arm, pinning it beneath your torso, being careful to ensure that the strained part of his wrist was not under you.

"Baby, please," he whined, tugging his arm gently. "Let me up,"

"Only if you promise to stop rolling your wrist." You glare.

"I promise" Luke mumbles shifting towards you to run his lips along your jaw. Your stomach flutters, pink dusts across your cheeks, and you let him go immediately. He leans on his elbows and kisses down your neck.

"Luke" you whisper breathlessly.

"Hmm" he hums, nipping at the sensitive skin along the column of your troat.

You bite your lip, debating telling him off. But kissing Luke is much much better than studying physiology, and you haven't had a break in a while. You slam your textbook shut, and all but kick it off the bed.

"You're such a menace," you huff, he wraps his uninjured arm around you, and drags himself fully on top of you, kissing gently down your neck.

"You know you love me," he grins.

"You're lucky I do, Hughes. Now get back to kissing me,"

"Yes ma'am," he chuckles, lips dancing along your collarbones.

There's a knock on your door and before you can tell whoever it is to fuck off, your roommate and best university friend; Mariana barges in.

"Enough sexy time, kids!" she says, ignoring the murderous glares both you and Luke throw her way, "If you still want a ride to the airport, we are leaving in ten." She walks out, leaving the door open. You sigh, nudging Luke with your shoulder, to get off of you. He pecks one last kiss to your cheek and rolls off you, pulling you to your feet so the two of you can get all your things together.

You slide your laptop into your bag, grab all your chargers, and make sure you have an extra set of headphones. Because God knows the worst thing that could possibly happen is being stuck on an airplane with no muisc. After double and triple checking that you have everything, Mariana ushers you out the door hurriedly.

The ride to the airport is nothing special. You and Mariana sit in the front while Luke is banished to the back. You stretch an arm back to hold his hand, and he leans his head on your seat to be closer to you.

"Have fun in Vancouver Babe," Mariana says giving you a tight parting hug, and kiss on the cheek.

"Better take care of my girl Hughes, or I'm coming for that other wrist" She threatens, giving Luke a hug. Luke laughs, patting Mariana's back.

"You know it, Mari," he grins, winking at you.

"Text me when you land, ok?" She says, squeezing your shoulder.

"I will. Thanks for the ride, Mar." You hive her one last squeeze goodbye and take Luke's hand as you head through the airport.

Everything goes smoothly, thank God, and soon you and Luke are boarded the plane. It's a fight over who takes the window seat. You think Luke should have it cause he has longer legs, and Luke thinks you should have it because you deserve the best seat.

After convincing Luke that as long as you're sitting beside him, you do have the best seat, he reluctantly takes the window seat. And makes sure to tell you that if you want to switch at any time, just tell him.

You nod, knowing that you absolutely won't be doing that, but what Luke doesn't know won't hurt him.  You're set to arrive just before Quinn's game tonight, which means that the two of you won't get to see him until later. After going through your mental checklist, making sure everything is organized, you stick your headphones in and rest your head on Luke's shoulder and promptly pass out.

Luke is shaking you awake gently when it's time to get off the plane. "Wake up, Baby, it's time to get going," he says softly.

You sigh, rubbing the tiredness from your eyes, "Alright lets go,"

You grab all of yours and Lukes belongings from the overhead compartment, much to his dismay. "Baby, let me help,"

"Luke Warren, I swear if you touch any of this luggage with that wrist, I'll chop it off," you say sternly. You hand him his backpack, and he slings it over his shoulder with a pout.

You grab his injured hand gently, lacing your fingers together as best as you can with his brace on, and head off the plane. As you step into the Uber, both your phones buzz with a text from Quinn.

Q: I left a key for you guys with the front desk, Luke just has to show some ID.

Q: You guys are coming to the game right?

Luke: Yep, excited to see you Q

You: Were just heading to your place now, to get settled and then we're on our way. See you soon!

Q: Excited to see you guys too.

You arrive at his apartment, and Luke shows his ID to the front desk, and they hand over the key. Quinn's apartment is nice, but it's so clean. It looks like a place out of a modern decor magazine, except for the photos of his family scattered here and there.

There's a two jerseys folded neatly on the bed with a sticky note that says 'Don't be a little bitch' on top. "Nope" Luke says as he immediately lays eyes on it, "I'm not wearing that, nither are you."

You roll your eyes at him, but don't argue. It makes sense that he wouldn't wear it. Players have a thing about not wearing another franchises merchandise. He unzips his suitcase and pulls out two black hoodies with white stitching that says Hughes 43 on the back. Except if you look carefully, the devils logo is stitched on the sleeve.

You shake your head with a smile and take the hoodie from him. "Let me just change into something better, and we'll head out."

Luke nods, digging around for a pair of jeans for himself.  The two of you make quick work of changing, and then you're on your way to the game. Quinn, smartly left the tickets under your name, lest someone spill the beans that Luke Hughes is in Vancouver to watch his brother play.

Your seats are right by the glass. When Quinn notices you, he skates over, unable to keep the smile off his face. "Bitches" he mouths with a smile, as he takes in the lack of Canuck blue in your outfits.

You grin and flash him a heart with your fingers while Luke flips him off, making sure he can see the devils logo on the sleeve. Quinn shakes his head at Luke and skates off to finish warm-ups.

Thankfully, no one really takes note of the interaction. Luke has a cap pulled low, so unless someone is really looking for Luke Hughes, then he shouldn't be recognized. The atmosphere is electric. Canadian hockey really hits differently.

The game is nerve-wracking, and for most of it, you and Luke are on the edges of your seats, grabbing at eachother hands, and slapping eachothers knees in excitement whenever something particular exciting happens. And when Quinn picks up a goal, the two of you are jumping and screaming.

The game ends with a canuck win, and as you two make your way down to the locker room to greet Quinn, you're chattering excitedly about all the good plays that were made. Especially Quinn's. He picked up a goal and three assists, making him the top point scorer of the game.

As he walks out of the locker room, he can't keep the smile off his face as he lands eyes on you and Luke. As much as he doesn't mind being on his own, seeing his family is always the best. You've been around the Hughes boys since you were growing up. From Toronto to Michigan. Your family's were really close and still are to this day.

He pulls you into a hug first, "Good to see you Y/n" he says, patting you on the back.

He goes to hug Luke, and in true brotherly fashion, he can't help but make a jab at him as does so. "I swear to God, you get taller every time I see you." Rather than standing on his tip toes to throw his arms around Lukes neck, he hooks his ankle around the back of Luke's knee and Luke's knees buckle.

Quinn catches him in a hug before he can hit the floor. You and Quinn are laughing, while Luke grumbles. He snatches Quinns hat off his head, making his hair stick up in every which way and holds it as high as he can. Quinn rolls his eyes, not taking the bait, and starts to walk.

Luke huffs and throws his hat back at him. "How did y'all get here?"

"Uber," you say, throwing an arm around Luke's waist as you walk. He drapes his arm around your shoulder, fingers brushing patters against your shoulder.

"The team is going out to celebrate. Do you guys wanna join, or do you want a ride home first?"

"Well, come with," Luke smiles, "Good game, dude, you made some nasty moves."

Pink dusts Quinn's cheeks, and he changes the conversation. "How's the wrist?"

Luke rolls his eyes, and before he can roll his wrist, you glare at him. "It's completely fucking fine."

"It's not" you say

"The trainers don't know what they are talking about." He mutters.

"They do" You add poking luke in the side.

Quinn scoffs, "Yes, im sure the people whose literal job it is to treat your injures don't know what they are talking about."

Luke pouts, "I can't believe my girl and my brother are ganging up on me like this,"

"Well, maybe if you weren't so stubborn." You and Quinn say simultaneously, looking at each other with a grin.

Luke grumbles unintelligiblly and Quinn throws his bags in this trunk. Luke takes the front seat, and this time, he's the one reaching his arm back to hold your hand. You smile, lacing your fingers together. Quinn rolls the eyes at the two of you with a smile.

The drive to the bar is filled with the light chatter of the three of you catching up about life. Unsurprisingly, Quinn has nothing interesting happening in his love life. The man eats, breathes, sleeps, and lives hockey. Luke teases him about becoming an old spinster while he glances at you lovingly. No doubt envisioning the magnificence that your lives will be together.

The bar is absolutely packed. Not surprisingly. It's a Friday night and the Canucks won. Some of the team is already there, in a roped off Vip area. They wave Quin over urgently. He grabs your hand and you grab Luke's so as not to get separated in the crowd of drunk people.

Quinn greets his teammates with hugs and back slaps and inside jokes. Some of them grin at you and Luke, wiggling their eyebrows at you and dragging Luke into hugs.

"So why are Mr. And Mrs. Huggy Jr. Here?" Brock asks, swirling the liquid in his glass.

Luke smiles at that, tracing his finger over the back of your left ring finger. "Luke is out injured, and I'm on a break from school," you shrug, playing with Luke's hand in yours.

"I'm going to get a refill," Luke hums, kissing the tip of your ear as he detangles himself from you, "want anything?"

"I'm good for now, baby," you say, kissing him on the cheek. When you turn back to the guys, they are all leaning close to you, batting their eyelashes like a group of High-school girls waiting to hear the latest drama about your crush.

Petey is the first to speak, "So when is he proposing?"

Millsy slaps him in the back of the head, "How is she supposed to know when he's proposing dumbass?"

"That man is so fucking whipped for you," Brock smirks, and you can't help the blush that colours your cheeks.

"You guys will have some cute babiess," Garland grins, just the slightest bit tipsy.

"Alright, alright, leave her alone. That's my sister-in-law you're bullying" Quinn says, coming to your rescue. He throws an arm around your shoulders, squeezing gently.

"You ok?" He asks quietly, the guys already forgetting the previous topic of conversation.

"Yeah, thanks Quinn," you smile, squeezing his hand back.

"Well, I'm absolutely beat, so I'm gonna go home. Do y'all wanna stay, or are you ready to head home?"

"We'll stay I think, me and Lukey are having fun, and I have yet to drag him to the dance floor. Are you ok to drive home?"

"Yeah, I haven't been drinking," Quinn says, smiling softly at your concern for him. "Sorry to leave y'all hanging."

"Don't worry about it, Quinn, we'll see you tomorrow. You played a good game, go get lots of rest," you smile, wrapping him in a quick hug.

He hugs you back and turns to address the guys. "I'm heading out if anyone wants a ride," Before the sentence fully leaves his mouth, Petey is practically throwing himself at Quinn. He stumbles into the two of you, and you both reach out to make sure he doesn't eat the floor. "I drank too much," he mumbles.

You laugh, patting his back, as Quinn stabilizes him. "I'm making you do bag skates next practice," Quinn says with entirely too much joy, as he practically half carries Petey out of the bar.

With Quinn gone, you dip out of the Vip section to find Luke, you spot him sitting at the bar, cheeks flushed, empty shot glasses littered suspiciously close to him. He's holding another glass that looks like soda, and there's a girl leaning much to close to him. He's leaning back slowly, looking very unimpressed.

Until he spots you. His megawatt lady killer smile appears as he all but pushes the other girl out of the way, and practically sprints to you, as well as someone can sprint in a crowded bar. Your hands rest on his arms, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Luke, are you ok?" You ask concerned, eyes flitting across his face, "have you been drinking?"

"Y/n!" He is way too giddy to be sober, "I know we said, we weren't drinking, but then I was sad about my wrist and someone said that the alcohol would make me feel better, so drank a little teeny tiny shot, and then another one cause somone got me another one, and then this group of girls asked me if I wanted to do shots with them, and I was gonna say no, but then they already ordered the shots and then-"

You cut off his drunk rambling, your voice laced with concern. "Luke baby, do you remember how many shots you took?" You ask, the calmness of your voice not giving way to the absolutely disastrous thoughts swimming in your head.

"Four, I think!" He grins, trying to count the glasses that were littered on the bar top in front of where he was sitting. There were five. Your eyes widen almost comically. He was barely gone for half an hour. He took five shots of straight alcohol in less than half an hour. Fuck.

Now it wasn't as if Luke hadn't drank before, undoubtedly he had. But definitely not that amount of alcohol in that span of time. Plus, it wasnt really recommended for professional athletes to drink anyways, so the amount of alcohol he'd consumed since the beginning of the season probably didn't even equate the amount that he'd drank tonight alone. Double Fuck.

And on top of all of that, Quinn had already left. "My wrist feels so much better!" Luke says happily, "I can take off my brace!" As he reaches for straps on his brace, you grab his hand.

"Absolutely not Luke." You lace your fingers with his to keep him from taking off his brace while you try to figure out what to do. Before you know what's happening, there's another full shot glass in front of you, and Luke is knocking it back. Triple Fuck.

"It burns," he pouts, shaking his head like he just ate something sour.

"Luke, how did you even get alcohol? we're underage!" The disbelief is evident in your voice.

The bartender hears your statement and decides that he'd better clear up that misconception before he gets into some kond of trouble. "No ma'am," he says, leaning over the counter. "I checked his ID, says he's twenty, that's legal"

Suddenly, you are very pissed that the bartender is telling you how old your own boyfriend is. Just as you're about to snap at him for clearly not being able to to his job correctly, if he thinks twenty is legal, you remember that you're no longer in the States.

You're in Canada. Fucking Canada. Racking your brain, you try to recall the legal age in British Columbia. You feel so stupid. It's nineteen. Ninteen year olds are legally allowed to drink in B.C. Luke is twenty. Fuck fuck fucking fuckitty fuck.

Before you sprial into a full-on panic, you take a deep breath. Luke is drunk out of his mind, and he needs to get home now, and you panicking will not help the situation. You slap your card down on the bar top and tell the bartender to close Luke's tab.

You don't trust Luke to be left to his own devices, so you sling his arm around your shoulder and half drag him to where you left your phone and purse with Brock. You gently guide Luke to sit on one of the chairs. He does so shakily and wraps one arm around your chest, pulling you flush against his body.

His knees are squeezing your hips, his fingers are tracing over your collarbones, and his face is tucked against your neck.

"Woah! is Huggy Jr. drunk?" Brock asks, grinning madly as he hands you your phone and purse.

"In the span of time that he disappeared, he took six fucking shots" you grumble, as you order an Uber to get home.

Brock almsot chokes on his drink. He stares wide eyes, "oh so he's fucking blackout," he takes his phone and snaps a photo of you and Luke. The glare that you send him is so murderous that if looks could kill he'd be six feet under.

"Sorry," he shrugs with a shit eating grin that says he's not sorry at all, "I need some proof of this for when he wakes up hating his life tomorrow."

"Alright, well, at least send it to me." You grumble, Brock laughs, and your phone buzzes with a notification from him immediately after. "And hey, please don't tell Quinn anything right now. He's probably home and in bed by now, and I don't wanna stress him out unnecessarily."

Brock nods, "Don't worry, kid, my lips are sealed." He sighs like an older brother, "if I was sober, i'd be driving you home."

"Oh Brock, don't worry about it. You guys had great games, and you deserve to celebrate. We'll be fine, I promise," you smile. Your heart melts a little, you've only met the canucks a few times but from the instant that you did they treated you like family.

"Alright, alright, just let me know when you're home safe, I'll feel much better."

"You got it, Brocky," you smile, standing on your tip toes to give him a friendly kiss on the cheek. Brock grins like a school boy who just got a kiss from his crush. Thankfully, drunk Luke doesn't decide to make an appearance. Otherwise, he might have absolutely decked Brock in the face.

Not that he would've succeeded, based on how drunk he is. You're almost sure he's fallen asleep. Until his lips start moving against your neck. Quadruple fuck. You have to bite your lip to keep from moaning out loud as he nips at your throat with so much care you'd think he was fully sober.

His fingers start to make patterns along your collarbones, dipping lower toward the curve of your breasts. You don't want him to stop.

"Luke," you whisper desperately, laying your head atop his gently.

His hum of response reverberates against your skin, and pleasure melts down your spine, stomach fluttering.

"Luke," you try again, voice strained as his teeth screen against the sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder, "not here baby, we're in public."

" 's go home" he murmers into your skin, "wanna fuck my pretty girl."

Your cheeks go red faster than you thought possible. What a time to find out Luke is a horny drunk.

"Luke," his name is a prayer on your lips. The fingers of his injured hand burn as they press into your waist.

" 'm starvin for you baby," he mumbles, the tips of his fingers brushing under the waistband of your jeans.

Heat coils in your stomach, and you bite your lip to keep a whimper from spilling from your lips. As if some Devine power is on your side, you get a notification that your Uber has arrived.

"Our ride is here." Your voice is practically a squeak.

"Want you to ride me." Luke says, and you can feel his lips turn up into a smirk against your skin. You have to cover your mouth with your hand. Luke chuckles darkly. "Pretty girl has to cover her mouth so everyone doesn't know what a dirty girl she is." he hums nosing at your neck. If you're here any longer, you might actually combust. You make sure you have everything because you can quite literally never return to this bar every again.

You help pull Luke out of his chair and drape one of his arms over your shoulder. You wrap your arm around his waist to keep him steady. "Gonna eat you up when we're alone," he mutters, his grin all teeth. He's so fucking beautiful it makes your troat go dry.

You're blushing like a school girl as you help him out of the bar. He's leaning most of his weight on you while he whispers dirty things in your ear. You're surprised that you even manage to get him out of the bar on your own, mainly because his comments are making you weak in the knees. And partially because he's a 6'2, 185-pound man.

You successfully get him into the backseat and give the driver Quinns address. Thank God he lives close. A ten minute drive at most. But unfortunately for you, it feels like hours.  Because Luke had been very perceptive as to how his advances were making you react and continues them with no mercy.

"So pretty f' me" he mumbles, hand trailing up your thigh, lips fluttering over your neck, "gonna let me fuck you pretty girl?"

"Not here, Luke," You whisper, grabbing his hand. You kiss the back of his knuckles and looks at you with such desire in his eyes it takes every ounce of self control not strip and let him fuck you in the back seat of this random car. Your eyes flick to the driver and you swallow the nervous lump in your throat, and say a prayer for forgiveness as your lips trail up his hand.

You close your lips over two of his fingers, and he groans, his head falling against your shoulder. "Gotta be quiet, baby," you murmer, squeezing his knee with one hand before closing your lips back over his fingers.

"m' quiet, m' quiet," he murmers against your neck. Then he's grinding his hips against yours, and there's a whimper caught in your throat. The car comes to a stop in front of Quinns building, and you are hopping out of the car like it's on fire and dragging Luke out behind you.

He stumbles into your back, an arm wrapping around your waist, his lips reattach to your neck, and you can't help the moan that slips out. As soon as the elevator door shuts, Luke pins you to the wall with a knee between your legs, and you drag him down for a desperate kiss.

He tastes like alcohol and cinnamon and home. And you never want to let him go. Then he's hissing with fire, a yearning, pleading fire as he grinds his hips against yours. All you want to do is let him have his way, but he's so so drunk. And no matter how many years the two of you have been dating, and how many times you've slept together, you made your decision way back at the bar that you wouldn't go further than kissing and grinding.

The elevator opens on Quinns floor, and the two of you stumble out. You pat your pockets for the keys to his apartment, and fuck- they aren't there. They must have gotten left in his car on the way to the bar.

You knock on the door nervously. One hand wrapped around Luke's waist, and the other braced against his chest. His uninjured hand is tracing up and down your side and in a way that makes it hard not to squirm as he places tender kisses along your jaw.

Quinn opens the door, looking oh so tired, a toothbrush hanging half out of his mouth. Clearly, he didn't expect you back so soon. His eyes go wide at the sight in front of him, and he resists the urge to gag, lest his toothbrush fall out of his mouth.

"Whad da fack!" He exclaims, spitting into the kitchen sink and closing the apartment door behind you. "Is he drunk?"

"Yes, just let me get him into bed, and I'll explain," you say urgently.

"Only going to bed if you're coming with me," he murmers, squeezing your hip, "need m' pretty girl."

"Do you have advil?" You ask Quinn, ignoring Luke's statement, Quinn wisely chooses not to comment as he grabs advil and a glass of water.

You deposit luke on the bed, huffing from his weight. He pulls you down with a smirk. "Wait, baby, let me get your clothes," you say quickly.

Luke wiggles his eyebrows and lets you undress him. You strip him of his jeans and t-shirt leaving him in his boxers. "Be good and drink this for me," you say, sliding the advil into his mouth.

"I'm good for you, baby," he mutters after he swallows.

"So good for me," you assured as he slipped under the blanket. As soon as his head hits the pillow, his eyes are fluttering. " 'm tir'd."

You stroke his hair back from his forehead softly. "I know, baby, I know,"

"Still want you," he pouted.

"I know, baby, and you'll have me tomorrow. It's sleep time now, ok?"

"Mm'kay," he mumbles, barely audible. You stroke his hair and mutter sweet nothings to him as he falls asleep. You change into a pair of sweats and one of Luke's devils' hoodies before shutting the bedroom door with a quiet click.

Quinn is sitting on the couch, with two mugs of steaming tea. You flop onto the couch, leaning your back against the armrest and tucking your feet under his legs. He hands you a mug of tea, and you take it gratefully, holding it close to your face and letting the steam warm you.

"So what the fuck happened?" Quinn questions.

"After you left, Luke still wasn't back and I went to find him, I don't know what really happened on his end, but he said he was sad about his wrist, and someone convinced him alchool would make it better." You sigh, taking a sip of your tea.

"Anyways, by the time I got him, he had had six shots in the span of a half hour."

Quinns eyes practically bulge out of his head. He looks like he's running calculations in his head, and his jaw drops. "I know," you grimace, "I'm sorry, I should've watched him better, I knew he wasn't happy about his wrist, and I let him -"

"How did he even get drinks?" Quinn asks, "He's not 21."

"Hush, Y/n, it's not your fault. He's a big boy he knows what he's doing." Quinn says softly, drawing you into his arms.

"Quinn, you don't feel bad either, ok?" You say softly knowing Quinn is beating himself up on the inside. He sighs, purses his lips and doesn't say anything for a long minute.

"It's Canada," you mutter like that explains everything. And to Quinn, it does explain it all.

"Fucking Canada" he mutters shaking his head.

---

Hi guys!! I was very excited while writing this, so I hope y'all like it. Comment comment comment! I love comments, I wanna hear all your thoughts! They always make my day a bit brighter.

On that note, I'm going on a bit of a writing break for a week-ish cause schools getting a bit busy with midterms and final papers and whatnot. I'll still be active, tho (unless i feel like it's distracting, then I might fall off the face of the earth for a bit).

Anyways, with that, I hope y'all have a lovely, lovely evening. Love Soph ♡

[grandline-fics]

Could I request something with Law please? I'm not sure if you do NSFW stuff or not, but if you do could it maybe be something about after a one night stand, reader finds out her eggo is preggo and how law reacts?

If you don't do NSFW that's totally fine too! Maybe something about Law having a crush on femme reader who joins the crew, but they don't know she's a devil fruit user until a battle and they see her in action? She has a logia type that allows her to control water and become water.

DESCRIPTION: You find out you’re pregnant after a one-night stand

WARNINGS:  Mentions of pregnancy, suggestive descriptions but nothing explicit, some angst

CHARACTERS: Law

WORDS: 1,121

A/N: Sorry you had to wait so long for this and I hope you like what I managed to come up with for the pregnancy prompt

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

Law knew a distraction would jeopardise the plan he’d formed. He knew letting himself have his attention be diverted from the goal at hand was stupid. He was the personification of logic and yet he still found himself looking across the room at the sound of your laughter. He knows better, he should know better. Now was not the time to be drawn in like some lovesick child. Still he can’t help himself. He can’t help how he feels about you, or how he keeps thinking about  the way his hands twitch, wanting to feel you again. He’d told himself one lapse of judgement was enough, as amazing as it had been. As he lifted his drink to his mouth, he couldn’t help but compare the taste to the memory of you. You were far more intoxicating, dizzying, and delicious than any alcohol that passed his lips. 

When you tucked your hair behind your ear as you talked with one of the crew, the action exposing your neck that he knew was sensitive. His dark eyes flickered to your fingers, lightly cradling your drink and something new came to his mind. Throughout the night he had yet to see you take a single drink from your cup. If he hadn’t been failing miserably to ignore you he wouldn’t have noticed it at all. Suddenly his mind switched to that of the focused doctor and watched you for a reason that wasn’t because of his feelings he was in denial about.

Any time you lifted the cup to your lips as though you were about to take a drink, you would lower it to continue the conversation you were having. It happened far too much to be a coincidence. Law knew you well enough to know nothing would interrupt you from drinking if it was what you wanted. There was only one reason why you would do this. Without thinking he rose suddenly and crossed the room, whatever Penguin was about to say to you died on his tongue at the appearance of your Captain who was looking far too intense. You looked over your shoulder and kept your expression impassive, your gaze only dropping when his hand gripped your upper arm. “We need to talk.” he told you sharply, leaving no chance for you to answer before he was all but pulling you out of the bar and leaving the rest of the crew behind to enjoy the rest of their night. 

“So what’s wrong Captain?” you asked calmly, pulling free from his grip and ignoring how his eye twitched at the title. The last time you’d called him by his name was the night you’d spent together and after agreeing it was best being left as a one time thing, you reverted back to only addressing him as your Captain in order to make things simpler. When Law didn’t immediately answer your question you turned to face him fully. “You sounded urgent in the bar. So is there an issue or isn’t there?”

“Are you pregnant?” The question was soft and yet it hit you hard, the implication of the reality you’d been trying not to think about was said aloud. It had been only a couple of weeks since you and Law slept together but you hadn’t even thought about the possibility of being pregnant until Penguin handed you your drink in the bar. Law, ever observant seemed to notice almost instantly just from your behaviour in one evening and you could curse him for that skill. Why couldn’t you have had just a little more time to come to terms with it on your own first and then tell him yourself? “I honestly don’t know.” Was the only answer you could manage out.  

He could have used his Devil Fruit then and there to find out for sure but instead the two of you walked back to the sub and he found a pregnancy test in the medical supplies for you to take. Perhaps it was to give you both more time in tense, ignorant bliss, the strange limbo of it still being only a possibility and not a certainty. You sat beside him, staring at a medical chart on the far wall, anything to avoid looking at the test, your stomach, or Law. 

“If it is positive-” his voice began slowly and you let out a small hollow scoff that interrupted him.

“Probably worked out well we’d docked on an island. Don’t have to worry about any more traveling.”

“You’d leave?” Law asked tightly. 

“You’d want me…us to stay?” You asked finally looking at him, confused about why he seemed so pained about you going. “You didn’t want a relationship because it was too much of a distraction which I understand and respect. A baby would take you from your goals even more than just being with me would. I wouldn’t stay only for you to resent my presence or the baby’s. If there is one.” You explained before rubbing your neck. This was such a mess and all your fault, you knew pursuing Law would be a bad idea. With him being your Captain and knowing he was focussed solely on his own ambition it was going to end badly but you just had to go and let your emotions get the better of you. 

Law reached forward and lifted the test into his hand, staring at the tiny little mark that felt like a huge weight in his hands, the tiny mark that signified the new life he was responsible for. The Surgeon of Death had created a life. He’d never considered it before, or rather he’d never allowed himself to think about something like this. Having a family was a cruel and dangerous daydream to indulge in after losing his own and Cora. It was painful to think about repairing some of that trauma and yet here he was now faced with that reality. Could he allow himself to have something good again? Yes there would be risks but if it was with you, wasn’t it worth it?

He glanced at you to see your eyes had locked into the result on the pregnancy test. You were completely frozen, as though frightened to make a noise or any movement out of fear of disturbing him. Suddenly you jumped when his hand settled over yours that had been resting on your lap, the action causing his fingers to graze against your stomach. Just holding your hand was enough to make him feel more grounded, more settled from the previous yearning he’d had when you were apart. Law took a breath, lifting his head to meet your stare. You could both do this. “Please stay.”

[msmk11]

Marauder's Era HC's- How They React When You Ask Them If They'd Still Love You If You Were a Worm

(This is the most unserious thing I've ever written)

James

When you ask him the question, he is SO confused.

I mean, he has no connection to the muggle world, so he's never seen the trend.

James has endless questions for you: "What is the point of this question?" "Why are you a worm?" "Why am I not a worm?"

You have to beg him to stop asking questions and just answer yes or no.

James, of course, is a sweetheart. So even though he's still very confused, his response is lovely: "Well I reckon I'd love you in any universe in any form, so yes I would still love you, even if you were a worm."

Sirius

Sirius is not even fazed by the question.

He INSTANTLY answers yes.

His lack of hesitation makes you all giggly and happy.

But then, he asks you if you'd still love him if he were a worm.

Obviously, you say yes.

Side note: you two would totally have this conversation in bed before going to sleep because that's when you talk about all the weird shit.

Remus

His immediate response is an exasperated, tired sigh because he's so used to your shenanigans.

The first thing he'd say is, "Well am I a worm too?"

Once you tell him no, that he wouldn't be a worm, his answer to you is no because, "he's not attracted to worms?"

You try and explain to him that he'd still know it was you, you'd just be in worm form.

He doesn't budge on his answer and only replies that, "this seems too complicated for a hypothetical, dove."

Peter

I'm sorry, but he instantly laughs in your face after you ask the question because he thinks you're being goofy.

But when he realizes that you're 100% serious, he sobers up real fast.

"Wait, is that a genuine question?

My guy is SWEATING. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing.

He slowly drags out his answer to gauge your reaction and figure out the correct response.

"Nnnnnnnno-" (sees your face fall) "Yes! No yeah, yes, I'd totally still love you if you were a worm."

Lily

She's so happy you asked (if not a little mad that you beat her to it.)

I mean she's muggle born, so she's definitely seen the tik tok trend.

Answers with a giggle and happy, "Yes ofc, lovely."

She'd then go off on a little tangent about all the ways she'd treat you like royalty, even as a worm- she'd get the nicest soil, the best little habitat, etc.

Girl is so precious

Marlene

Marlene doesn't hesitate and instantly responds yes.

But honestly, I think she'd be way more interested to know if you'd still love her if she was a worm.

(There's only one right answer.)

I'm also certain that this question and variants of it would become her obsession for the next month.

Like every day she'd ask you the same question but with a new animal: "Would you still love me if I were a frog?" "A penguin?" "A squirrel?"

Dorcas

Babe is too logical to answer this question.

She's instantly coming up with solutions/alternative answers rather than just saying yes or no.

"I wouldn't need to worry about this, because I'd just turn you back into a human."

Starts listing off all the spells or potions she could use to turn you back into a human.

When you try to protest and tell her that that wouldn't be possible, she'd only take it as a challenge.

Would literally come up with her own spell or potion to prove a point if necessary.

Mary

Her answer is yes

Why? Because she "loves worms and loves you. What's not to love?"

I'm pretty sure this question doesn't linger on her mind very long. But worms do.

Within the week she has a pet worm and a whole habitat for it.

Might even name it after you (which is a ?compliment?)

Regulus

Regulus isn't fazed by the question, but that doesn't mean he will give in to your shenanigans.

Immediately responds no.

Despite your pouty lips and frown, he does not budge.

You say, "So you don't really love me unconditionally?"

"Just be glad you're not a worm."

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 2

Part 2:

Tashi Duncan was a force. Everyone knew it. Everywhere Tashi went, a crowd of people gathered, seeking some form of contact with her. A brief conversation about her day, their day, the fucking weather. Just so they could say they talked to the Tashi Duncan. Liana hated her. She didn't hate her personally; she hated the fact that even at Stanford, everything revolved around tennis, and accordingly, everything revolved around Art Donaldson and his blonde curls. Art, who showed up at her dorm at unreasonable hours with a box of fries he didn't even eat but knew she liked, Art, who was at every party she attended, Art, who wouldn't stop babbling about Tashi Duncan. "Look, I just think she's not the right girl for him..." Right now, Art was lying on her bed, bouncing a ball while she was trying to finish a paper for her Intro to Economics class. "I don't understand why you're here..." she mumbled in response. Somewhere in the second week at Stanford, she had stopped fighting his presence. He refused to let go. Every scowl she sent his way only encouraged him to do stupid things like waiting for her after class to walk her to the cafeteria or calling her mom and casually asking if she knew why Liana stopped coming to his open practices (she never attended his practices anyway, the little shit was an unbearable liar who made her mom talk for half an hour about how you can't neglect friendships like the imaginary one between her and Art). "Because you didn't come to practice today. Again." He looked at her. "Are you back with James?" he asked casually. "You know his name is Jake," she rolled her eyes, realizing she'd been reading the same line for fifteen minutes and deciding to close her laptop. "Are you sure?" he asked with a half-smile, pleased that for the first time that evening, he had her attention. "Why do you care that Patrick and Tashi are together?" she asked. "I don't care. I just know Patrick, and you know Patrick-" "Do I?" she cut him off, causing him to squint for a second. "You know Patrick well enough to know how he treats girls. He doesn't take them seriously, and now he's with Tashi. He's going to mess her up and ruin her season." He shrugged, as if it was the most logical thing anyone had ever thought about his best friend. "Aren't you supposed to worry about Patrick's season, Art? Like the good friend you are?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Everything felt too charged with tension she couldn't figure out. "You didn't answer me about James. Are you back with him? He's kind of a loser," he changed the subject, not taking his eyes off her. "You're kind of a loser. Sitting in my room and whining about your best friend dating the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. Get over your crush and move on. Use your blonde hair to find a hookup instead of bothering me while I'm studying." She turned her back to him and opened her laptop again. "And no, I'm not back with Jake," she concluded the topic, not wanting to reopen the wound of that relationship. Certainly not with Art Donaldson, who had started moving towards the door, finally getting the hint.

Liana put Patrick on speaker while she searched for her earrings. She had promised Daria (the only friend she had managed to find so far) that she would go out with her to the bar across from the university, and they would try out their fake IDs. Liana was sure no one would believe she was 21, no matter how revealing the dress Daria forced her to wear, how much makeup she put on, or how high the heels she wore were. No one with eyes would believe she was old enough to buy alcohol. "The referee kept making mistakes. I think Marcus paid him off. His dad probably promised the guy a new Aston Martin if I lost." Patrick, who had been complaining for the last ten minutes about the terrible game he had today, continued talking while she tried to apply lipstick as straight as possible. "I don't know much about tennis, but that sounds exaggerated, Pat." Liana didn't know what to say to cheer him up. The truth was that since the season started and Patrick decided he was pursuing professional tennis, Liana didn't know how to support him. "I'm telling you, something was off there." He spoke, maybe to her, maybe trying to convince himself. "I think you should call Tashi or Art. they would understand better than me what went wrong..." she said, wiping off the lipstick, the bright color felt too much. Like she was trying too hard to draw attention to herself to show everyone she was pretending to be an adult. "Oh, if you think Tashi hasn't already called me and told me everything I did wrong in that game while reminding me of all the mistakes from the previous game, you're wrong." He answered. She recognized the bitterness in his voice. "That sounds like a healthy relationship. you should write a book." She tried to lighten the mood, again not knowing how to help him. She didn't know Tashi, only heard stories about her, and currently, they weren't great. "Art will just keep saying I should have taken the Stanford scholarship like him and be with you guys in the beautiful college bubble, drinking beer from a keg." He continued, ignoring the jab about his relationship. "Imagine how much fun you could have had with me at Stanford, Pat. I'm on my way to use my fake ID at a bar. In heels and everything." Liana tried to do everything she could to steer the conversation away from tennis. "Whoa, Liana Levi, breaking the law. Who would have believed we'd reach this moment? What's your fake name?" he laughed, which made Liana smile. Something about hearing Patrick so broken felt wrong to her. It didn't fit the curly-haired boy who always tried to make her laugh and include her in everything he did when she was around. "Amanda Jacobs," she replied. Silence fell on the line. "Amanda Jacobs like Amanda James who went to boarding school with me and Art?" Patrick asked, and she could hear the octaves in his voice change. She already knew he wouldn't let this go. "I had to come up with something on the spot. I panicked," she defended herself as his laughter slowly became the only thing she could hear. He couldn't see her right now, but it made her smile even more, even though it was at her expense. "Alright, Amanda, don't drink and drive. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." He said after he calmed down. "Okay, Dad." She rolled her eyes. "You know I love it when you call me-" he couldn't finish the sentence because she hung up.

Art was sitting on her bed when she came back from the bar. Not only had her fake ID worked, but the bartender had also been hitting on Daria all night, so he kept pouring them free shots. It was safe to say Liana had never drunk that much alcohol in her life. "Am I imagining you?" she asked with utter seriousness. "What? No. I was waiting for you." He looked confused. "Are you drunk?" he asked the obvious while Liana tried to take off one of her heels and almost fell, causing Art to quickly get up and stand next to her so she could lean on him. "How did you get in here, Arthur?" she put her hands on her hips, causing him to look at her and flash his most charming smile. The kind that made all the girls melt. "Your dad gave me a key for emergencies," he said, without taking his eyes off her as he sat back on the bed and she approached him with clumsy steps, a little disappointed that taking off the heels didn't help her stability much. "Do you want to sit?" his tone was amused. He had never seen Liana so drunk. Almost every summer, they managed to sneak a few beers when Patrick came to visit. But it was never serious. "My dad gave you a key? You realize that's not normal, right? We need to talk about boundaries, Donaldson," she turned her head to him while he was already looking at her, just inches separating them as they sat next to each other on the bed. "Patrick told me you were going to a bar, something about a fake ID? wanted to see if you're ok" he said, not moving. A little afraid she'll be the one who suddenly moves away. He couldn't remember the last time Liana was this close to him. He didn't think she would ever get this close to him again. "Patrick is a snitch, and I'm not telling him anything anymore," she sighed and threw herself on the bed dramatically, spreading her arms, causing Art to do the same and land on her arm, closer than she would tolerate any other day. "I can't believe you didn't invite me. I'm disappointed," he tried to sound amused, but he was genuinely disappointed. By this point, he was sure she understood they were friends, that they were connected by such a strong bond that he sometimes doubted if he could ever unravel it. If he even wanted to unravel it. He just didn't understand how, while he saw her so clearly, she didn't see him at all. Sometimes he wondered if she even knew his name. Then he would see her in the crowd at one of his games, and the world calmed down; he always won when she was there. "You don't drink anyway," she noted quietly. The fatigue started to overcome her, and Liana's eyes closed on their own. "Hey, I do drink," he defended himself, even though they both knew he was lying. He tried to maintain his diet as correctly as possible, as fitting as possible for his athletic lifestyle. "I think Patrick is sad," she suddenly said, and Art felt his heart beating quickly. "How do you know?" he asked in a quiet, almost defeated voice. "Because when I talk to him, I'm sad too."

sooo, here's the second part. I think we're getting somewhere, but it's going to be a slow burn, so stick with me, I guess. I'm kinda clueless as to if you like it or not, so feel free to tell me what you're thinking ❤️

[sophieinwonderland]

Debunking Anti(-endo's)Misinfo. AKA: How are anti-endos so bad at sources????

(The original)

Oh, well good on you for trying to cover everything! Nice of anti-endos to finally start trying to use science to prove their arguments. I'm sure these sources will totally be reliable and will prove your points beyond a shadow of a doubt, and that you won't just be falling flat on your face with every single attempt at basic reading comprehension, and end up repeatedly make a complete fool of yourself.

Let's go!

Off to a pretty strong start, acknowledging that many endogenic systems don't have DID or OSDD. Sadly, that basic fact is something that seems to escape most anti-endos. So with this in mind, I think it's safe to say the goal of this post is going to be to prove...

You can't possibly have DID without trauma.

You can't possibly have OSDD without trauma.

You can't be a system without DID/OSDD.

Let's read through and see how they'll do at proving their points by the end. I promise you, the results... won't surprise you. 😉

Well, there goes that strong start.

The source here is a Carrd and so-called "common sense."

Meanwhile, in the World Health Organization's ICD-11, alters or dissociative identities are described as "distinct personality states." In the same page, it's stated that you can have multiple "distinct personality states" without a disorder.

This is information from the World Health Organization affirming that you can be plural without a disorder. And I think that prevails over your so-called "common sense."

See also these screenshots from the plurality chapter of Transgender Mental Health, a book published by the American Psychiatric Association:

Finally, I really want to put a focus on this line of logic: "you cannot have alters without having a disorder, this is common sense as it's not normal to have alters."

Normal has multiple meanings in different contexts. The ICD-11's boundary with normality uses normal to mean "non-pathological." But this post seems to be using "normal" in the lay way to mean "common."

And that makes this particular rhetoric extremely dangerous and harmful to many communities. "If it's not common, it's a mental illness," was the basis for homosexuality and being transgender being listed as mental illnesses. "Most people don't think this way, so there's something wrong with them."

This could also easily be used to pathologize Otherkin and other alterhumans as mentally ill because it's not "normal" to identify as an animal.

The modern World Health Organization and American Psychiatric Association recognize the fact that simply thinking unusually or differently isn't an illness or disorder.

Statements like yours do not exist within a vacuum, but harken back to decades past when any non-typical thinking would have you labeled as having a disorder that needed treated.

Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.

Let's be thankful to live in a world today where our differences aren't considered disorders. And let's not resort to ideologies that threaten to return us to those days past.

Wait... who suggests this? Who are they? I think I need more info...

So... "some researchers."

Also, can we talk about how this starts off with "sometimes called multiple personality disorder." I checked to see if this was before the name changed in the ICD (which I believe was 2015) and it doesn't seem to be! Oldest archive I can find is 2020!

Rethink.org is a charity.

These are not peer-reviewed papers.

The page references "some researchers" without names or sources.

I have no idea who authored this or if they're qualified at all in this field.

This is a terrible source. A web page by an anonymous author citing other unnamed authors with no reason to think anyone who wrote this had any idea what they were talking about!

This says DID is caused by many things, and lists trauma as only one that's included. This doesn't back up the idea DID/OSDD can only be caused by trauma, and suggests the opposite.

Oh, and "it's also known as split personality disorder." 😔

Go home WebMD.

Usually associated with doesn't mean it's a requirement, and in fact implies that it isn't always.

"Is associated with." "Can be a response to trauma."

Reiterating that the first two goals here were to prove you can't have DID or OSDD without trauma. And these aren't doing that.

An association doesn't mean there's a causation, and it doesn't mean that association is there in 100% of cases.

"often develop."

Like with "usually", you wouldn't use the word often if if something always happened. The choice of wording implies you can have dissociative disorders without trauma.

Are... they messing with us right now???

I swear, you can't have a post that sets out with the goal of disproving the existence of endogenic plurality, and then use quotes that seem to consistently imply there can be other causes for DID and not pick up on that theme!

Oh, yay! We finally got a quote that's actually trying to argue the point we started with.

But, again, this runs into a similar issue to the ReThink.org one. This is a random independent organization. There is no author for this article. It hasn't undergone peer review like an academic paper would.

There is no evidence the person who wrote this article is actually educated in dissociative disorders.

And finally back to "usually."

You must be so proud...

Source Round-Up

There was a lot here, so let's just recap.

6 out of 8 of these sources only say that DID is "usually" or "often" or "can be" caused by or associated with trauma. These actually imply there are cases where it's NOT caused by trauma, going against the original goals of this post.

Finally, there were two sources, Rethink and Mind.org, which did suggest DID is just caused by trauma, full stop. But both of these are extremely questionable as sources.

Neither named their authors. There's no indication what the review process is for their websites. And "Rethink" merely said this is what "some researchers" believe.

So let's double back to those goals set at the beginning.

You can't possibly have DID without trauma: One source says this, but the reliability of that source is questionable. Another source says some researchers are saying this but doesn't name any researchers or cite those sources. Meanwhile, the other six sources imply that it IS possible for DID to exist without trauma.

You can't possibly have OSDD without trauma: Neither of the two sources that suggest DID can only be caused by trauma mention OSDD at all.

You can't be a system without DID/OSDD: None of the sources suggest you need DID/OSDD to be a system or to be plural.

So far, you've failed to prove you can't be a system without DID or OSDD. You've failed to show you can't have OSDD without trauma. And the case for DID being exclusive to trauma frankly looks weaker than before you started talking.

Incredible work so far!!!

And I mean that in the way that nothing about this is remotely credible!

Ugh. There is SO much wrong here. First, no sources for their claims about tulpamancy.

Now, tulpamancy draws its name from a Tibetan Buddhist practice called sprul pa.

This is not the same practice though. And the Tibetan Buddhist practice is NOT CALLED TULPAMANCY.

Something which should be obvious to anyone who knows even the most basic facts about language, with the -mancy suffix being derived from Latin. And tulpamancy as a practice generally isn't religious.

From Dr. Samuel Veissiere of McGill University:

The community is primarily divided between so-called psychological and metaphysical explanatory principles. In the psychological community, neuroscience (or folk neuroscience) is the explanation of choice. Tulpas are understood as mental constructs that have achieved sentience. The metaphysical explanation holds that Tulpas are agents of supernatural origins that exist outside the hosts’ minds, and who come to communicate with them. Of 118 respondents queried on the question, 76.5% identified with the psychological explanation, 8.5% with the metaphysical, and 14% with a variety of “other” explanations, such as a mixture of psychological and metaphysical.

When discussing the research into tulpamancy, we're not discussing a religious or spiritual practice that's been validated by psychologists.

We're talking about a primarily psychological practice that's been validated by psychologists.

And as for the DSM quote, it confirms that religious practices aren't a disorder. Cool. But it also implies that religious practices can result in multiple distinct personality states. Hence why they needed that criterion. It's not stated as explicitly in the DSM as in the ICD, but the implication is there, especially when taken together.

Whether you call these "alters" or not is up to you. Most endogenic systems aren't using the word "alter" to describe their headmates.

But regardless of the word, what the research is showing is that there are multiple phenomena which can result in people having multiple self-conscious agents sharing the same body.

I mean, you've still done a really bad job at showing DID and OSDD form purely from trauma, with many of your sources straight up saying the opposite.

And remember, a lot of mixed origin systems will say that their other headmates aren't caused by or related to their disorder. And there are documented cases of people with DID both having alters associated with DID, and having non-aversive entities they commune with outside of that, as Kluft references in this paper:

The woman he describes here, who experienced ceding control to another entity who talked through her, would qualify as a mixed origin system in the modern plural community.

SIX OF YOUR EIGHT SOURCES LEFT THE DOOR OPEN FOR DID TO FORM WITHOUT TRAUMA!

NONE CLAIMED OSDD COULD ONLY COME FROM TRAUMA!

NONE CLAIMED YOU NEEDED DID OR OSDD TO BE PLURAL!

Your sources are NOT claiming what you think they're claiming!!!!!!!

If this is "all the proof you need," to say endogenic systems aren't valid, it's clear you were only ever interested in confirming your worldview.

But surely you can't seriously think this will convince anyone who isn't already indoctrinated!

Not even addressing this in full. It's such a blatant strawman that it's not worth my time.

There are similarities between plurality and being LGBTQ. Especially to the many trans systems out there who are seeing anti-endos use the same rhetoric that transmeds have. Or like you did earlier, are endorsing the same types of views that led to homosexuality being pathologized until the 70s. But nobody is saying it's the exactly the same!

I'm not sure what this is specifically referring to. But it might be about the line in the differential diagnosis for DID in the PTSD section where it's stated DID may not be preceded by trauma or have co-occurring PTSD symptoms.

It does also say in another section that DID is associated with trauma, but it never actually says that's the only way to get DID.

This is a straight-up lie. Most sources used by endogenic systems are less than a decade old, with some being as recent as 2023.

Here's the breakdown of some of the dates in @guardianssystem's doc, for reference:

I mean, I feel like part of the reason nobody has been able to disprove it is because a lot of its more specific claims have been really hard to test.

But that's neither here nor there.

The bigger issue you'll run into is that the creators of the theory you're citing have stated that there may be other ways for people to be plural. Or as they phrased it, having "conscious and self-conscious dissociated parts."

The above quote is from two of the three authors of The Haunted Self, the creators of the theory of the structural dissociation.

The TOSD is made to propose a way trauma can cause dissociative disorders to develop. But it does NOT suggest you need to have dissociative disorders to be plural, and I doubt the authors appreciated their work being twisted like that

Final Grade:

F-

This started with three goals.

Let's look back at them one last time.

You can't possibly have DID without trauma.

You can't possibly have OSDD without trauma.

You can't be a system without DID/OSDD.

By the end of this, have any of these claims successfully been proven?

I don't feel they have.

The first claim is what all the sources tried to focus on. But most of the sources didn't say that and didn't support it. All but two implied that DID could possibly form other ways.

And for the others? Nothing suggests OSDD can only be caused by trauma.

And you failed to provide any sources that suggested you couldn't be plural without DID and OSDD.

You completely and utterly failed to find decent sources to back up your claims, and to make a compelling case for them, at every conceivable juncture.

If I were you, I would be embarrassed to have put out something of such poor quality.

What have we learned:

Non-disordered and endogenic plurality has been supported and validated across the psychological field, including the World Health Organization's ICD-11 and Trasngender Mental Health which has been reviewed and published by the American Psychiatric Association.

The creators of the theory of structural dissociation believe it might be possible that "self-conscious dissociative parts of the personality" might form without trauma and that this needs to be further researched.

Tulpamancy is a mostly psychological practice that has been studied and validated by psychologists.

Anti-endos are really bad at sources.

Conversely, the majority of endogenic sources are actual peer reviewed academic papers. And contrary to false claims here, many of the papers are actually very recent.

(Tagging some tags from the original post)

[spacedace]

Reluctant War AU Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

More of the brain worm that has taken me over, gonna probably post it to Ao3 here before too long. Already got another part started and so many ideas for additional stuff, someone please send help I've been consumed by this thing lol

Sorry if Waller seems out of character, outside of fandom I'm mostly familiar with her through Justice League the animated show & Justice League: Unlimited and her vibe there has always struck me as "deeply incredibly unlikable character that also kind of has a point but also has done so much fucked up shit in the name of her goals that you don't really care about her point anymore." So you know, complicated lol. If she's completely unrecognizable let me know, but I'm hoping she feels at least somewhat like Waller.

Forgot to say this in the last update, but still feel free to use all this as an overly long prompt if yall want. Literally anything I throw out to the void should be treated as a prompt lol If there's anything at all interesting to you in any of this nonsense go for it <3 <3 <3

---

Amanda Waller was someone who did what needed to be done.

Ruthless, heartless, vicious, cruel.

She’d been called it all. Wore the words thrown as insults as a badges of pride and valor. Because at the end of the day, when it came to the problems she was given to face, the issues she was meant to solve, those words meant she’d done what others had been too squeamish or cowardly to do. Life was a never ending slog of trolley problems and she the only one unshakable enough to pull the levers that needed pulling.

It wasn’t so simple as a matter of greater good.

Greater good was what the weak willed muttered to themselves after having feelings over doing the bare minimum. A justification used by people on all sides to do what they wanted with fractured, faulty logic thrown around like truth was a thing immutable. To assuage their guilt when they were forced to make a call they didn’t want to.

It wasn’t a matter of greater good. It was a matter of preservation. Of protection. Of digging through the filth to find the threats skittering beneath and crush them with ruthless abandon. Of facing a god and not blinking because if you did it could cost the world.

Of doing what needed to be done, no matter how underhanded or atrocious it was.

Hands dirty.

Hands red.

Hands wrapped tight around the throat of something that could threaten to destroy it all.

When the Ghost Investigation Ward had been shoved her way with it’s sucking wound of a budget, it’s bloated incompetent staff, its asinine methods she’d seen a rotted limb in need of hacking off. It hadn’t been until she’d been conducting her inspection, digging through the trash for a few pearls of effective agents she could snatch up and put to work elsewhere, that she’d truly seen what they were working on. The potential.

Potential to better arm themselves with in the forms of the strange new weapons being created.

Potential for threats far greater than anything even she had thought possible before.

The GIW as it had been when she’d first come across it was a fetid waste of time and resources. A laughing stock agency only secret because no one took them seriously enough to look. Made stupid and useless with its own conceited delusions of importance it didn’t actually have. Yet.

She went to work on it. Hacking away as she’d originally intended, but this time with a different goal in mind. She ripped out the weeds with bare, calloused hands and planted proficiency and loyalty in their place. She took over as director herself, tossing the self-aggrandizing fool that had been running the place into the ground to the dogs as the culprit for misappropriate spendings, saving the agency by tweaking things until their ballooning budget was pinned neatly onto the former director as an embezzling charge.

Then she got to work.

The Fentons were brilliant, if entirely insane. But Amanda could work with that. She’d reigned Harley Quinn in - more or less - she could do the same to the two deranged scientists that so eagerly wanted to be apart of the fight against the dead. Especially when the benefit came in the form of the inventions they threw together so easily, especially when those inventions were weapons.

It took very little to get them on board with her plans for the GIW. Keeping their focus could be a chore, at times, but she didn’t even have to really do much in the way of pressing to get them back where she wanted them. They craved knowledge and understanding nearly as much as they craved the eradication of the entities themselves. Letting them have the first look at a new subject here, free reign over a vivisection there, it took so little to fuel their fervor and keep them busy working on the projects she set for them.

Things had been going smoothly.

For a time at least.

Until Phantom.

He’d been the main focus of the previous director’s attention, the big fish he’d so desperately wanted to catch and put up on his wall. Amanda wouldn’t lie and say it wasn’t a tempting prospect, but not one she’d put above the other projects she had set in motion since taking over. No, Phantom was powerful, enough to be a real problem one day, but she could the awkward youth in the way he held himself, the inexperience in how he handled situations. She had time to get everything else in order before focusing on getting Amity Park’s would-be hero brought to heel.

And he would be brought to heel. One way or another.

Hands dirty.

Hands red.

Hands wrapped tight around the Core of a fledgling god and bending him to her will.

An artifact, old an powerful, recovered with some effort. A means of controlling specters, of chaining them to the will of the artifact’s wielder. Dangerous in the wrong hands. Dangerous in the right hands.

It was shattered, and even whole and functional Phantom was resistant to its power. But Amanda Waller prided herself in her ability to see the potential in things. It could be repaired, be made better. Even gods could be bound, be made to kneel, with the right pieces, with the right application of force.

It was just a matter of time to gather everything needed.

Phantom didn’t know he could single handedly destroy every last member of the Justice League. The baby fat, the innocent eyes, the split-second hesitations when he fought. He knew enough to be confident in fighting the usual ghosts that haunted Amity Park, but he still very much saw himself as a little fish. Maybe it was the part of him that was still Daniel Fenton, gangly teenager not quite sure what he was truly capable of yet.

She had time before the Fenton’s son truly became an issue. Time to judge if his parents’ obsessiveness would overcome their - rather shoddy, by Amanda’s estimation - parental instincts and continue to hunt him once they knew the truth. Time to get as much out of them as she could before hand, should they falter at the idea of attacking their own son. Time for the staff to be repaired and returned to working order, to get the other items needed for the truly big fish hidden on the other side of the veil between worlds.

She had time.

Until she didn’t.

Pariah Dark had not been something she thought she’d have to account for - not yet, at least.

If he wasn’t already dead, she’d ring the Ghost King’s neck with her bare hands. His arrival had opened Phantom’s eyes to what he was capable of, of just how big of a fish he was. Worse still, Phantom’s defeat of the war mongering King changed the state of play. Phantom was no longer an impressively powerful half dead teenager.

He was King Infinite.

He was an Ancient.

He was getting on her last damn nerves.

Phantom’s rogue gallery were now firmly under the boy’s control. Still distinct nuisances around Amity Park, but no longer considered true concerns. They were loyal to their boy king, delighting in ruffling his feathers but never crossing the line into treason or attempted regicide. Which meant that the GIW was the only thing that held his attention.

Amanda took the time to send a care package to the former GIW director in his tiny, dank prison cell. As thanks for his carelessness in revealing to the entire town - both living and dead - of the agency’s existence and their intentions. Had he stuck to standard protocol, Phantom would have been none the wiser to their presence. Would have scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders at the ghost that went missing upon occasion. Would have been boredly uninterested in the people his parents had begun working with. Would have been taken by surprise when they finally came for him.

But no.

No that self-obsessed, fame chasing imbecile had to go and announce to everyone and their dead mother that the GIW existed and exactly what it was they were in Amity Park to do.

Phantom knew what they were there to do.

They could only count on his naive certainty that he could broker peace with them for so long.

Peace. As if he and his people weren’t the invading force, the monsters slipping in through the cracks between worlds, the latest threat that had to be accounted for. As if he himself hadn’t rent their world asunder himself in another world, another time. No. Peace was not something they could hash out with this baby-faced monarch with his too-big crown. Peace was the assurance of safety, security. Of control of the situation.

There could be no peace.

The higher ups were somehow surprised when Phantom took that to mean there would be war.

Amanda Waller was not.

The Fentons, as suspected, took the right side when all was revealed. Steady hands and flinty eyes as they crafted the weapons that would be needed for the coming fight. Minds even sharper in their maddened grief, hearts set on revenge for the son lost and the entity that stole his face and friends and sister in his garish pretense at humanity. They were blinded to the reality of the situation in its entirety, the potential in what their son truly was, but at the end of the day it didn’t really matter. They did what she needed them to do, they could believe whatever it was they wanted so long as they did.

By the time the boy king and his armies marched upon the Amity park facility, preparations had been put into place. The base in Amity had been stripped back to bare essentials, everything of importance moved to more secured locations.

The weapons labs.

The artifact.

The girl.

All tucked well away from the front lines where Phantom and his motley crew could not reach. Their time to be put in play would come, but not yet. First she needed to gauge what Phantom and his people were capable of, what they were willing to do in the name of what they wanted. Amity Park was a pawn well sacrificed on that front. As were the other facilities she’d left easy to find.

The problem with making children gods, with giving them crowns and calling them King and giving them armies to play with, was that they thought there should be rules. That even in the trenches tearing apart their enemies, there was a certain level of playing fair that everyone was held to. They thought there was a way the world worked, of how things should be that blinded them to more effective options even as time stretched on and desperation set in.

It was the Dead’s problem though, not hers.

She reached out to the Justice League. Sour faced, unhappy, bitterly reluctant to accept that she needed their help. Stone faced and barely containing their rage at what little they knew of the situation, they agreed to a meeting.

She didn’t let herself smile until she was well and truly alone in her office.

Greater good. A lie people told themselves. A fairytale told to children. A means of convincing the weaker willed that they had no choice, that they had a noble duty to bend to. A belief that could be wielded like a weapon if the fantasy of the idea had dug in deep enough. And there were few it had dug into so deep as the members of the Justice League.

Amanda Waller was someone who did what needed to be done.

Hands dirty.

Hands red.

Hands clenched tight on a victory long in the making.

---

Part Four

[aventurinemybeloved]

Summary: You have eagerly been awaiting your boyfriend's arrival after getting a text that his work was cut short, when you didn't expect to see him not even a second after reading it.

gn!reader, fluffy fluff again because I don't want to add anymore angst to this man y'all, he almost got german suplexed lmao

Happy Aven day guys!

Seems today is my lucky day, we got the job done quicker than anticipated, be prepared to see me soon~

Reading his message made you excited, it's not everyday that his line of work ended that quickly, more often than not it was the opposite, going days, weeks months even with having minimal contact with your lover due to how engrossed he is with his work, having a high position and all, but he never forgot to send at least one message a day to you, both to ease your worries and also quench his desire to talk to you again.

Your mind raced with ideas on what activities to do with the man once he's finally back home, of course you plan on making sure he's rested up first before doing anything but that still doesn't stop you from imagining date ideas, maybe a trip to a nearby planet that you've been eyeing of going to, or perhaps just a normal romantic dinner, the possibilities are endless when you're together with him.

So engrossed in thought, the looming figure behind you went unnoticed until it was far too late, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, as your fight or flight response activated right away, ready to beat the crap out of whoever dares to-

"Hey~ I was wondering why you weren't replying, only to see you standing here with that goofy look on your face"

Speak, or well think of the devil and here he comes, your eyes must be playing tricks on you, or so you think because there's no way in hell he's actually here so quickly, standing there wide eyed as the blonde just stared back at you without saying anything, but that sly smile tells you all you need to know.

And so, like the logical person that you are, you hit him on the chest, not that hard, but also enough to make him fake being hurt by the sudden attack.

"Ouch- come on what gives, is this really how you treat your boyfriend after he comes home?"

"I'd treat him much better if he didn't come home with the intent of scaring me to death!"

You exclaimed loudly, pouting as Aventurine merely laughs at the silliness of this situation, taking your hands in his, he gave it a soft peck as those eyes looked at you with such longing.

"Sorry, I just wanted to surprise you."

It was now your turn to give him some much needed affection, as you kissed him on the cheek, chuckling at his surprised expression.

"It's okay, Welcome home Kakavasha."

His gaze softened at hearing that name come out your mouth, the feeling of pride and love in his chest at the fact that he has someone like you here now, and he's never been more grateful for it, maybe it was his luck that brought you together, perhaps it was fate, or an aeons doing, whatever it may be, he's just glad to be home with you.

"It's good to be back."

[canonicallyobserving911]

Buck & Eddie: They're Soulmates!

Buck and Eddie share a once in a lifetime love of each other's lives type of love that transcends space and time.

The love they share is not platonic, it's romantic and the natural chemistry they have is OFF THE CHARTS.

There are people who wish they could have one tenth of the love they share with each other and that's why over the years, the show has made it a point to highlight and compare their love interests against the other one as a way to prove Buck and Eddie are meant for each other.

Therefore, can it once and for all be acknowledged that the possible reason why NONE of Buck’s previous relationships with AC, AM, TK and ND never worked was because THEY WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO?

The same goes for Eddie because NONE of his relationships ever worked either including the one he had with Chris' mother. SD, AF and now M (who the show still hasn't given a last name and that speaks volumes as to how long she'll possibly be around) didn’t or won't work for Eddie because THEY WEREN'T/AREN'T SUPPOSED TOO EITHER?

It's interesting to see all these takes on how some people view their previous relationships with those women through rose colored glasses and saying things like they could have been great if... (_______ fill in the blank with whatever randomness you'd like). The point is they weren't meant to be anything but a placeholder until Buddie goes CANON.

Buck

There have been so many takes on Buck and TK being perfect because they were cute together but did everyone who thinks that forget she was willing to throw the 118 and their captain under the bus in 2x6? Don't even try to rebutt it with logic from that fake redemption arc that was included in 5x7 for her because in 5x17 she ultimately accomplished her goal by doing exactly what she intended four years earlier when she broke a promise she made to Buck and ran with the Jonah story then wrote a raggedy book about it exactly one year later in 6x17. It's true that Buck knew who she was but he still dated her (which speaks more to his poor decision making than hers) but they both knew it was wrong from the start. They were never going to work and they were never FRIENDS. Friends don't treat each other like $hit so they can get their way then expect for you to just be ok with it and follow it up with a half @ssed apology like, "I'm sorry you're still upset about the story" 🙄. With friends like that, Buck doesn't need enemies.

AC literally ABANDONED him but there are still people who think she would have been good for him. It appears they forgot she FOUND a man with two kids in another country and in 3x18 she came back two years later to rub Buck’s face in it. She didn't even have the decency to apologize to him.

AM was the worst of all because SHE WAS NEVER THERE WHEN BUCK NEEDED HER. Was she nice, yes but she didn't know him at all and when his leg got crushed by the ladder truck in 2x18, she dipped and ABANDONED him too. But for some reason, she's being heralded as his best relationship ever which is so far from the truth it's funny sad not funny haha. She left him in his loft with a cast on his leg because she didn't know what she wanted.

ND was/is only interested in Buck because he DIED! THAT'S IT! There's nothing else to the story. She clearly COULDN'T SEE HIM because they only knew each other for two seconds so please stop romanticizing their hookup like it was some "Gone with the Wind" love story because that's a bunch of BS since they didn't and still don't know each other.

Eddie

SD was NOT the perfect wife and mother people who wanted her to stick around and coparent Chris with Eddie have made her out to be. The show clearly retconned her character in 6x15 like she was so young and she didn't deserve to die but be clear, the relationship she had with Eddie was toxic as F%ck! All they did was argue and instead of talking, they had sex. They didn't communicate and when she was ready to leave again, she thought she would have time to come back and be "someone's wife and someone's mother" (her words but notice she didn't say Chris' mother or Eddie's wife, she said someone's) but her time ran out and she didn't get the chance, hence the title of the episode she died in, "Careful what you wish for". Trust and believe she had a lot of faults and Eddie did too but her being young wasn't an excuse for her leaving Chris and not contacting him for almost 2 years. If Eddie wouldn't have contacted her about her interviewing at Durand, would she have ever come back? Who knows but probably not since she was out there living her best life like she didn't have a kid.

AF was nice but just because her and Eddie were cute together, it doesn't mean they were soulmates. Did the people rooting for them to stay together even realize that she was Chris' schoolteacher in 3x12 but she DIDN'T OFFER EDDIE ANY SUGGESTIONS ON HOW TO HELP CHRIS SKATEBOARD? That was literally her job but she was career driven which isn't a bad thing but it seemed like she was in love with the idea of being in love just like Eddie was. She was trying to avoid dealing with the issues that were prevalent in their relationship and she didn't even ask Eddie about his panic attacks to try and find out what was causing them. But she did throw them in his face when he broke up with her.

M is IN LOVE WITH HER BROTHER! It was clear she was in 6x5 when she almost kissed him on the mouth while they were in the ambulance. Also, she's a loner, hence the meaning of her name, Marisol, it literally means solitude. When Eddie met her, she was doing upgrades on her home by herself until her brother showed up and made a complete mess of things. If Eddie does try to pursue something formidable with her in season 7, everyone knows how it will end because EDDIE TOLD THE AUDIENCE IN 6X14... he'll be performing and trying not to panic and his performance anxiety will be at a level 100.

Buddie

Who's never left Buck? EDDIE!

Who loves both Eddie and Chris? BUCK!

Who takes care of Buck? EDDIE!

Who listens to Eddie? BUCK!

The list can go on and on but the point of this post is for those who chose to see what they want to see instead of what 9-1-1 has CLEARLY been depicting for Buck and Eddie over the past six years. None of Buck’s or Eddie’s love interests were written to work because they weren't/aren't supposed to.

No one has natural chemistry with them like they have with each other and it's written that way on PURPOSE!

[starcurtain]

The Kinda Unhinged Ratiorine Fic I Want to Read

In an (admittedly very contrived) AU situation, Dr. Ratio finds out he's about to be cut out of his (mostly estranged) family's inheritance forever because of his complete lack of interest in continuing the family line. Which, all factors considered, does make perfectly logical sense. Investment of capital should go to the branch of the lineage most likely to benefit from it, and Cousin Tiberius has five sons and daughters already. Let the house and the trust fund go to them.

But the library.

There's absolutely no way Veritas could bear to be permanently parted from the staggering assemblage of paper volumes under his collected family's auspices. Not only would being separated from tomes so full of memories be heart-wrenching, but think of the devastating blow to his research! There are records in those archives that no other mortal eyes have ever gazed upon!

So there's only one solution for it: He needs to pass on his family name, immediately.

(Andddd the rest is under a read more because what is brevity?)

Problem 1: Veritas Ratio is very gay.

Problem 2: Statistically, single men have the lowest chance of being selected for adoption placement, and this Child Welfare Agent is looking at his alabaster head very, very strangely.

Think, Ratio, think. What is the most efficient way to solve such a tedious quandary?

The obvious first step is to increase his likelihood of being selected by the adoption agency, and the quickest way to do that is... Eureka! How elegant a design! He just needs to enter into a (temporary) committed and stable partnership to demonstrate a degree of domestic dedication and home-building prowess!

Problem 3: ...Where in the universe is he going to find a stable and committed man willing to marry him?

Ratio does not exactly possess the world's most endearing personality. He might... never have had any form of romantic relationship lasting past a one-night stand even, because it turns out most people don't like being scored a 2/10 on their technique during intercourse.

So he's probably not going to find a stable and committed man.

But... He might at least find someone willing--for the right price.

Enter Aventurine (stage left). He's as expensive as they come, the greatest reward saved for the highest bidder, but despite his festering ambitions, he's still trapped as nothing more than a high-class escort, owned by a company the IPC has on the books as selling everything but what they actually trade in: Avgin slaves.

Sigonians... The reputation--and sleazy men's curiosity--precedes him, and though he only has to get on his knees for the truly bold nowadays, he hasn't yet been able to make the ultimate gamble, pull the last string needed to finally gain his freedom: the freedom to live his life as he pleases--and to enact every ounce of vengeance he's been storing for decades like cards up his sleeves.

Until now.

Until an absolute madman shows up at the underground headquarters waving around an offer that no average person would possibly make: He wants to buy Aventurine and wed him.

(Because marrying a Sigonian thrall is a safe and sane thing that safe and sane people do.)

The offer is far too good to be trusted: A real marriage certificate but a perfectly fake marriage, a no-fault divorce once an adoption is finalized, and a guaranteed sponsor for his citizenship documents. A year or two of fake homemaking, this Veritas Ratio claims, and then Aventurine can walk away a completely free man, no strings--no chains--attached.

Well, Aventurine of the Myriad Stratagems has always held one skill dearer to his heart than any other: a crystal clear knowledge of when to fold--and when to go all in.

(...Problem 4: Amber Lord help him, Aventurine's new husband is the most irritating man in the entire universe.)

Alas, if only that was their biggest problem. Somewhere between learning to navigate the citizenship process, the adoption process, a truly unacceptable level of systemic racism, and also, increasingly, each other, Ratio and Aventurine discover that the circumstances of their lives might be far more entangled than they ever could have imagined from the beginning, and the same shadowy parties that profited off Aventurine's existence might have a vested interest in parting Ratio from valuable research secrets--permanently.

While struggling to maintain a charming and loving facade and struggling not to kill each other behind the scenes, Aventurine and Ratio also end up having to out-roll and out-plan a particularly dangerous enemy; something they can really only do together.

Or, tl;dr: Dr. Ratio chooses the most efficient but most unhinged method of finding a husband that intelligence could possibly contrive, only to determine that marrying a guy whose track record for unexplained deaths matches his track record for card counting really is the encyclopedic opposite of "committed and stable." Ridiculously enough, the trouble they get into is almost entirely Ratio's fault, the only one who is remotely convincing in front of the Child Welfare Agency is Aventurine, and sometimes it turns out the guy you married for the library ends up being the guy you married for life.

[loudclan-clangen]

Yay! More lore!

They in fact cannot! Leadership is a lifelong commitment in Loudclan. Maybe they could sacrifice all but one of their lives and then just live as a normal warrior, or step down while keeping their lives, but the next leader wouldn't be able to receive their lives until the former leader was fully dead. Same goes for the Lead Healer. When they receive their lives they give up their "normal" life and become inextricably linked to Starclan/The Black Water and that's not something that can be undone.

Yes! Exactly like that! They have to die to see starclan the 1st time, this costs them their "mortal" life, so when they come back they are using their first "divine" life. When they sacrifice a life to speak to starclan they must die again in order to give the current life back, as opposed to giving up the chance of using a future life. This does mean that everytime they come back they come back slightly...different. Nothing major, they're still the same person, just like a different iteration of them. Maybe their favorite prey is different, or their dominant paw changes, minor things that no one but their closest friends and family would notice, but the leader rarely seems to notice the change.

This is going to be very vague, and I apologize for that, but if I was ever to explore one of the other clans in a blog it would be Freezingclan, so I don't want to say anything too definitively and lock myself into something I haven't fully thought out. But the answer is that no one from the other clans really knows? Freezingclan is weird, they've existed longer than all of the other clans, in fact longer than anyone can really remember, and they only decided to take the clan naming system for the ease of everyone else. They meet at gatherings and are generally quite friendly and shockingly generous, but they don't discuss their religious practices with the other clans too much, because it usually only results in confusion and fear. What I can tell you is that Freezingclan's ancestors don't go to the Black Water Pool with the rest of Starclan, as they've never been seen there and Freezingclan predates the discovery of the oil. Based on the logic of why Starclan lives in the oil (it's a pocket of eternal night) it would make sense for Freezingclan's ancestors to live in the depths of the ocean, but since their leaders don't receive lives there's really no way to prove it. It's equally possible that their ancestors just stop existing when they die and that makes the rest of the clans VERY uncomfortable so they've just stopped asking for the most part. Freezingclan certainly believes that they can communicate with them, leaving offerings of prey and herbs on the shore in exchange for plentiful hunts or healthy kits, and their Healers often slip into trances where they speak in strange languages, but no one can agree whether they are just faking it or not.

Okay, so, a lot of this ask touches on stuff that I want to cover later in backstory drops for the founders, but, I'll try to answer everything I can without spoiling anything for that! Wildfirecry is the only one who came from another Clan, he was a healer in Forestclan, which eventually collapsed, leaving him on his own. He met Fiercestripe along the way, she joined up with him, and they made their way to the valley territories. Meanwhile Owlstar and Siltsplash were born and raised in the valley. Generations of rogues, descended from kittypets who were abandoned when the mine closed, lived and died across the valley, of which Owlstar and Siltsplash were two. Owlstar was sort of a folk-hero amongst the rogues, so when he and Wildfirecry got together and decided to form a clan, many others followed. Owlstar asked the studious and strict young Siltsplash to help him keep the clan in line, and they excitedly accepted, becoming his mate and deputy. The mountain was chosen because they were seeing signs of an especially harsh winter, and it's one of the few places where the wind keeps the snow from piling several feet high. Shadedclan and Ghostclan formed for similar reasons, only they disagreed about where they should go to escape the deep snows. They absolutely did leave behind people that they miss/feel deeply guilty for leaving, but those are details for a later post!

[starstruckbyacomet]

BUCK & TOMMY - How Tim Minear Turned A Potential Disaster into A Masterpiece

Originally, Tommy was supposed to be paired with Eddie. As Lou Ferrigno Jr. said in an interview:

“It was originally, possibly going to be with Eddie and Tommy, but that fell through.”

Link to source:

Meanwhile, Tim Minear had a big story for Buck & Natalia's for Season 7.

“I thought that [Oliver and Annelise] were great together,” says Minear. “But, I think after the long strike and after the pandemic… [Annelise] is based in New York, and it was partially her decision to not return for this premiere. I originally had a big story in there with that character. ”

Link to source:

However, Annelise Cepero, the actress who played Natalia, decided not to come back in Season 7.

Addressing Annelise's exit, showrunner Tim Minear confirmed that it had been an "amicable parting of ways," and that she had made the decision to leave as a result of various logistical factors, including the 2023 writers' and actors' strikes. 

Link to source:

Then, Tim Minear planned to pair Buck with Lucy Donato. All seemed well until Arielle Kebbel, the actress who played Lucy, cancelled her involvement for Season 7.

“Originally, when the 118 needed a pilot to get them to that overturned cruise ship, Lucy was my first thought,” showrunner  Tim Minear tells TVLine of Arielle Kebbel’s character, now a member of the LAFD’s air support team. “But she couldn’t be my pilot… because she got a pilot,” he adds, referring to Kebbel’s casting in the Fox lifeguard drama Rescue: Hi Surf.

Link to source:

Arielle's cancellation appeared to be in the last minutes. Some eagle-eyed fans even said to see Lucy's name on the documents which Hen brought to harbor in Episode 7x04.

Tim ran out of time, and ran out of options. With only 10 episodes in Season 7, there was no room to introduce a new love interest for Buck. He had to maneuver. He switched Tommy to be with Buck, while Marisol would be with Eddie for a little longer. Both Tommy and Marisol didn't need introduction.

Part of that moving train was figuring out how the 118 would make their way to Bobby and Athena out on that sinking cruise ship last week. Minear originally planned for Lucy (Arielle Kebbel) to be their helicopter pilot. But when Kebbel wasn't available, he had to pivot.

"So I went to the next logical place, which was Tommy. It's even mentioned in [the season 2 episode] Broken that he's the one who does the water drop. We don't see him on screen, but it's Chimney who calls him. So it felt like, 'Okay, well here's a character who's actually been in the show that I don't know that much about,'" he says. "So I thought, 'Lou's really interesting. I wonder if he would feel comfortable going down this road....'"

Link to source:

The biggest clue about how Buck & Tommy's pairing was originally unplanned is how sudden Oliver Stark was informed about it.

“I wasn’t so much told, as asked,” Stark said, recalling the pitch call he received from series co-creator Tim Minear around Episode 3 of this season.

Oliver was told/asked while he was filming Episode 3, while the first kiss should happen in Episode 4. With such a limited time, Oliver only managed to discuss the scene with Lou the day before the shooting of the first kiss, as he disclosed in an interview:

“We had a phone call the day before and discussed how we thought the scene might go...”

Link to source:

Buck's bisexuality reveal is a big thing for the show, since it has been hinted since Season 2.

Co-creator and showrunner Tim Minear breaks down the midseason finale of the hit ABC procedural drama, including his decision to have Oliver Stark’s Evan Buckley explore his attraction to a former male firefighter: “This part of him has been coded into the show at least since season two."

Link to source:

In a normal situation, there's no way Oliver would be informed about such an important storyline in a very short notice. Arielle's sudden cancellation must have really shaken things up for the show. Thankfully, Tim is an accomplished showrunner with decades of experience under his belt. His maneuver was proven to be successful. Buck & Tommy's scenes on Episode 7x04 had generated so much buzz on social media, which was a valuable promotion for the show.

Since then, this storyline has been the subject of much discussion on social media, making 9-1-1 one of the few network shows to become appointment viewing in today’s crowded TV landscape.

Link to source:

Positive responses from the general audience even prompted Oliver to thank them on his Instagram:

“Humbled and overwhelmed by the positive reaction to Buck’s storyline,” Stark wrote on his Instagram Story on Saturday. “I’ve read so many of your messages and I couldn’t be prouder.”

Link to source:

A big part of the success is Oliver and Lou's performance, whose acting and chemistry have been off the charts and captured the hearts of the audience. Tim also specifically praised Oliver's performance in an interview:

“...Oliver just played the hell out of it. Everything that I wanted to express with the writing, he expressed with the acting.”

To be told that he had successfully brought the showrunner's vision out of his performance must be one of the highest praises an actor could get. Congratulation, Oliver! You deserve it.👏👏👏👏👏

Link to source:

Lou's performance in Season 7 seems also well-received by the showrunner and the general audience alike. By the time Episode 7x06 aired (when Tommy had appeared in 4 episodes as the original plan), 9-1-1 had been ABC’s most-watched current series across all platforms this season, according to Disney.

It currently stands as ABC’s most-watched current series across all platforms this season, according to Disney. 

Link to source:

https://deadline.com/2024/04/9-1-1-malcolm-jamal-warner-guest-star-1235879369/

Tommy's appearance in Season 7 increased from the original plan of 4 episodes to 6 episodes. He even appeared on the final episode of Season 7, in a dinner date with Buck in Buck's loft. It was only under one minute, and didn't really move their storyline forward. That scene seems unimportant compared to other characters' stories. It begets a question, why did Tim spend some precious time on the last episode of the season for that scene? Such time arguably would be better spent to show more heartfelt reactions of the 118 family when Bobby woke up from his coma. Was it to satisfy the general audience, because Tommy appearance increased viewership?

In overall, Season 7 seems to be another success for the show. CBR even hailed it as 'better than ever' in the title of its article.

One of TV's Best Procedurals Is Better Than Ever.

9-1-1 has cemented itself as one of television's hottest primetime dramas with its latest season, which elevated the series’ storytelling to a whole new level

The article also acknowledged Buck & Tommy's storyline as a crowd-pleaser, and praised it for giving the audience some of the season’s most endearing scenes.

This development was more than a crowd-pleaser — it also paved the way for some of the season’s most endearing scenes, courtesy of Oliver Stark’s infectious energy.

Link to source:

https://www.cbr.com/911-season-7-greatest-season/

With all the above achievements and acknowledgements, it is safe to say that Tim Minear has successfully turned a potential disaster to a glorious success. Kudos to you, Tim!👍👍👍 Enjoy the moment, while we wait patiently for what you have for us in the next season. We know it would be as good, maybe even better compared to the last one 😉.

[hamsternella]

[PART 2] Yandere!Muzan (+other demons) x Elusive!Reader

cw: yandere themes, stalking, blood, gore, violence, forced relationship, r*pe/non-con elements, mdni

characters in this one: muzan, kokushibo, douma, akaza, hantengu, gyokko

FIRST PART HERE

TIP JAR

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Of course your arrival would not only interest the Pillars; now you also have the demons. Your missions have been encompassing the lower ranks, but as you eliminate them with simplicity and speed the word spreads, and with it comes the most anticipated interest.

Akaza is the first to bring the news to Muzan, the father of demons. It doesn't take long for Dōma to find out through gossip from Gyokko, alerting Hantengu in the process. You're a celebrity!

But fame is merely a temporary thing. Muzan finds your appearance curious, perhaps because you went unnoticed all this time until Ubuyashiki required your talent. What more could you bestow beyond a couple of acrobatics and the basic ability to wield a sword?

Yeah, sure.

He was wrong. And that's saying a lot—for Muzan, at least. But to have to see for himself who you were was to accept the first defeat: he had been wrong. You didn't just brandish a sword, leap and twirl in the air; nor did you seem to smell the scent of demons on the wind, much less contort your face into a grimace of horror. You had had one of the most powerful demons in front of you and the first thing that had seemed sensible to you was to ask the most ridiculous question of all:

'Who are you?'

Muzan

Muzan thinks you're an idiot. It's the only justification he sees possible to explain why you don't know who he is. Even when he introduces himself to you, the most logical thing you have to respond with is that 'he has to prove it instead of just saying it'. Ridiculous. As if that wasn't enough, you don't carry the weight of his revelation on your shoulders, let alone the fear hanging in your eyes, and you don't even put your hand on the handle of your sword. What are you waiting for? Was this all a plan of Ubuyashiki's to distract him? Was this a trap?

Muzan genuinely believes that there must be something wrong with your head. Maybe some terminal illness; or maybe you really are afraid. Possibly you were a coward. But the more time passed between you, the more the demon realized that he was still wrong about that. You just didn't care. About him, his name; neither did you care about fighting or defending yourself. It wouldn't be surprising if neither did death, if you could stand and be silent—the boredom eating your face.

It took Muzan an —embarrassing— moment to realize that the reason for your disinterest was because there were no longer any humans in that village. Or perhaps you had evacuated them, or one of your companions. You yourself confirmed to him instantly that Ubuyashiki was suspicious of a supposed appearance of him in the area, and that's why you went ahead. Muzan had to admit that the move was clever; but your way of making him feel humiliated, even more so. If that's what you wanted to achieve, at least: make him angry at your audacity.

"You should wield your sword."

"You could kill me now," you replied simply. "No one will stop you."

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Of what?"

"Death, of course."

"I find no point in being afraid of such a good friend."

Muzan finds your ability to remain calm throughout the encounter fascinating. He could feel the rhythm of your breathing alter as his blows increased; not exactly the strongest, but useful enough to bring out a hint of your nature. You knew full well that the demon in front of you was playing games. It would be ridiculous to think it would be that simple to dodge and hit back a couple of blows as if it were nothing—but you continued to give it your all.

The resolution of this encounter has two paths with the same ending. The first is that you decide to escape, taking with you the demon's deep gaze on your figure melting in the night, in the distance. The wind dragging the murmur of your breath among the leaves. The second is you deciding to strike full on; the edge of your sword reflecting off the ruby surface of Muzan's eyes, before being stopped by his hand in midair. The flow of your blood would pulsate beneath your skin—the life coursing through your veins in a confrontation with death.

Whatever you do, Muzan can think of only one thing as he recalls the way your smile was planted on your face, perhaps the product of a state of pure adrenaline: you could become a demon.

Your laughter burst in your chest, vibrating along your throat, against his hand.

"Do you think my proposal is funny?"

"I think it's ridiculous."

"The idea of outwitting death all this time didn't seem entirely ridiculous to you."

"I plan to live as a human, and die as one. I don't understand the need for something as ridiculous as immortality is."

Your sword fell to the ground; your hands dangling in an instant from Muzan's arm.

"You do not fear the Gods," you muttered between your teeth, "but someday your judgment will be mortal—of that same mortality you once denied..."

"Mortality? Divine judgments?" he interrupted. A choked laugh escaped from between his lips; corners quivering in a crooked smile. "There are no such things. Have I ever been punished or even prevented from committing all the atrocities that haunt my name?"

His fingers caressed the skin of your neck, sliding the tips of his fingernails along your blood pulse.

"There is no such thing as Gods," he whispered. "Have I ever seen one, ever?"

A reflection of his smile appeared on your face, and Muzan had a bad feeling for the first time in a long time.

"You must look for them in the light," you whispered back. "Look at the light, Muzan. Look at the sun."

Clever little shit.

Muzan is turned away from you in an instant, trying in turn to hide a genuine smile as he watches you speed away into the light. You were going with the Gods—those who are cruel, unjust. You were leaving with a smile plastered on your face; more like a tense gesture, not exactly serene. He took the road back, almost disappearing into nothingness itself before being devoured by the sun.

After this encounter you may consider yourself unfortunate. The eyes of the beast were set on you with wild interest; humiliating memories behind them, and intrigue growing as time goes by. Muzan considers you weak but interesting. He believes your potential could be of help, both to you and to them—if you are a demon, of course. At first it is a proposal that he intends to offer you again, and that if rejected then you would have to die... if that's possible with you.

The dynamic with Muzan is somewhat strange. What makes him start obsessing over you is your ability to avoid death; even if you have it next to you, you never feel affected by it. He begins to designate different demons to find a weak point, something with which he can seriously hurt you or keep you cornered; but he soon realizes that there is no way to keep you between a rock and a hard place unless he uses force majeure. The most obvious is to choose some upper moon—marking you like an animal going to slaughter, with one of his best executioners.

Muzan would be an obsessive and possessive yandere to extremes. He is a violent demon, who enjoys sadistic practices towards you; and who can only come to experience some kind of 'love' for you if you yourself seek to manipulate behind the scenes his weakest point: you.

Whether you're a demon or not, it's pretty clear he doesn't plan to kill you anytime soon. He would never admit it, but losing you would be far worse than having to chase you all his life.

Kokushibo

Kokushibo regards your transformation with the same intensity as Muzan. He thinks it would be a waste of talent for death to come to you so soon; especially with how pleasant you appear to the eye, and how easy it is to exchange a couple of words without the need for a sword fluttering in the air or those uncomfortable, bitter vibes common to fear and anger. Nothing emanated from you—not even a hint of joy.

Kokushibo notes with deep curiosity how little you care about being in front of him. It is intriguing, but eventually annoying. He doesn't understand what is so wonderful about you that Muzan would extend his mercy to you. Of course, you are useful to some extent; but also extremely ridiculous and purposeless. If you had one it wouldn't matter either—even you didn't take your situation seriously enough.

It would take Kokushibo a long time to become obsessed with you, but once he does, he recognizes it; and with that, he becomes a real threat. At first he would be so because of his own demonic nature—his lack of principles and his lack of even psychological mortality, a product of years of living as a monster surrounded by other monsters. But being obsessed with you, Kokushibo becomes possessive and constant; never stopping in his tracks, whether he has to kill thousands or even exterminate villages to take over your humanity and condemn you to immortality.

Kokushibo is upset at the idea of sharing you, but he knows that if he were to refuse, everyone would fall victim to Muzan's wrath. Because of this, he only demands a certain amount of attention from you, within certain times and moments. It's very specific—but necessary to quiet his need for you. Kokushibo, being in a good mood, a product of your good attention and complete devotion, is a great training partner; as well as being an interesting individual to chat with thanks to his experience over the years. The anecdotes are plentiful, and will certainly keep you entertained.

Like Muzan, Kokushibo would be a possessive yandere in extremes. When angry he would be sadistic, but extremely passionate in intimacy. Both do not enjoy displaying in front of others acts of affection or appreciation, but would certainly do so in private; especially if you ask them to. It would cost much more with Muzan, being that he has a big barrier due to his own ego—but that is not the case with Kokushibo.

Should you earn their respect, you can rest assured that Kokushibo would be a pleasant companion, capable of providing you with something far better than those mundane pleasures you pursue as a human. Isn't that appealing? Immortality, power, and death in the palm of your hand; whenever you need it, wherever and however you like it best. Not that it matters, of course. By hook or by crook, sooner or later, you're going to fall—right in with them, where they await you with deep longing.

Dōma

Dōma is a danger to humanity, but especially to you. He becomes obsessed with you from the first moment, with all of Muzan's words fluttering around him as he engages in a fight with you. He finds your frustration amusing, and your incredible ability to hide it alongside other pure emotions—a serene face is the only thing visible to one who doesn't know how reason and heart work. But Dōma knows; and of course after the encounter he is fascinated.

He understands Muzan's obsession, just as he understands why Kokushibo chooses to agree with him. You have potential. You're not exactly a person who fights, because it's clear that you prefer to avoid it, but you know how to move and how to use your words to reach people. Dōma finds it entertaining; plus he can find that aesthetic 'charm' that Kokushibo talked so much about, referring to how nice it is to have you in front of him. Your aura is amazing.

Although Muzan and Kokushibo are dangerous because of how sadistic and violent they become, this is mostly a response to anger or disappointment. It's something that with Dōma is quite different. This guy is fucked up, because he may seem happy and nice, but he still enjoys sadistic practices and even sexual punishments —if necessary— for no apparent reason. He just wants to get his hands on you.

Dōma is excited about transforming you into a demon, so that he can see you accomplish many other things better than just wielding a sword and dying of old age. The idea of having you by his side for eternity is exciting, and unlike other demons, sharing you is not a problem for him; he finds it fun to watch you bond with other upper moons.

Dōma wants to teach you that life is something to be cherished, and that's why you need to be a demon if you plan to persistently seek to play with death. Impossible for you to get hurt that way! Besides, isn't it amazing to be able to have a lot of power and have amazing individuals like them on your side? Dōma loves devotion, and especially if it's directed towards him; constant attention, companionship... Let him know that you're not listening to him or that you don't believe him, and rest assured that some punishment will be laid upon you.

Dōma is an annoying and dangerous yandere. If you're the type who enjoys peace and quiet, then rest assured that you'll find it impossible with him around. You're going to need to assert your own dominance if you don't want to end up being considered a pet in his eyes—but not too much, anyway. Don't let him feel it necessary to punish you to remind you of certain ideas.

Akaza

Akaza does not cease to be a problem once he becomes obsessed with you, but he might be better than the others if we consider that he does not opt for physical punishment; just as he does not support sexual abuse. Akaza is an honest demon who shares the idea of transforming you so that you will endure over time. He believes you have a lot of potential for the future, were it not for your mortal limitations and your lack of interest in the benefits you could gain from embracing change.

At first your encounters with Akaza are about quarrels and pleasant chats. You find him an interesting demon because you can't quite understand his principles; and he, likewise, is interested in you because of who you are and how you do the things you do. The fact that you have so much potential but no one is interested in the company of slayers to develop it is frustrating to him. There comes a point where Akaza tries to force his blood into you, seeking to bend your spirit to transform you into a demon before Muzan and the others—but you escape at the last moment.

Needless to say, this event corrupts the image you had formed of Akaza, and drives you away from him with a growing hatred in the depths of your heart. He, for his part, regrets having made you react in that way, but only for having driven you away; not for having caused harm in your heart and conscience. What Akaza most fervently desires is to have you bound to the eternity they enjoy. Wouldn't you suffer more as a mortal?

Akaza would be a sweet yandere, but not considerate. He doesn't care about your reasons about humanity, justice or life. What matters is that you are safe from mediocrity and agony, and that you enjoy an eternity of endless power and pleasure. As I said before, Akaza is against the practices of Dōma and Kokushibo—especially with those of Dōma. He doesn't think it's a proper thing to abuse you and seek constant devotion; for what he adores most is your loyalty and your particular —but pleasant— way of being.

He does not enjoy sharing your time, especially if it is Muzan's time to have you by his side. Akaza is quite jealous and can't stand the idea of other demons laying a hand on you, or even addressing you in a disrespectful manner. Unlike him, who is patient and kind, fights with others —or sparring, as they liked to mockingly call it— are violent against you; always pushing your boundaries, forcing them. Akaza feels sorry, but on the other he can't help but feel satisfaction in having you—even if it means you suffer a little in the process.

Sooner or later you will have to go to him, either to learn to command respect and find your place, or to have some healthy companionship. As far as it goes, at least. Akaza is delusional about a lot of things, but have no doubt about how much you'll need him when you want a hug, and need the sweetness of a couple of words whispered in your ear to soothe the bitterness. He will always be there.

Hantengu

Hantengu is too terrified to approach you and complete Muzan's mission regarding your transformation. It is Dōma who ends up forcing him to meet you at the beginning, and who recommends him to use all his 'cards' to make sure you don't escape. What's more: did you know that it's because of Hantengu that you could end up being caught by them?

He alone is pathetic, and it's hard for you to carry on a conversation without seeing his fat tears streaming down his face as he trembles like a miserable wretch. There comes a point where you question whether you could afford to abuse his misfortunes to feed your frustration with life. Whether you do or not is entirely up to you—and no one and nothing will stop you in the process, keep that in mind. Of course, your actions would have future consequences.

It doesn't take long for Hantengu to decide to get into the game in the best possible way: with his manifestations. Each and every one of them is much more active with you than he could ever be; and depending on whether or not you have abused Hantengu, they will react to you in a positive or negative way.

If you decide not to harass him:

Hantengu would be a sweet and shy yandere with you. He would not need his manifestations at all, and at a certain point he would find your company as a soother for his anxiety and misfortune.

Sekido would be the one who holds the reins in the 'relationship', always taking care of your punishments and your rewards depending on how you act with them. He is the most jealous, too. Sekido would be the most likely to abuse you; sometimes even lying about things you haven't done, just so he can lay a hand on you.

Karaku would be the most likely to sexually abuse you, always at Sekido's side, as he enjoys your fear and pain. Other than that there is not much more to tell; he is someone unpleasant and tiresome, but easy to ignore if you beg enough from Sekido or Urogi.

Aizetsu is the most delusional, but also the easiest to handle. Not having made Hantengu's life difficult makes him hold you in good esteem, and he decides to be the shoulder you can cry on while he feeds off your grief and your need for emotional support.

Urogi is hopeless but funny; at least if you start to lose your mind and need to pretend some other kind of normalcy. He's not delusional—he definitely knows what's going on and supports it wholeheartedly. He's quick to admit how much he likes you, but he doesn't lay a hand on you until he notices that you're minimally opening up to him. Urogi can save you from Karaku, but not from Sekido.

If you decide to harass him:

Sekido is much more violent with you. It is a constant. His punishments are brutal, and his abuses habitual. Begging him for help to get rid of Karaku is impossible; it is he himself who invokes the other manifestation to take advantage of you.

Karaku enjoys seeing you being abused by other demons, going to the extreme of making it public and even more humiliating if possible. It is such a punishment, that your body ends up wounded; and no matter how many regenerations you have, the psychological damage is permanent and incapable of being explained with words. Akaza is aware of the fact; Dōma and Kokushibo have sometimes participated in the sexual encounters, adding their own punishments.

Aizetsu believes that you lack something, and that you are afraid to open your heart to new opportunities. So much is your pain —in his mind— that you go to the extreme of harassing the weak and sensitive; taking advantage of them to satiate your bitterness. He does no physical harm—but without a doubt, Aizetsu is a master of psychological torture. The punishments of the other manifestations and his emotional harassment bring out the worst in you.

Urogi recognizes that you need to learn a lesson, and starts abusing you along with Karaku when Sekido needs help. He enjoys adding Aizetsu, because he thinks it's sexy how much your face contorts in shame when they tell you what an idiot and piece of shit you are. Nothing is hotter than raping you while you beg for mercy. He'd still love and appreciate you anyway—you're funny at the end of the day.

Gyokko

Gyokko is the last one you meet, considering he spends his time working on his vases, or being busy devouring humans and collecting them for his artwork. As Dōma constantly describes him you'd rather not run into him; but eventually, at a meeting between the moons, he makes his introductory act, and for you it's impossible not to look away, disgusted.

This demon is particularly sadistic—worse than Dōma, depending on your perspective. Gyokko is narcissistic, so as soon as he recognizes that it is you whom Muzan praised and pursued so madly, his jealousy blossoms quickly. He hopes your fame doesn't go to your head, or he'll have to put you in your place. You have to be very careful with everything you do or say around him if you don't want to end up in pieces.

Gyokko begins to obsess over you as a result of his constant delusions about the two of you being 'rivals'. He is haunted by the idea that you are all the time making fun of him, considering yourself better and more skilled; but it takes some time for all his ideas to turn into an uncomfortable perspective for you. Gyokko believes that you are the one who is obsessed to a certain point.

He sees your attempts to listen to him as a way to get closer to him and his ideas—to mock, steal or destroy them. Gyokko recognizes that on your own you are already amazing and beautiful; but he also considers that you are unfit to be a demon, that you are a worthless piece of shit and deserve punishment to put you in your place. At this point Akaza's advice or help is useless.

With luck and wit you can win his favor, and get Gyokko to consider you more than just a useless piece of meat. You could be his muse! If it wasn't enough with him getting jealous of you, now you'll have to watch him get jealous of others; because Gyokko hates the idea of sharing you, but he knows better than to just break Muzan's golden rule. Because of this, he takes his anger out on you and blames you for others forcing him to have to share your body and charms.

Gyokko's favorite punishment is to force your body to fit inside his best pots, where he enjoys your panic at the cramped space and impending darkness. Sometimes he forces you to be surrounded by blood and gore; or suffocates you as Dōma abuses you. But be careful not to break the vessel! Each piece is a mouthful of pain through your esophagus.

Gyokko is one of the most problematic and tortuous yanderes. I feel sorry for you. Even his jokes aren't good—but if you pretend to be a mess, at least he won't get jealous while teaching you how to make pots.

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Fun facts about...

MUZAN,

If you win his favor, he is willing to punish Gyokko; or also Hantengu and his manifestations.

He is ironically one of the most passionate and enjoyable lovers during sexual encounters.

If he's in a good mood, of course.

He gives the longest but most interesting conversations. (He's better than Kokushibo!)

KOKUSHIBO,

He appreciates the moments in silence, staring at you.

He loves the way you fight.

In private he likes to praise how very agile and strong you are; as well as elegant and captivating.

If it's not true, don't tell him; he doesn't like to be contradicted.

DŌMA,

He gets excited if you show you feel something other than hatred for him.

His wet dream is for you to accept a seat next to him in hell.

He likes to watch you sleep; sometimes he even covers your nose so you can't breath.

He likes to hug you.

AKAZA,

It makes him tender to see you wake up when you can't breathe because of Dōma.

He is somewhat embarrassed to have to access you sexually.

Twice he has been a spectator of your sexual punishments.

He is bitter to see you like this, so he decided never to do it again.

HANTENGU,

(If you don't harass him) He secretly admires you.

He thinks you're some kind of lucky charm.

He is a potential stalker.

He loves it when you caress his back.

GYOKKO,

If he is ashamed he becomes violent.

If he becomes violent, you pay.

If you do but he doesn't think it's enough, you'll suffer worse.

So don't say anything when you find out he's looking for the perfect flower to create a unique pot for you.