#some speak about him like he’s a sad pathetic idiot

[nick-close]

To me, Glenn Close is one of those things u need to respect before u disrespect. Like,, I can treat him like a silly guy but that’s cuz I GET him. U don’t get to disrespect and objectify this man unless you understand him… otherwise it is rude!!!!

[netherfeildren]

At the Restaurant

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this, and his eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Modern AU; Christmas fic; Angst; Fluff; Miscommunication; Emotionally unavailable idiots; But also idiots in love; Toxic relaationships; Situationship; There is nothing well adjusted about any of this pls don’t come into this house if that’s what you’re looking for; Trigger warning for man with an avoidant attachment style; Condolences to all my fellow victims of The Situationship; Size Difference; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (F!Receiving); Frankly some pretty pathetic behavior; Girl stand UP; Fuckboy Din; Plan B and Delusion as a form of birth control; Pull and pray baby pull and pray; Possessive Behavior; Jealousy; Insecurity; Trigger warning for Right Where You Left Me by Taylor Swift references

A/N: Hello and welcome to my contribution to the holiday fic pool! This is not at all what I was planning as my holiday piece, but I woke up a few mornings ago and was just completely taken hold by this. Much love and thanks and gratitude and all the kisses in the world to my friend @f0rlornmyths for all the help on the idea and brainstorming and for the gorgeous edits she made for this little story. Mai baby, this is all for you, and I know it's not the Christmas gift I promised you, but I swear, one day that too will get written.

I’m wishing you all the happiest and most relaxing of holiday seasons. I think of you all constantly and wish you all the best always, and I hope you’re taking care of yourselves during this time ❣️🎄✨

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

He gets this sparkle in his eyes when the bar’s extra busy, cheeks flushed and curls damp with sweat and this shine that speaks; that tells of all the things he does that make a woman belong to him whenever he’s giving her his singular attention. Eyes that laugh and crinkle at the edges with happiness. Eyes that tell you how much he does or does not want you at that specific moment. And he’ll laugh and blind the room into seduction under the Christmas lights, and then he’ll turn, suddenly remembering you’re here for him, and look at you all serious-like, while you sip on your tequila soda, with two limes always because he knows that’s how you like it, and it’ll be a serious, cool look for just a second before it blooms into the best smile anyone’s surely ever had in all history, and you love him. 

It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this. You’ve never practiced restraint of this kind either. A restraint that suffocates and kills and could probably be taken as a form of self harm were you in a righter, more clear mind, but it’s the only thing you have left against him. Din. A control over yourself that falsely feeds you the illusion of power. You never call him. Never. Any interaction, any late night fuck, any time he comes over and comes inside you, it’s always, always because he calls you, he looks for you. You never beg, not with words at least, and you never text first and you never ask him if you can see him, and it’s the only way you tell yourself you maintain even a semblance of control. And at night, when you’re alone and it’s dark and you’ve only got the cat for some sad company, or you’re crying in bed because he hasn’t called, and you know he’s not at work and he’s obviously not at home, so he’s somewhere you don’t want him to be, that false sense of control that says you’re never the one reaching out, it’s always him coming around so surely that must mean something… it’s all you have at the end of it. 

He’s not your boyfriend. He never has been. And there’s always been that excuse you use to soothe yourself with of, well, we’ve never really talked about it, and he’s not really my boyfriend, so it doesn’t really matter. Does it? Doesn’t it? You’re sure you don’t know anymore. And you tell yourself, lie to yourself, comfort yourself, whatever it is your tired heart needs in that moment, because it truly is so tired, the push and pull is the most exhausting game in the world, that if he’s coming to you it’s because Din’s choosing you. Even if just for a night, even if just for now, even if tomorrow he’ll be with someone else, he chose you for tonight, and so surely that must mean something. It’s the worst thing you do to yourself, but it feels so good in the moment. You just can’t help yourself. 

“Another one?” He calls over his shoulder with a smile.

 You’d had a little bit of a… well, you don’t really know what to call it. A falling out, perhaps, because the two of you never have fights. You never fight, you never discuss the things the two of you should discuss, like feelings or anger or resentment or boundaries and wants and needs. Nothing. Nothing that indicates anything that might define what it is the two of you’ve been doing for two years with each other now. Fights are something couples do, and you two are not a couple. But up until three days ago, you’d not heard from him for two weeks. Two weeks of nothing, of hearing from your friends that they’d seen him out with his friends and other girls who you know probably mean nothing, even less than you do, but still. It’d made you insane. A little bit irrational, and so when you and your friends had gone out over the weekend, picked up a group of guys at the new bar you’d chosen for the night, since Din’s bar was off limits at the moment, and brought them back to your apartment at your roommate, Bo’s, insistence, well, you’d thought you’d give him a taste of his own medicine. After a slightly tipsy, teary eyed rant, explaining to your new friend for the night, a one Toro Calican, who had a very nice smile and very pretty eyes and not at all bad arms, all about your terrible situation with this man who you were not really in a relationship with, but who you have sex with, and only with him, regularly, unprotected, enthusiastically, but who is still not your boyfriend and not even anything close, he’d arranged himself very nice and cozy-looking in your bed with your twinkly lights sparkling in the background and your pink pig stuffy which Din loved to make fun of you for, and you’d taken a very tasteful, in your opinion, picture of him for your Instagram story. Again, a taste of his own medicine. 

Din had been at your front door forty five minutes later, angry. Angrier than you’d ever seen him before, and not at all trying to hide it. Pushing past you and into your apartment all tall and broad and wearing your favorite dark blue hoodie he knows you love, curls mused as if he’d been pulling his fingers through them in agitation. There’d been a sneaky, smarmy little devil inside of you doing a happy dance at that moment, and his eyes when he’d turned to glare at you after giving poor, Toro – casual, entirely unbothered, Toro with his big smile stretched across his handsome face as he’d looped an arm over Bo’s shoulders where he’d been sitting beside her on the couch – a look that said Din had half a mind to take him outside and wipe the floor with him. But your new friend had laughed him off, taking Din’s terribly cocky onceover, the sort he liked to set people down with, in stride. All arrogance and the sort of self assuredness only a man who knew what he was made of and how to take care of himself could possess. He was too hot for his, or your, own good. 

And when he’d turned and pushed you into your bedroom, a little tipsy, a lot desperate and pleased and wet, because yes, finally you were getting exactly what you wanted, exactly as you’d asked for it, and he’d flipped your skirt up and ripped your panties down and buried his face in your cunt from behind, all: this pussy’s mine, what the fuck was another dude doing in your bedroom? You’d been nothing but pleased giggles and hiccupy little moans as you’d come on his tongue just as he’d demanded of you. 

It was wrong. The two of you were wrong and maybe even bad for each other, but also, and this was only your own personal, fanciful discernment, addicted. A mutual addiction. The way he fucked you, hard and deep and possessive, like you belonged to him. Tugging you up by the hips and pulling you back onto his hard cock, the wet slap of your pussy dripping for him so that it surely echoed through the thin door of your shitty little apartment for the man who’d threatened what Din saw as rightfully his could hear exactly what was happening in here. You should have cared more about this ridiculous display of a pissing contest. You should have been bothered by it. You absolutely were not. And when he’d gone harder than stone, shoved deeper than you could comfortably take him so that you were coming around his cock one last time from the stretch and sting of it, and he’d filled you to leaking without even asking, you’d not even blinked at it, had been nothing but contented sighs.

It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Even worse, you’d never been on birth control. It made you sick, tired, moody, and the two of you worked around it… sometimes… kind of. Condoms when you remembered, usually ripped off mid fuck, pulling out… also sometimes. Never very responsible or dedicated to the practice of safe sex and level headedness, more focused on how fucking good it always felt when he was inside of you like this all bare and wet and hot and his. And if he fucked other girls, well, you tried not to think about that. Got tested, told yourself you were the only one he didn’t use protection with because you were special when they were not. And if there was, that last horribly misguided whisper that said, well, if he’s taking this risk with you, then obviously that means something too, right? Then so be it.

Again, like you’d said, bad for each other. 

But he always gave you so many reasons to be stupid, delusional, like the way he’d kissed you before he’d gone the morning after, while you were still sleepy and warm and a little sweaty from where you’d been pressed together so close through the night, wet and sticky between your legs from his come. He’d wrapped his arms around you and pressed you so, so close to his chest, nipples bare and tight against hard muscle and wispy hair. The musky sleep smell of him as he’d started at your shoulder, mouth slow and damp, kissed and nibbled his way up your collarbone, your throat, your jaw, settled at your ear to taste that soft place behind, pressed his tongue there to feel the echo of your pulse moving through your whole body, the flutter of his long lashes against your skin because he’s just that close. Your toes had curled and spasmed, little and cold, bracing against his hairy shins and big feet, hard cock nestled between the warmth of your thighs. And he always makes the best sounds, you know, deep and rumbly and all man. Familiar sounds that you’re able to replay again and again in your mind afterwards when he’s gone, sounds that make it easy for you to pretend he’s yours because you know them so well, and you want to keep him so bad it makes your stomach hurt. Gotta go get the kid, he’d said, by way of explanation for why he wasn’t pushing up into your come soaked cunt and having you one more time again, but he’d stayed and kissed you. And when he’d finally found his way to your mouth, sipping on you, tasting behind your teeth, along the wet of your tongue, that was all that really mattered anyway. 

Sometimes, he kisses you like he loves you, and it makes you hate him. 

He hadn’t called in the three days since then, but he’d been kind enough to DoorDash you a Plan B and a bag of your favorite Dove dark chocolate bites, and you want to hate him and maybe even run him over with you car, you really do, but then tonight, out of nowhere while you’d been at home telling yourself you weren’t going to cry, tired and sweaty from lying under your duvet for too long, fingers slippery between cunt and cotton, too many unsatisfying orgasms and a tear worthy film already chosen as your excuse for later, he’d sent a: come to the bar tonight, baby, I want to see you. And well, he’d come looking for you, right? He’d texted first. So really, this was all him wanting you and choosing you.

You need help, electroshock therapy, a lobotomy, anything. But you’d gotten your butt up and dressed, begged Bo to come out with you, and now here the two of you sit, good friend that she is, waiting for him to finally come over and say more than three stringed together words to you. Shaved, lotioned, perfumed, pathetic little ass sitting at the end of his bar in a too sticky, too uncomfortable stool waiting for him. Always waiting for him.

You shake your head no at him and his proffered next round. No you don’t want another fucking drink. What you want is his attention. 

And the worst part is, probably the worst, for there are so many bad parts to this, is that you don’t truly think he’s a terrible person, Din. He’s just so… he’s just– you don’t know. Sad, busy, exhausted, selfish, overwhelmed, so many things. But not bad, not actually a bad person. You’re sure of it. And it might look so differently from the outside, like you’re nothing, like he uses you, and sure, in ways, he does. You’re not so stupid or naive to not see this for what it is, because if there is one thing that is crystal clear here, it’s that you’ve always known what this is and what it is not. But you also see him. You also know him, as hard as he’s tried to keep you at arms length, to not let you see, to not let you in, you’ve weaseled your way inside anyways, or, better said, and something you don’t let yourself dwell on too much for the things it makes your stupid brain and heart feel, he has never been very good at not letting you see him. Because despite all the truths of how this thing between the two of you is, or is not, there is also something, as small as it may be, that is real here. 

So no, Din is not bad, or not all bad. And it’s easy to call them excuses, but you’re not so sure that’s the only thing they are, the ways in which you justify his behavior or yours. Because there is also context to him, and his life, and the things that drag his attention away from you when you so desperately need and want it, why you know he won’t commit to one single thing because he knows how easily lost a good thing can be. 

You take a pull from your straw, paper, and it’s already coming apart in wet flakes on your tongue because this dumb bar he works at pretends to be swanky, and paper straws are obviously a signifier that it’s not the cheap, shitty dump it actually is. Mean, but you’re in a bad mood tonight. Peli, the owner, had him string up multicolored lights and decorations everywhere for the holiday season, and it sort of looks like Santa threw up in here, but it’s also nice. Cozy or comfortable or welcoming, something happy and cheerful about the crowd surrounded by the sparkle of the holiday and loose from the heavily poured liquor. Or maybe it’s just that you know he put up the decorations. That he’d been good and patient and helpful as the older woman, eccentric and curly haired and a little stern and potty mouthed as she is, but always kind to him, had directed him as she pleased. Giving orders so that the bar could look as lovely and warm and cheerful as it does now. He always looks at her with such care and warmth, and you alway see it, as much as he tries to hide it. 

He’d added a splash of sweet grenadine and a maraschino cherry into your drink tonight, and called it your slutty Shirley Temple, said you looked like you needed something sweet followed by one of those cocky little winks he thinks make him look hot, they do, but you tell him only make him look like an asshole. All of which you know is only his way of telling you, without actually telling you, that he’s going to be shoving his cock down your throat later tonight. Something sweet… yeah, sure. There’s nothing sweet about him. 

He always tells you so many things neither of you want the other to know with his eyes. The stupid things, the silly things, the real things, it doesn’t really matter. He can’t ever help it. 

The first time he’d told you about his parents, you’d thought: this is it, this is something real. The come down had been a singular type of devastating you don't think you’d recovered from to this day. They’d died in a home invasion, a robbery gone terribly, terribly wrong, when he’d been two months shy of eighteen; left him with too much responsibility and too much grief for a boy of seventeen to bear, to ever be able to grow into without growing a little bit skewed in the process. When he’d introduced you to his little brother, the first time, you’d been better prepared, better in control of yourself and your expectations. But still, still you’d let a small, small part of you let it mean something. Grogu, Greg, but they used to watch this cartoon together about this man, a warrior, a space cowboy of sorts, who finds a little green baby, more frog looking than baby looking, called Grogu and takes him in as his own, bringing him along on all his adventures through the big, wide galaxy. They’d always joked that Greg looked like the frog baby, and so, Grogu. 

The first time he’d asked you to come over, you’d forced yourself to not throw up as you’d seen the text come in, had to force away thoughts of this has to mean something, please, please, let this mean something more. And the kid had been asleep already anyways when he’d smuggled you inside, quick and quiet, locking the door to his bedroom behind you, messy and lived in and Din, Din, Din everywhere, pressed you into his rumpled mattress, and fucked you til you’d cried and bit your tongue until you’d tasted blood to keep in all the things you had inside to tell him. And in the morning, when he’d made you a cup of coffee and oh, isn’t he nice for that? The kid had stumbled out of his bedroom, dinosaur pj’s and sleep rumpled curls the same warm mahogany shade as his older brother’s turned pseudo father, and he’d had his waffles while you’d sat there between the two of them as Din’d clucked around making lunches, sipping from your mug trying as best you could to be a good girl and not whip around and scream at the man that this has to mean something more, please. 

The kid had eyed you skeptically, as if you’d had two heads, little fuzzy brow cocked high up towards his curl covered hairline while he chomped loudly on his waffles. More syrup than bread, but who were you to judge? 

“Are you Din’s girlfriend?”

And rather than drop dead on the spot or bear the devastation of hearing the refusal come out of his older brother’s mouth, the second you’d seen Din’s own eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, mouth falling open to probably tell him no, absolutely not, she’s nothing even close to being my girlfriend, you’d said as easy as you could manage, “No, we’re just friends.” Even added in a fake, tepid smile as you’d said the words. And now, as time’s passed since then, when you think back on the memory, you tell yourself that you’d imagined the frown and scowl that’d pulled Din’s face down into something that looked a little like annoyance or anger or confusion. He’d never done anything to make you think you were anything otherwise, and so what good did it do to dwell on the maybe false memory of his look of disappointment at your words? None at all, surely. 

But you’re pretty sure you’re the only girl that’s ever been let into their space like that.

He’s at the other end of the bar now, engrossed in a conversation with someone who’s too sparkly and too pretty and too blonde to be anything but trouble for you. His tall, deceptively lanky form that you know beneath the dark baggy, long sleeved tee he’s wearing is strong and muscled and warm as a furnace, curved over the lip of the bar to lean further towards her. They’ve been talking for about five minutes now, yes, you’ve been counting, and your heart is doing that horrible thing it does where it hurts so bad it feels like it’s ripping in half all on its own. You want to look away, especially as you watch the long, gorgeous form of his hand, big, strong hands that you know exactly what they feel like wrapped around your throat, clutching your breasts, lift slowly towards the glowing Christmas lights necklace the girl’s got hanging around her neck, the cheery red and green lights nestled deep in her cleavage. He plucks at the necklace, giving it a little tug and says something to her that has her throwing her head back, and she sparkles, she really does, with those sort of laughs that tinkle like bells or something equally fucking ridiculous.

“We should just go, babe,” Bo says from beside you, glaring down at him so intensely you’re shocked he hasn’t keeled over dead at this point. 

“Just a little bit longer, Bo, please.” 

“God, I can’t watch this shit anymore.” She pushes up and out of her stool with a roll of her eyes, but passes a loving hand down the back of your hair as she goes. “I’m gonna go try and pick up that red head sitting in the back. She’s been eyeing me all night,” she smirks at you. 

“You cannot date another ginger. That is too much ginger for one household.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re in love with the devil, I can do whatever I want. And I can’t watch him anymore, I don’t have the stomach for it.”

You try and protest as she walks away from you, tell her that you’re not in love with him, that he’s not the devil, that you don’t have the stomach for it either, but she’s gone before you can muster your lies. When you turn back towards the bar he’s abandoned his Christmas lights blonde and is pouring drinks for a group of frat guys, checking I.D.s and making easy, charming conversation. He’s strange in that way, quiet and reserved by nature, which you know now because you know him, but he puts on a face in here, in Peli’s bar in front of the customers and the pretty girls and the people expecting him to perform for them, making nice and pleasant. It’s just one more thing that feeds your delusion, the fact that you see his smile for what it is, the too handsome, too shiny version you know isn’t the real one. 

You know that despite the fact that Bo loves you, she also thinks you’re a little sad, a lot weak, when it comes to him. Maybe even, and you know she’d never say this because she’s a good and loving friend, but maybe even a little pathetic or desperate. And maybe you are, or definitely, you don’t really care about the details of it at this point, but maybe there’s also something about him that’s slightly desperate too. Desperate for love or attention or companionship. Maybe that’s why he always feels the need to search for it in so many different places. Maybe he wants it so bad he’s scared of it. Or maybe he’s just easy. Maybe he’s just a whore. 

You don’t know if the why’s of it all really matter anymore. 

He serves the group their shots and beers, all of them clinking their glasses together loudly, hooting and wishing each other a Merry Christmas, and you want to snap that it’s not Christmas yet, it’s still the twenty third, it’s a special day that should be remembered, but you turn away. Try to swallow the heat in your face and throat, take deep breaths. Bo’s right, the two of you should go, but when you turn to search for her, she’s deep in conversation with the red head, gorgeous, strong and tall and just her type. Their two heads huddled closely together beneath the red lights that turn their hair both brighter shades of auburn. And you know you can’t interrupt. At least one of you should have a good night tonight. But when you turn back around, ready to join the frat bros in on their shots, he’s there. 

You swivel in your stool, catching yourself on the lip of the bar, digging your nails into the wood grain until it hurts, staring at him in silence. 

“What?” he asks with that slightly provoking smile he forces on you when he knows you’re bothered and refuse to open your stubborn mouth and just speak up. 

“Nothing.” Stubborn, sullen. Terrible.

He hums, laughter dancing in his eyes that pisses you off. He knows you’re bothered, knows you won’t say anything about it either. “Want another?”

“Sure.” You might as well get drunk if you’re going to have to watch him be a jackass all night long. 

He starts to move about, gathering the things for your cocktail. “You like the grenadine I added?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

He looks at you with a half smile and a cocked brow as he measures the shot. He never makes your drinks as heavy handed as the others, says you’re a bad drunk. Whatever. “Yeah? You like the Christmas decorations?”

“They’re nice.” He hums again at your sullen tone. And you want to be nicer, happier, peppier, whatever it is that would be enough to make this all right and better between the two of you, inside of you, but you just can’t. You can’t force yourself into a shape that’s okay with being without him, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend it’s something you’re capable of. 

He adds your two limes and tops the drink off with a Santa printed mini umbrella Peli had gotten an order of in bulk, pushing the glass into your hand. He braces his hands against the bar edge, watching you as you bring the drink up to taste, peering over the edge to keep your eyes on him. The lights twinkle over head, washing him in a glow of greens and reds and warmth, and his eyes do that terrible sparkle you hate in return. 

Sometimes you think he likes it when you’re pissy. Turns him on or something which sickly, stupidly, in turn, riles you up, knowing he’s turned on by your anger. 

You take a long pull of the fizzy, mildly sweet drink, licking your lips of the tang and bubbles when you pull it away, and watch as his eyes go a little hazy, glassed over as he watches the wet of your tongue peek out to lick up the drops of sweet liquor. You watch a swallow pass through the strong column of his throat, and his gaze is still on your mouth when he cocks his head at you. “C’mere,” he murmurs, eyes shifting to take in the crowd, the customers and the status of their drinks before he’s tugging at your hand over the bar, drawing you out of your seat and along the length of it from the other side. 

“To where?” You whisper at him, nerves of excitement, of want, fluttering in your belly and throat all fizzy and sweet. He tips his chin at the cracked open door of the stock room, the warm glow from within peering out, and then back again once over at the crowd before you’re at the end of the bar, and he’s tugging you inside after him. You tip your chin over your shoulder just before he kicks the door shut behind you, taking in Peli’s knowing look and the laughing shake of her head, and then it’s just the two of you. Hungry and hurried as he’s pulling you into himself, big hands immediately cupping your ass to tug you up into him with a cracked groan. “Want to fucking kiss you so bad,” he licks into your mouth, tasting like the coffee he drinks too much of and the cinnamon gum you know he’s always chewing. 

“Din–” and you’re about to protest, say that everyone’ll have seen the two of you come in here, Peli, the blonde Christmas light girl, that the whole bar is going to think he brought you in here for a quick fuck, but you and he both know you don’t really care if anyone thinks that. That probably, if you’re really honest, you’d be glad for everyone to think you’re his that way. So you kiss him back. Arms looping around his neck to hang off of him, fingers twining in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, the hair there so silky smooth, cool at the ends but warm and damp at the roots. And this is what you were talking about, when he kisses you like he loves you which makes you hate him. All tongue and teeth and desperation. His mouth sliding against yours, spit slick and heat heavy. Big hands kneading at your ass, clutching at the short skirt of your dress, pulling it up so he can shove his palm between the nylon of your tights and your warm skin and cup you over the wet mound of your cunt. 

“Fucking warm and soft for me, baby.” He kisses his way down your neck, licking at your cleavage, tugging at your ear. “You smell so good,” and he squeezes you against himself, dragging his palm back and forth over your pussy as best as the constricting tights let him. “I can’t wait to fuck you later.”

“Me either, Din,” you say because there’s nothing else to say besides, I love you. Please, love me back. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back into a little arc hooked over his arm, something frenzied and a little sloppy about the way he kisses you like he wants you so much he can’t control himself. And when the two of you stumble out a few minutes later, hair tousled and flushed with heat, the shine of your lipgloss transferred onto his own lips and those sparkly eyes of his cranked up to blinding so that the whole bar can see what it is the two of you have been up to in the stock room, there’s nothing but sweet, fizzy pleasure suffusing your belly. Even if it isn’t real, everyone else thinks it is, maybe for tonight that can be enough. 

-

“The tree’s really cute,” you say as he helps you out of your coat, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck, round and round until he lets it slither from his hand onto the messy floor of his bedroom. 

“Yeah, well, G wanted a real one so… my ass went out and got him a real one.” 

You reach up to card your fingers through the floppy curls falling over his forehead, pushing them back to twist in your fingers and pull his head down towards yours. “Good brother,” you murmur against his mouth. You want to ask him if he remembers what tonight is; wanted to ask him all night but kept your mouth shut for fear of that utterly vacant look in his eyes when he’d have no idea what you were talking about. 

He settles into your kiss, knees bent to come down to your level, sighing deep and long as he licks at you slowly, sucks on your bottom lips, a gentle nip. “Looked so pretty for me tonight,” he says, and he’s such a good kisser, and all you can say is a breathless thank you, trying to swallow the immediate lump in your throat back down because the only other thing to say would be you’re right, it’s all for you, or I hate it when you say these things to me, I hate it when you’re nice to me and then turn around and act like I’m a stranger, like I’ve never meant anything to you at all. You press up higher, insistent, on your tiptoes, trying to get closer, more of him. He runs his hands up the length of your spine, one arm banding around your waist, the other coming up to twist in your hair, tugging your head back sharply and pulling your mouth from his. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?”

And what a cruel, terrible question. You, is what you should say. Ruin the moment or the false magic, glass shattered on the white cloth. And so, “Fuck me,” is all you say instead because that’s all this is anyway. He peers down at you, fathomless look on his face, no more bright sparkle in his eyes, something more like an ember. You think you like this look better, it’s more for you, and there's something satisfying about that. 

“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

He pulls your clothes from you slowly, and he can be so tender sometimes, slow and precise in the things he does, the way he moves. Sometimes he fucks you hard and fast and sloppy. But not always. Other times he does it in a way that is much, much worse. Slow and deep and intentional. He lays you out across his messy bed and spreads you open for himself. Starts at your feet, kissing the soles and the creases and marks over the arches and around your ankles from your tights and boots. Up the slope of your calf, teeth dragging sharply, a little too hard over the muscle. He kisses the backs of your knees, a place only he has ever thought to kiss, and you won’t cry, but you’d like to. His tongue along the soft of your thighs, stubble chafing and tickling, and when he finally gets to your cunt, soaking wet, glossy with your slick for him, his tongue drags up your slit slow and teasing one second, deep, fucking inside of you the next. He makes you come on his face twice before he even thinks of being nice and letting up. Sucking on your clit, taking each soft lip gentle, gentle between the edge of his teeth and tugging so soft you almost don’t feel it. He licks and licks and slurps up your wet, and you know he enjoys this because of his own sounds. When he rips his t-shirt over his head because he’s steaming with sweat and want, the zip of his jeans ringing so that he can get his fist around his cock and jack himself while he licks up the splash of your second orgasm. 

He kisses you everywhere when he’s had his fill, twists and turns you this way and that, groping and kneading and taking every inch of you in so that no spot of skin is left uninspected or untasted. Pulls you up and under his arm so he can peer down at you from behind, lemme look at that little asshole now, he says all nasty the way he gets sometimes, and spreads your cheeks apart. You brace yourself against the column of his throat and hold on to the bulge of his bicep and try and breathe through your mouth and pray for control and temperance and the will to not spill all your truths to him. Difficult, when he manhandles you like this, when he pets and licks and kisses you all over and tells you how pretty all your holes are for him. 

His cock is so hard when he finally settles on his knees between your spread thighs, on your back again so that you can see his pulse in the tiny, subtle beat of his erection as it stands up, curving towards his flat belly. No condom, and you want to say thank you for letting you feel him like this. 

He pushes your knees wide and grips his cock, twisting his fist around the sticky glossed head, flushed red almost purple. You love it when he’s this hard, when you know it’s all for you, when you know you’re the only one in this moment that can fix it for him. 

“Get it wet for me,” he nods his head at your slick cunt, parted and bared to him just like he likes. You dip your fingers into the well of wetness, play in it, watch the shiny string of slick stretch between your pussy and fingers, and no one makes you as wet or as desperate as he does, and like he can read your mind he tells you, no one makes me as hard as you do, and you do not tell him that that isn’t something you want to hear, that that isn’t something that makes you feel good. The reminder that there are others. 

You wrap your slippery fingers around his cock, coating him in yourself and when you pull him towards you, notching him at the mouth of your cunt, and finally – finally, I’ve been waiting for this all night, and you can’t even tell who says it – it’s so fucking good that all the rest of it is worth it for this singular feeling right here. 

He pushes in, in, in, heavy balls pressed against the wet curve of your bottom, and you’re so soaked it’s slid down between your ass, marked his sheets with you, swings his hips back all smooth and wet and shoves back inside. His mouth is at your tits, folded over you, caging you in, biting and sucking on bare, tight nipples he tells you belong to him, cunt he fucks hard and deep he tells you also belongs to him.

He pulls an ankle up over his shoulder, changes the angle and drills into you hard and fast, other knee hooked over his elbow so you’re pressed and folded and presented to him just how he likes and needs, and he makes you say his name over and over, tells you exactly how he wants you to come on his cock just for him. His pelvis bumps your clit on every push forward, too thick cock wedged inside your cunt so that you’re stretched around him and no matter how many times you do this, it always hurts just a little. Like everything else the two of you do together. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans. “You take it so fucking good. Don’t come yet– don’t come. With me– wait for me. I want it together.” And you do cry at that, when he changes the angle once more and shoves in hard against your g-spot, the fat tip of his cock punching against it over and over so that there’s heat pooling at the base of your spine, stars flashing behind your closed lids, your breasts going hot and heavy and tight, stomach clenching with the effort to stave off your orgasm and do as he asks. He breathes into your mouth, and it’s all hot and damp skin and your sweaty limbs sliding against each other, open mouth to open mouth. 

“Now,” he says, pulls you onto him deeper with a tight grip on your ass, long fingers wrapped over the curve so that he can feel the wet, stretched place where he takes you, makes you his. “Take the whole fucking thing,” he whispers against your lips, and as your cunt goes tight as a knot, painful in that way that only he can make it, that’s so good, that way that always keeps you coming back for more, you finally start to cry real tears. Not just from his cock but from the whole of him, from everything he does to you. Your heart beats fast, fast, fast, and you count the days in the month til your period, the little game you like to play with yourself when the two of you are bad like this, and then decide you don’t really give a fuck as he starts to fill you with the heat of his come.

He stays inside of you for too long after the last throb of his cock. Rubbing his lips all over your neck and shoulders and tits, tasting you and giving you too much time to memorize the pattern and cadence of his breathing. And when he pulls out and pulls back to look at the slick, puffy sight of your cunt full of his come, he bends to lick you clean like he always does. Gives you one more orgasm, the last nail in the coffin or your heart. 

Sated and spent, you glance at the clock, and it’s officially Christmas Eve. You know he goes all out for Grogu, milk and cookies for Santa, stockings and gifts, the works. He is an exceptionally good brother, all a child could need in a father figure, and there had never really been any chance of you doing anything else besides loving him. 

When you pull the gift from your bag, heart in your throat and halfway to regret but more resolve than you’ve ever had in his presence, you tell yourself that if this brings on the end of everything, that you’ll find a way to be okay with it. If you’ve gone too far, done too much, you’ll accept it, count your losses, and what great losses they’ll surely be, but you’ll move on as best you can. 

You’d picked some pretty, baby blue paper with little red robins on it, a soft gold ribbon tied around the package. The sight of it makes you want to cry. You’d tried so hard, you really had. 

He’s quiet when you put it into his hands, staring down at it like it’ll reach out and bite his head off if he blinks even once. Swallowing several times before he says, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. It’s– it’s for the both of you, kind of.” Him and his little brother.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“No– that’s okay. I know. You didn’t have to.” Your voice comes out all breathless and full of nerves. You should’ve put your clothes on before you did this, made for a quicker, easier get away if necessary. 

He pulls the wrapping apart slowly, gently untying your ribbon, long fingers carefully picking at the little pieces of tape at each end so that he doesn’t tear the paper and disturb the robins. 

“Where did you get this?” He says when he’s finally unwrapped it, his voice telling you instantly that you’ve made a terrible mistake. 

“It– it was in your drawer. I–”

“You went through my stuff?” He says, eyes snapping up to yours, finally looking away from the photograph you’d copied and framed for him. A picture of him and Grogu and his parents. Grogu, a baby, Din, a boy of maybe eight, gap toothed, cheesy grin and messy curls between his smiling parents. They looked, very much, like a deliriously happy family, and you’d thought it such a shame it was stuffed in his sock drawer when you’d found it, left to be forgotten. You’d only wanted to do something nice for him. 

“N–no. I mean… not intentionally. I was looking for my extra clothes – the ones you told me to leave here – and I–” your lashes flutter, overwhelmed. He suddenly looks so angry. “I saw it in your drawer. I didn’t mean– I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, I–” You don’t know what to say. All of your falsely held control in tatters at your feet and tears in your eyes as you take in the horrible look on his face. Shocked, angry, hurt, but his gaze leaves the photograph again, shifts back to your face at the crack in your voice. 

He presses forward, as if to reach for you, realizing you’re about to cry. “It’s fine.” I’m sorry, Din, you murmur again. “It’s just–” He shakes his head, a frustrated noise in his throat, his voice all graveled and cracked like yours. He seems so much like a boy in this moment. A child confronted by a past he was too young to lose when he did, forced into the shape of a man too soon. “You know that this–we–” He motions between the two of you.

“Yes. I do,” you cut him off quickly. Assuming what he’s going to cut down here between the two of you before he gets the words out. He doesn’t need to say it, not out loud. He doesn’t need to be that cruel. The strength it takes the both of you to bite your tongues in that moment, as you take each other in, swells to a near painful pressure, and there is something so sick here between the two of you. His eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him. 

“Thank you,” he finally says quietly, and you can’t answer, looking away out at the dark night through his murky paneled window. It looks like it’s about to snow, all the ingredients for a perfect Christmas at play. The room is so warm and his bed is so comfortable, and you feel so full of fragile and soft things inside. “You’re going to see your family tomorrow?” He still has the picture frame in his hands, fingers smoothing methodically over the edges, thumb swiping gently over the happy faces inside. 

You clear your throat, “Yeah, tonight. I’m going to my parents house, spending the night there.” And it’s on the tip of your tongue to invite the both of them to come too. You know your parents would love to have them, you would love to have them there, him, but the words stick in your throat with the fear of his rejection, and the two of you fizzle awkwardly into a heavy silence. 

You look out at the window again, too much of a coward to look into those bright eyes, but you can feel his gaze on you, singing the side of your face, and suddenly you feel him scoot over towards you. Deep sigh, dragging the duvet with him, wrapped around his bare shoulders all messy hair and flushed cheeks still steaming from your sex. No one should look like he does. No one. It’s the most unfair thing that’s ever happened to you in your whole life. He grips you around the bend of your bare knee, pulls you halfway into his lap, and your eyes are still fixated out on the night, the dark much safer than anything that lives inside this room.

“You remember when we met?” He says. The tears are back. “It was tonight.” Two years ago.

You tip your chin at the window. “At the restaurant…”

“...Down on eighty seventh street. Two years ago.”

“Yes.” You finally look at him. “I remember,” you whisper. Your mouth feels so dry, your heart so flinty.  

“The place had all those string lights put up, and we sat at that table outside in the back behind that group having their Christmas work party. You remember?” Of course you do. You only can't believe he remembers. He’d been wearing an olive green half zip sweater, and he’d smelled of laundry detergent and whiskey and cinnamon gum when he’d kissed you for the first time. 

“I had the best old fashioned I’ve ever had at that place. We should go back. And it was so cold, you remember? You never stopped shivering.”

“Yes, Din. I remember.”

“That was a good night.”

“Sure it was,” and it comes out with a bite you can’t help, for so many reasons you can and cannot explain. 

He gives one of those non committal hums he loves to provoke you with, that little glint back in his eyes. “Sure it was? What?”

“Nothing.”

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” The white elephant in the room, come to ruin everything, shatter all the glass, disturb the dust in your hair and break your heart. 

He tips your head back by your chin, two fingers holding you there, never letting you go. You shake your head at him caught up in his grasp like that. “No. I don’t want to talk about anything.”

And he gives you the strangest look, and for one second you wonder suddenly if that look you’ve always taken as provoking is not so much teasing, but more pleading, more knowing. “No…” he says, chews on his thoughts, strong, scruffy jaw with the heart shaped patch moving side to side. “I know you don’t,” and leans forward to press one single soft, chaste kiss to your open mouth. “You know what you are?” He says then, and the look is now entirely unknowable, confusing. 

Your eyes flick back to the window. “What?” Back to him again, breathless. 

“You’re my girl.” And out of the corner of your eye, you can see that there, finally, is the Christmas snow.

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Itadori x Fem!Reader x Sukuna

I think I'm alive

Heads up, Strong language.

"(NAME)!!" Itadori came running up to you, smiling so brightly.

You were just on a stroll, admiring the area when he found you. "What's got you in such a good mood today Ita?" you smiled back at him as you stopped moving to talk to him. "Oh nothing! Just happy to see you again." You chuckled at his comment, "You saw me two days ago Ita." He frowned in a joking way. "But.. you don't hang out with us that much!" You laughed at Itadori pouting and patted his head, "Don't be sad, silly." You have never seen Itadori's smile get so wide so quickly.Itadori suddenly had a disturbed look on his face, and it concerned you.

-In Itadori's head- "Are you fucking kidding me brat, its pitiful to see you fanboying over some.. THING." Sukuna laughed at him. "Do you ever shut up Sukuna?!" Itadori internally yelled at him. "Why don't you man up and do something, weakling." Sukuna scoffed, "If you don't do something ill do it for you." -Back to reality- Itadori's eyes widened and he yelled "NO YOU FUCKING WONT." you stepped back from him a little surprised, he realized he had yelled that out loud and covered his mouth. He stood in silence for a minute before speaking, "Sorry- didn't mean to yell that.. Sukuna is being a bitch again." he looked down, feeling ashamed. You just chuckled at him. "No need to feel bad Ita, I understand how living with that bastard can be difficult. Especially if you have to listen to him talk all the time." he looked up at you with such pure and happy eyes, it made you want to squeal and hug him to death. He smiled at you, happier than ever. "How come you're always so kind and understanding? You are nothing like Megumi and Nobara." you just chuckled and shrugged. "I guess it's just my personality." You closed your eyes as you smiled at Itadori, but when you opened your eyes you noticed a mouth on his cheek. "Say something useful brat." Itadori covered Sukuna's mouth, which had no effect when the mouth just appeared on the back of his hand. Itadori continued to try and slap Sukuna's mouth to get him to shut up, but it had no effect, other than Itadori just slapping himself. "Pathetic." A pair of Sukuna's eyes opened under Itadori's eyes, looking right at you. "(Hair color)ed brat. This-" Sukuna was cut off by Itadori's hand landing on his mouth. Muffled sounds were heard from Sukuna's mouth until Itadori yelled in pain and he pulled the hand away from Sukuna's mouth, pouting. Sukuna bit him to get his hand away. "This brat likes you and he wont shut up about it."

"What?" You asked. Sukuna just rolled his eyes at you, "You heard me, woman." he scoffed, "Idiot." and the next thing you know, Sukuna was gone. Itadori was looking at you in pure horror, afraid of what you might say, how you would react, and how you would act after hearing that. You were just confused, this was so sudden and you really didn't know how to react either.

"Really?" You asked. Itadori gulped and sighed. "Well.. No use trying to deny the fact.." Itadori looked down, too embarrassed to look at you. "(Name).. I am so sorry you had to find out like that, but yes I do like you.. In fact, I have liked you for a while.." Your heart was racing, hearing his confession made your cheeks red. You couldn't bring yourself to say anything. Instead, you ran up to Itadori and hugged him tightly. Itadori looked at you shocked, "W-what does this mean?" You didn't reply so he just hugged you back.

-In Itadori's head-

"Do I get a thank you?" Sukuna scoffed. "Thank you.. never thought i'd be thanking you but here I am." Itadori smiled. "Whatever." Sukuna rolled his eyes. -Back to reality- "Itadori.. you zoned out again.." Itadori shook his head and looked at you. "Sorry.." He looked away from you, feeling embarrassed again. "Weak." Sukuna said to Itadori. Itadori had a look of confusion for a minute before realizing what Sukuna had meant. You noticed a slight panic on Itadori's face for a second as markings started to appear on Itadori's face. Sukuna opened his eyes and looked down at you, "You look better when I get to actually see you face to face, woman." Sukuna was admiring you, but to you it felt like he was judging you. You didn't even realize that you were still in his arms and tried to move away, but you couldn't. Once you realized the situation you were in, you tried to get out. "Let me go, you monster!" you yelled, but it just made Sukuna grin. Sukuna spinned you around to get a look at you from all angles, stopping you when you almost fell over from dizziness. You had begun to fall over and he caught you, picking you up princess style.

"You would make a great queen, strong and beautiful."

Sukuna mumbled to himself, quiet enough so you couldn't hear it but just loud enough for you to hear him mumble something. You quickly snapped back to your senses and tried to get out of his arms. "GET THE HELL OFF ME!" You tried to push him away and he just chuckled. Sukuna looked around at your surroundings, noticing you two were in a garden, a very well kept one at that. Sukuna walked up to a flower bush picking a beautiful red flower, and putting it in your hair. "You have fear written all over your face. Quit it." He said in a stern voice. -In Sukuna's head- "YOU BETTER NOT FUCKING DO ANYTHING TO HER." Itadori yelled. "Quiet down brat. You're annoying." Sukuna scoffed. "I SWEAR. I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU IF YOU HURT HER." Itadori was shouting so loud it almost gave Sukuna a headache. "I wont fucking hurt her. Idiot." Sukuna grumbled, "YOU BETTER FUCKING NOT!"

-Back to reality-

"Why are you doing this.." You asked quietly, Sukuna just chuckled. "If this brat gets to have you, so can I, it's only fair." You looked at him in horror. Itadori started yelling at him again and he looked irritated. "I'll give this stupid brat his body back. But before I do.." Sukuna looked at you and kissed you, it was rough but he was good at it, surprisingly. "See you soon my queen." And with that, you were now in Itadori's arms.

"Oh my god did he hurt you? Are you okay?" Itadori sounded so worried and it was adorable. "I'm okay I'm okay." You giggled. "Glad to have you back though." Itadori kept looking at your lips, but didn't do anything. So you decided to kiss him since he wouldn't. You leaned up and kissed him passionately on the lips, it was a sweet kiss and he happily returned it. "Does this mean that your my girlfriend now?" He grinned, you just giggled. "Yeah. It does." He was happily admiring you when he noticed the flower in your hair. "Hey who put that there-?" You totally forgot about the flower being in your hair. "Oh, Sukuna gave it to me."

He never got jealous so quickly.

"EH?!" Itadori yelled. "Oh hell no" Itadori picked a (Your favorite color) flower and threw the flower currently in your hair out, putting the new flower in your hair. "There." You just giggled, "You're so silly sometimes. You and Itadori both laughed and he carried you back to jujutsu high, it was getting dark. When you two entered Nobara and Megumi were waiting for you. "ITADORI WHAT TOOK-" Nobara stopped mid sentence, jaw dropped. "What the hell happened when you two were out, without TELLING ANYBODY!!" Nobara directed mostly at Itadori. Itadori had a prideful smile on, "Oh nothing.." you two giggled. "You two confuse me sometimes." Megumi sighed. "Itadori, give (Name). We need to have a girl on girl talk." Itadori gently put you down and you ran over to Nobara. Nobara dragged you to another room. "So... Are you two a thing? Finally?" You just looked at her, "Finally?" you asked. "Itadori has been crushing on you for so goddamn long girl." Nobara explained, "He has been talking about you for months. Literal months. He was literally obsessed and still is obsessed, glad that he finally manned up to say something." She scoffed. Soon she started shaking you, "TELL ME WHAT HAPPENEDDDD!! I NEED TO KNOWWW!!!" You giggled, "Well.. it all started when I was on my usual stroll around the garden in town, and Itadori had caught up to me." Nobara was fully interested "UHUH UHUH?" You almost laughed at how interested she was, "and then he suddenly confessed and now we are together." You purposely left the Sukuna part out. Nobara looked at you with a very confused face, "that seems a little rushed of him but, I guess hes always been like that." -With itadori and Megumi-

"So you finally managed to do it? After months?" Itadori grinned, "Yep. Best day of my life." Megumi rolled his eyes at him. "Just don't fuck up, or Nobara will seriously murder you." Itadori sighed "I know I know." Sukuna's mouth would appear on Itadori's cheek and grin. "She will make a lovely queen some day." Megumi stared at Itadori in absolute disgust. "You're kidding. Right." Sukuna laughed and disappeared. Megumi walked up to Itadori and gave him a good punch to the gut, causing Itadori to fall to the ground groaning. "What the hell was that for?!" Itadori whined. "You are shameful." Megumi stared down at Itadori. "What the hell are you two doing in here?" Nobara and (Name) walked back into the room, to see Megumi absolutely shaming Itadori, who was on the floor. Whining. Sukuna could be heard laughing at Itadori from his cheek, while Nobara and (Name) giggled at the sight.

Word Count: 1666 I had fun writing this

[undertheorangetree]

The Aftermath

Summary- Near death experiences have a habit of changing relationships.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. DUBCON due to persuasion. Female reader. Arguments. Bigotry/Islamophobia. Discussions of near death experiences/trauma. Dark-ish/toxic Billy. Fingering. P in V sex.

Author's Note- Okay so I've never actually seen the show in its entirety because it's not available in my country so I'm working off the wikia and what I've seen in scenes. Please forgive any mistakes/misinformation, he looked too sad and pathetic not to write for. Full link below :)

She doesn't bother to knock when she arrives at Billy's flat, storming inside with little regard for his privacy. He had given her a key not long after he moved in, promising that she could come over whenever she wanted, though she isn't sure this is what he had in mind at the time.

She makes her way passed the trash building up at the front door, forcing her way inside and finding him exactly where she expects to, lounging on the couch with some football game playing on the TV. He sits up when he spots her in the doorway, the smile that graces his face when he sees her slowly fading when he catches sight of her expression. She is sure it is a storm, her anger obvious, but she doesn't give him a chance to speak first.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

He looks at her blankly for a moment before a realization seems to come over him. "Lana told you then?"

"Yeah, Lana told me. What the hell were you thinking?"

He rolls his eyes, pushing forward to grab the beer bottle sitting on the coffee table and taking a swig. Her eyes catch the cuts on his knuckles, the opposite hand covered with a bloodied bandage, and watches the skin between his brows crease when the abused skin stretches. "Why does it matter to you? It's not like anyone was there anyway, was there? And you can't tell me they didn't deserve it."

"Why does it- Billy, you're not this stupid."

In all the years she's known him, she has never known him to be cruel. Quiet and insecure, surely, but never vicious. She almost hadn't believed Lana when she had called her, informing her of the one man attack he had pulled at the butcher's. It seemed so entirely out of character from the friend she had always known it nearly scared her, hearing about how he had destroyed the storefront for the crime of being owned by a Muslim family. But more than fear, it made her skin crawl, a disgust for him she had never felt toiling in her gut.

She isn't an idiot. She knows how he has been struggling lately. From his breakup with Becky to his consistent unemployment to his family ragging on him to make something of himself. Nothing has been easy for him as of late but she never would have expected him to let his rage out like this.

"If you only came here to bite my head off about it, save us both the trouble, yeah? Lana already beat you to it."

"So you don't regret it at all? Any of it?"

She wants him to say yes. And not just for the criminal record he has now contracted for it but for the guilt of screwing over innocent people. She wants him to prove that he is still her friend, to believe that he hasn't fallen down this path without so much as a blink.

He does little to assuage her fears. "What do I have to regret about it?"

Her disgust increases tenfold with that- she is grateful for it, as it manages to cover the pain of his confession- and she feels her face contort. "Why would you do it? What was the point?"

"They're the reason the world has gone to shit. It's 'cause of people like them, their whole fucked up religion. They're the animals here, not me."

She physically recoils at that, not bothering to hide her repulsion now. "Jesus Christ, Billy."

"Well I don't expect you to understand it. You're too nice, got a fucking bleeding heart for every poor bastard that walks past ya. It's 'cause of people like you that Nick and I-"

That catches her attention. "Nick? Was someone else with you when you went to the butcher?"

His face drops as if he realizes he has said something wrong but he still shakes his head as nonchalantly as he can manage. It isn't indifferent in the slightest. "Nah. Just my friend."

Read the rest here

[telvess]

Reader who is sick similar to jataka

Since you didn't specify, I assumed I could write whatever came to my mind + sorry to disappoint you, but Jataka isn't a character that I know how to write.

RoR: Comforting a sick Reader (Jataka, Herakles)

Jataka

Prince Jataka was dying. People never spoke the truth out loud for fear of incurring the king's wrath, but everyone knew his days were numbered. Countless doctors were brought to the palace to find, but none of them were successful. One of them was your father, whom you recently came with, swearing that he would not fail to save the life of beloved prince. But you knew he lied: the prince wasn’t the one he wanted to save, but the path to his destination - to save you, because you were dying too; same symptoms, same fate as the prince. Your father couldn’t accept this, so he took you with him to a place, where money or other limitations didn’t exist. Six months have passed since you arrived. Occasional attacks of illness became more and more frequent, but apart from that you couldn’t complain about life in the palace. You were heading towards your father’s private chambers where he was working on a cure. You wanted to spend some time with him, even if you knew he couldn’t spare you much of it. You sneaked in, planning a surprise attack on your father. But instead of him, you found someone else. The man stood with his back to you, his long white hair was loose. He leaned towards your father’s desk. You had never seen this person before and without second thought, you said out loud: — You should not be here! My father’s chambers are a private matter! The man turned to you, you saw no signs of anger on his gentle face. — I only meant to speak to him — he said in a calm voice that made your body fall apart. You’ve never seen this man up close, but you’ve heard his voice before. Prince Jataka. You just shouted at Prince Jataka. — P-prince! I… I am s-s-so sorry! — you fell to your knees, your face touching the floor, cursing your own stupidity. — It’s alright — you heard — You meant well. Arise. You didn't have the courage to look up, but you did as he said. Except your body didn’t want to listen to you. you staggered and felt dizziness hit your head in a sudden bout of sickness. Why now? Just when you thought you were going to fall, someone's hands grabbed your shoulders and helped you keep your balance. You looked up to see his concerned face. He was so close that you could see how blue his beautiful eyes were. Almost as bright as sky at noon. If it weren't for the circumstances, you would have stared at them much longer, but his unexpected act of kindness towards you made your cheek feel warm and brought you back to reality. — Are you all right? — he asked, his voice as gentle as his expression. — Y-yes, I’m sorry. He didn’t believe you. You were leaning on the table, struggling to act normal and prince Jataka saw through you and your pathetic lies. — Are you sick? — he pointed to the table — Your hand… You followed his finger and saw your hand tremble. One of the symptoms… — No, I-… no… At that moment you knew there was no point in lying, but your mind lacked any other option. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, feeling like a complete idiot. Then Prince Jataka smiled at you, but it was the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes. It's just a sad gesture of understanding. He knew. — Your father is the most committed of all the doctors I know. I finally understood why. It's not about honours or money. Oh no, you accidentally sold your father out. Your heart sped up in a panic attack. — N-no! He really wants to cure you, my prince! — you assured with squeaky voice, but the prince only smiled at you again. To your surprise you didn’t sense any anger from him. — Don’t worry, I’m not upset. It’s just… this is the first time I meet someone like me, so let me ask you, who I share the same fate with… How are you handling it? He looked at you as you struggled to answer. You had a lot to say, but should you? You were worried that once you started, you wouldn’t be able to stop. If you torn down that wall, an ocean of words, emotions and fear would take over, and you weren’t sure if had enough strength to close it again. Your expression must have spoken for you very clearly, because Prince Jataka sighed.

— I'd hoped to avoid this, but — his voice became more authoritative — I demand an honest answer. You own it to your ruler. You swallowed hard and looked away. — Well, I… I’m dying. I wish my father would accept this and spend little time I’ve got left with me, but he believes he can save me. It’s not that I don’t appreciate his commitment and sacrifice. I just want to live before I die. And then there was silence. You did your best to hold back the tears, but your stupid heart was beating too loud to ignore. Whenever your father was in that moment, you really wanted him to come back right now, before you completely lost your mind. Finally you raised your head to met prince’s eyes. You didn’t know what his look meant and - in fact - you didn’t care, because compared to overwhelming emotions you felt right now, his opinion was small and fragile. You would never said that out loud. — You know — you flinched, hearing his calm voice again — Yesterday I said something very familiar to my cousin. He’s such a free spirit, acting out of his prestigious position, sometimes almost childish, but I can’t deny how much joy he has brought into my life — Prince Jataka smiled, this time for real, you could see the spark in his eyes — Anyway… I told him that I wish to see more than my palace and its gardens. More of a sky above us. More world. — B-but you can! You’re prince after all — you mumbled without thinking — Forgive me! My stupid tongue…! — you covered your mouth. — We all are prisoners of our lives — he said — I have wealth to fulfill my dream, but my responbilities hold me back. And you… you have your father right next to you, but he is too stubborn to give up. He was right - how ironic was that? Prince Jataka suddenly seemed to you not like royal man, but an average person. His smile, his gentle voice, his wisdom brought peace to your mind and for the first time today you also smiled. — Aren’t you… scared? — you asked quietly. — I would be lying if I said I don’t, but the closer I get to death, the calmer I feel. To your surprise, he placed his hand over yours, his long fingers touched your skin and sent some kind of spark down your spine. Your cheek got warm, as he curled his fingers around your wrist. — Your hand stopped shaking, but pulse is unstable — he said, withdrawing his hand. You didn’t know what to say, so you remained silent. — Thank you for your honesty. Let your father know I am looking for him. You watched his back as he left the chamber. A part of you wanted him to stay, but you weren't brave enough to say it out loud. Maybe in another time, in another life…

Herakles

Life in Thebes was difficult, to say at best. Especially for someone as fragile as you, who struggled your entire life because of the sickness. To survive in this place, you had to be strong or wealthy. You lacked both, even though your parents tried to provide you with a decent life, you still had days of hunger. But today wasn’t supposed to be bad. The baker, a man with kind heart, was giving away bread to the poor. It hadn’t happened before, and you - like many others - approached the small crowd, hoping for anything, even scraps. The sight of the others leaving with loaves made your stomach growl. — Out of my way! — someone pushed you, the force knocked you off your feet. You felt into dirt. — Ouch — you snarled in pain. You looked up just and saw some big boy your age, who seemed to be very proud of himself. He smirked at you. Next to him stood a tall and very skinny boy, obviously his friend, who was currently whispering something in his ear that both of them could giggle at. You recognized them. You stood up, dusted yourself off, and with anger rising in your chest, confronted both of them: — I was standing here! Big boy snorted. — You don’t need food — he said. — You look like you've already eaten a cow, if anybody doesn’t need it, it’s you! — you shouted at him. Father taught you not to be mean to others, but you were too angry to listen to your conscience. Big boy didn’t seem to be bother by your words anyway. — My father said you’ll be dead soon anyway. You… didn’t expect that. — Yeah — his tall friend replied with a nod — The only thing you gonna need is a funeral, so go and find a grave site! And then they both laughed loudly, watching you break inside. In one heartbeat your anger flew away, and all that remained was the devastating despair and fear of the unknown that had haunted you for months. It hit you like thunder and paralysed you for a moment, before you turned and started running, chased by their laugh. As you passed the streets, trying to escape the sad reality you lived in, you felt wetness on your cheeks and salt on the lips. Suddenly you found yourself on a hill, far from the city. Out of breath, you looked around, but besides flock of sheep in the distance, you didn’t see nobody else. You decided to get to the top of the hill and rest there, away from the others. You didn’t want to show your tears to your mother after all. — Why are you crying? — you heard and immediately raised your head. In front of you, at the top of the hill, stood a tall boy, no… a muscular man with black, long hair tied in a ponytail, who was now watching you carefully. You quickly wiped the tears and shouted: — I’m not!

An obvious lie, but you hoped the tone of your voice would scare him away. — Your eyes are swollen, I can tell something's wrong — he took a few steps closer, but when you started to walk away, he stopped. — It’s nothing, I just fell. — I see — he looked you up and down, you followed his gaze and saw your toga in decent shape, without any signs of falling — But I don’t believe you. Has anyone hurt you? — No… You turned you back on him and started walking away. You had to find somewhere else to clear your head before sunset, so you'd better hurry. You no longer heard the stranger oppose, so you allowed yourself to sigh in relief. But then you flinched when you felt his hand on your shoulder. How someone so big could move so fast? — Let go of me! — you shouted at him, jumping away. — Not until you tell me the truth. I will help you! — his voice sounded… no, maybe it was a matter of his unshakeable confidence? Something had snapped inside you and suddenly his face became smeared. You felt a taste of tears in your mouth. — You can’t help me — you sobbed, looking down at your feet — Nobody can. I’m sick… A terrible weight appeared on your heart, dragging down your thoughts, like a cast anchor. You couldn’t stop flowing tears, just like you couldn’t stop the fear from creeping under your skin. — Did you just find out? You raised your head to see man’s worried face. His blue eyes watched you carefully. — No… why? — his question confused you. — People usually react this way at the beginning, then they learn to accept it — he explained, but to your surprise, his face began to change: he frowned, his jaw clenched, — Which means someone has upset you. — They… — you started, but a new wave of sadness hit you. — I’m sorry — said stranger — I can’t help you, that’s true, but I can listen you. Tell me what happened. You wiped your eyes one more time. Doubts occurred in your head. — I don’t even know you. Why are you doing this? He blinked his eyes, only then realizing what you meant, and massaged his neck in a rush of embarrassment. — Ah, my apologies. My name is Alcides and I cannot ignore someone who is in need. And then he gave you such a soft, sincere smile that disarmed you. — Oh… — you mumbled, feeling unknown something growing in the chest — I’m y/n. — Would you like to sit with me? At the top of the hill, y/n? You wanted to, and then you started sharing everything you had been hiding for the past years. Things you thought you would have to take to your grave because they were just too hard for your parents and friends to listen to. You didn’t want them to deal with it, but the stranger you knew nothing about… he could handle that. — … and then his friend said I should start looking for a place for my grave… I didn’t know what to say, so I just ran away… Alcides sighed, You saw the muscles in his arm tense as he ran his fingers through his hair. Seeing his anger gave you a little joy. — I’ll take care of these two — he said, almost calmly. — You know them? — Yes, they've been causing trouble for as long as I can remember. Alcides looked at you and his expression soften a bit, which brought a smile to your face. — You know, it’s unusual to meet someone like you — you pointed with a finger at his naked, sculpted chest — who has such a kind heart. To your satisfaction, your words made Alcides' cheeks turn red. You giggled at his reaction, which only caused his blush deepen. — Are you happy? — he growled. — Yes, I feel much better! Thank you. Alcides only wanted to listen to you, but he ended up stealing your heart.

[boybandbaby]

I'm Not The Only One Part 2

Summary: The aftermath of your enemy Steve telling you that your boyfriend cheated on you.

Word Count: 2387

Note: Not revised. Part 1 here

As you walked up to Matt’s door, you were afraid of what might happen. You desperately wanted to speak to Robin about what happened but then Steve dropped a bomb on you. Instead of worrying about the Friday incident, you were not concerned your boyfriend was cheating on you. You really hoped that Steve was just being his usual asshole self, but the way he said it and the look in his eyes told you he was being sincere. So here you were, at Matt’s doorstep, knocking pathetically.

After a few moments that felt decades long, the door swung open to reveal your boyfriend. His smile grew when he saw you and you nearly melted at the sight. “Hi baby,” he reached out for you.

“Baby?” You shook yourself out of your trance. “I’ve been calling you all weekend. Where have you been?”

“I just thought maybe you needed some time to cool off from Friday.” He shrugged. “You were really mad at me.”

“I think I had the right to be mad.” You scoffed.

“I mean come on Y/n, we’ve been dating for a month and you still haven’t let me kiss you.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame.

“Is that why you were kissing another girl after I left your house?” You question. “And don’t lie to me.”

“Look, Annalise called me to hang out and yeah we kissed but we’re not getting back together or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.” Matt reached a hand out to you.

“Are you insane? It may seem like no big deal to you but it is to me. That’s cheating.” You slap his hand away. “You’re unbelievable really.” You turn, heading back down the path. “Oh, and Grease is overdue, idiot.” You slam your car door as you finish getting in.

The first thing you can think of is to go see Eddie. You know his weird antics and personality can cheer you up in a heartbeat. The drive to his trailer is filled with the noise of sad ballads and your sleeved hand constantly wiping your eyes. Why were you crying? Matt was definitely not worth it and you knew that but you couldn’t help feeling worthless and unwanted.

As you park outside Eddie’s trailer, you look into the mirror and sigh. Your eyes were red, your hair was a mess, and your skin was sticky with old and new tears. You see Uncle Wayne on the porch, “Eddie, your little friend is here!”

You chuckle at his words and grab your bag before stepping out. Eddie rushes down the three steps and opens his long arms to engulf you. “Hey, come ‘ere.” He says quietly. You immediately enter his embrace and wrap your arms around his waist. “He’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, I know.” You sighed and lean your cheek against his chest. 

“You staying for dinner kiddo?” Wayne asks and you nod. “I’ll be heading to the store for food them. Be back in a bit.” Wayne gives Eddie a look.

“Let’s get you inside.” Eddie smiles and pulls you inside. “I can show you the new guitar strap that Dustin got me.”

-

Steve had called Eddie as soon as you left the store. He had filled him in on the entire situation.

“Okay so we’re going to go kick his ass right?” Eddie had told Steve through the phone.

“Eddie, you’re her friend. You have to do it.”

“Okay but you’re…meatier. I’m skinny. You’ve seen me shirtless. I need backup.” Eddie states. “Plus, someone has to comfort Y/n and I know it is impossible for you to be nice to her.”

“Hey, I can be nice.” Steve whines. “I was nice today.”

“Only because you had too.” Eddie snorts. “Look, you go kick his ass and I’ll go comfort Y/n.”

“I’m not kicking his ass alone Eddie.” Steve rolls his eyes. 

“How about neither of you kick his ass and both of you just go check on Y/n.” Robin adds, holding a box of new tapes. “Y/n is plenty capable of kicking Matt’s ass by herself.” 

“That’s true.” Steve laughs. “Well, I don’t think she’ll want to see me so… Eddie just take care of her okay? Let me know if she needs anything.” He ends the call after a few more moments, saying goodbye to Eddie.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad.” Robin laughs. “So so bad.”

“Robin.” Steve scolds. “I’m just being nice because she’s going through a tough time.”

“This could be what you need to start dating her. Swoop in to be her knight in shining armor or whatever.” Robin’s eyes light up. 

“Alright, that’s enough out of you.” Steve shakes his head, “I’m going on break.”

-

“So what did you tell Steve when he told you?” Eddie asks, sitting on the floor, rummaging through an old storage bin. You look down at him as you lay on your stomach across his bed, flipping through a magazine. 

“I mean, not much really. I basically interrogated him on what he saw and tried to verify if it was the truth.” You shrugged. “I seriously thought he was playing a joke on me.”

“I know he’s mean to you but not that mean. I think he likes you honestly.” Eddie bites his lip. “Imagine you and Harrington.” He ponders, “actually I think I almost threw up.”

“Shut up.” You toss a pillow in his direction. “He doesn’t like me. He can barely be in my presence. He said I was the Wicked Witch of the West, ya know?”

“If you’re the bad witch then I must be Glinda the good witch, huh?” Eddie raises a brow.

“Absolutely not. You have the hair to be Dorothy though.” You laugh. 

“I would look good in red sparkly heels and we both know it.” Eddie flips his hair off his shoulder. “But seriously, Harrington’s got the hots for you. He was all like,” Eddie switches his voice to mimic Steve’s. “‘Take care of my beautiful, wonderful future wife Y/n’ and ‘let’s kick Matt’s ass to avenge Y/n’s sweet soul’ and the best one ‘let me know if Y/n needs anything. And I mean anything Eddie.’” Eddie wiggles his eyebrows.

“He did not say any of that, you weirdo.” You toss another pillow at him. 

“You’re going to be pillowless in the next five minutes.” Eddie stands up to hit you in the head with the pillows, then stands a seat on the bed in the most obnoxious way making the entire bed bounce. “Remember when I first introduced you to the group? You thought Steve was cute. You even asked if he was single.”

“Which he technically wasn’t with all the dates he was going on.” You roll over onto your back. “I don’t know Eddie. Steve is cute but the past two years of bickering kinda just made me not really find him attractive.”

“Yeah yeah, I bet you’ll be dating or fucking by the end of the year.” Eddie lays beside you. “There’s so much sexual tension between you guys.”

“I hate you sometimes.” You laugh. “Let’s go see if Wayne needs our help.” You sit up and climb over him.

-

You had decided it would be a good time to thank Steve for looking out for you. It was Friday, only four days since you found out about Matt from Steve and confronted Matt yourself. As you walked up to Steve’s door, you remembered the last time you were here and how Steve had yelled at you. Maybe this was a bad idea. As you reached the porch of his house, you thought better and decided to just give him a call instead of your original plan. You turn back and start racing back to your car when you hear the door open.

“Y/n?” You hear. Your body freezes and you really wish you could just disappear.

Without turning around you reply with a quiet “Hey Steve.”

“You okay?” Steve asks, stepping out onto the porch after grabbing a jacket hanging near his door. “Did you just get off of work?”

“Um yeah, I just wanted to stop by to thank you.” You slowly turn around, scolding yourself mentally for not changing out of your uniform before coming to his place.

“Are those flowers? For me?” He points to the small bouquet in your hand. “You got me flowers?”

“Um… yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to bring over. Robin said you were laying off the sweets so I didn’t bring any desserts over. I’m sorry this is stupid. I just wanted to say thank you for being so kind on Monday and throughout the week. I know you asked Eddie and Robin to keep you updated on me. I’m fine now. Really. So thank you.” You rush out, turning to leave. “Oh wait, here.” You turn back around and shove the flowers into his chest. “Bye. Thank you. I’m sorry. Bye.” You hug your body and run back to your car. He’s quicker than you, shutting the door just as you open it.

“Do you want to come in?” He searches for your eyes. “You look cold. I can make hot chocolate or something?” He offers, unsure. “Only if you want.”

“You sure?” You squint your eyes and meet his.

“Yeah, I wasn’t busy or anything. Just making some food.” He smiles softly. “There’s enough for two.” 

It’s his smile that has you immediately locking your car door and following him into his house. He waits for you to step inside his house before going in himself, like a gentleman. He shivers as he takes off his jacket. 

“I’m supposed to put the flowers in water right?” He sets the bouquet on the counter. You had momentarily forgotten about the flowers. Your cheeks flush with heat and somehow he senses your embarrassment. “You know, no one has ever gotten me flowers before? I don’t even think I have a vase.” He mumbles as he searches the cabinets. “You okay? You’re quiet. You know you can have a seat.” He looks up to see you still standing near the entryway to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be awkward.” You laugh.

“You’re not.” He assures. “We haven’t had a good relationship so it makes sense why this is weird.” He smiles again and holds a red tinted vase he found under the sink. “I found one.”

“Let me help you.” You offer, holding the vase as he runs the water. “So you’ve been on hundreds of dates and not one girl has given you flowers?”

“Surprisingly no. I guess it’s just the whole gender roles and norms. I hope I didn’t embarrass you, I was just surprised.” He turns the faucet off.

“Well, I’m glad I got them then. Robin wasn’t much help. She wanted me to get you a funny greeting card. There’s not really a card that says, ‘I know we hate each other but thanks for saving me from a potential shitty relationship.’” 

“I guess that’s true.” He shrugs. “You know I don’t hate you right? Slightly dislike but not hate.” He nudges your arm as he takes the vase and places it on the counter.  

“It sounded like you hated me when you told me to get out of Hawkins.” You start to unwrap the flowers. “I was never trying to replace you Steve. I just wanted to be part of the group. I hope you know that.”

“I still regret saying that to you. You looked so sad but instead of apologizing I just… I don’t know. I guess I thought it was better to be mean to you then accept the fact that the others liked you. I don’t know how much you know about me but I’m usually home alone and other than my friends, I don’t have anybody.” He says honestly, voice laced with sadness.

“You have me?” You offer. “Like moving forward? We could be friends. We can hang out without the mean comments and stealing my snacks.” 

“Even after everything I’ve done? You’d still want to be friends?” He looks down to his slippers. “I was a jerk.”

“Yeah you were. Especially by calling me a witch.” You laugh. He looks up at you and thinks it’s music to his ears. “I’m sorry for saying you have no heart and that you were a coward. Both of those aren’t true.”

“So I still have no brain?” He fakes being hurt. 

“I mean you can be pretty stupid.” You smile, “like that one time at the fair when you got the hot pickle and immediately spit it out because it was spicy.”

“I thought it was like, going to be hot in temperature.” He defends. 

“Who eats a warm pickle? Pickles are meant to be eaten cold.” You argue. 

“Yeah yeah, that was pretty stupid.” He rubs the back of his neck. “You know, I regret not taking up your offer to ride the ferris wheel that day.”

“I saw that you wanted to go but no one would go with you. You kept looking up at the wheel and the lights of the rides made your eyes look so pretty. I just had to ask you.” You scoot closer to him, your sides touching as you busied yourself with separating the flowers. “But then you rejected me!” You nudged him this time.

“I’m sorry!” He covers his face. “I’m really sorry. Not just about that but everything else.” He says more quietly. 

“I’ve already forgiven you, Steve.” You start rearranging the flowers into the vase. “We’re good now. Promise.”

“Good.” He smiles down at you. “You hungry?” 

“Starving.” You step back to look at your work. “They look so pretty.”

“Yeah, they do.” Steve agrees, though his eyes are on you not the flowers. You turn to look at him. 

“You’re pretty too, Steve.” You bite your lip and take a seat at the kitchen island to distract yourself from the butterflies erupting inside your stomach. What was happening? You thought. How’d you go from hating each other to flirting?

Steve knew once he told Robin about his night, he wouldn’t be hearing the end of it. Enemies to lovers? Maybe, he was a cliche. He really didn’t mind that idea.

Taglist: @yaskna

[brainrotdotorg]

what's your favourite silly moment for each of the skills?

for volition its def in the 'you're compromised' scene where he 'doesn't add flair' but also has/uses the most nicknames for the other skills

reaction speed has this little comment in the same scene where if your logic is low enough they go 'oh? was someone supposed to say something? well it's just me, swooshing around in here! swoosh :D'

encyclopedia takes the fucking cake with the trivia quiz tho. love his dumbass so much

oh man tall task for me to try and compile EVERY skills personal fave moment but i love them so much i am willing to try. under the cut

logic: god this dude is literally so dry he was the hardest to find good quotes for. i still love him though. the boring stiff. " If you drink this, then you will die. That's a fact. And that's why we're going to save you from yourself and store this as a SELLABLE item. Go sell it at the pawnshop for a profit." after you buy the pure alcohol is pretty funny.

encyclopedia: the innocence quiz. the entire thing. also contact mike.

rhetoric: what could possibly top "say one of these fascist or communist things or fuck off"

drama: lie, sire! for no reason! also any time he really leans into the old-timey speak its so good to me. AND during the payphone prank calls he can suggest that you stir up shit for no reason. love him

conceptualization: lots of truly beautiful lines from our fella concept here but i do also love. when they get silly with it. " It can still be an otherwordly sex-mystery *in your head*. With a dark twist, even." and "Imbecilic. Yes, should the future ever come, it will look deeply imbecilic. Like this guy." and "O WALLFATHER!"

visual calculus: "I'm just a representation of your mental faculties... piecing together any available information." love when they just outright say it lmao. also "Consuming food is mechanical process for him. He doesn't enjoy it, just goes through the motions and moves on." kind of a sad detail about rene that i didnt know about thank you VC

volition: "I don't do flair."

inland empire: "No-no, don't sing the happy song, it's stupid. Sing the sad song, it's profound."

empathy: paging doctor love... " Life doesn't have a *BACK* button. Now get off your ass and speak the truth about Sylvie the Whore." "He's enjoying your little failure. He finds it amusing, he's revelling in the sweaty rage on your face."

EDC: the time he brings up literally right after kim says "officers dont fucking dump old police shit in the river" officers dumping police shit in the river

authority: "The lieutenant is a narcomaniac!" also "Mewling wimp! Pathetic..." and "Show him the ham still got it!"

suggestion: at one point he gets exasperated of harry trying the expression over and over. also "Logic and reason won't work on this old bat. Better go for shameless emotional manipulation. What's a grandmother's deepest vulnerability?"

endurance: a wink shaped growl sounds from your ass. what the fuck is going on in your large intestine harry. ALSO HOLY SHIT I DIDNT KNOW THE TUTORIAL AGENT HAS A UNIQUE LINE IN THE FASCISM THOUGHT CONVERSATION?? forget about föminism im losing my mind.

pain threshold: "Sounds like you were in some real *fundamental* pain there, muscle-man." MUSCLE-MAN!!!! on a sadder note: "Her beauty was like the glowing coil on a hot stove, and yet you felt *blessed* to touch it..." GIRL....... dont do this to me.....

physical instrument: eyes on the ball, dinky winky! also if your logic isnt high enough then HE will be the one to say "Son, you will NOT kill yourself with this. Not today. So we're going to store this as a SELLABLE item. Go sell it at the pawnshop for a profit." about the pure alcohol

electro-chemistry: HE CALLS PI A "sinewy idiot" ohhh my god. delightful. also every time he goes "yum" like when thinking about cigarettes

shivers: MR EVRART IS HELPING HIM FIND HIS GUN. Also the classic "got a brother in the cut, where the wood at?"

half light: oh my god she has so many killer lines. "They ain't got the cojones." she also has lots of nicknames for people. "cum-stain", "fucking ballerina", "they're all dorks." also "Utter the POWER WORDS!" and "Even when you're trying to scare someone, the most important thing is: how does it look on your resume?" AND "*YAWWWWN!* Can you imagine anything duller than a bunch of binoclards yanking each others' knobs?" half light i love you

hand/eye: "My favourite [thing] is the gun." LMAO

perception: she gets upset at one point when rhetoric claims you can smell communism and shes like. um. no. thats not possible. you cant smell communism. i cant find it but it actually happens a few times i think

reaction speed: I NEVER HEARD THE SWOOSH ONE. oh my god that fucking rules. swoosh. my next favorite is when youre talking to sylvie and she turn you down really fast reaction speed is like wow shes fast, what else is she good at? Baseball? Ring-a-bell Quiz Shows? Catching keys in the air? Petting an angry cat? okay queen

savoir faire: slaps one of this dude's arms. this guy can fit sooooo much hustle grindset in him. "You can't hang 'vapour-porn' in the foyer of your chalet." AND HE KEEPS CALLING HIMSELF SAVVY!!!!!!!!! "Hey, money-mouth. Eendracht. The impeccable hustler-provider of the seventh generation. It's showtime with Savvy!" "But Savvy's got your back. Savvy's going to book you a charter flight with eighty birds of prey on board, to a land where the streets are paved with krugerrands and fixed-income securities."

interfacing: i do love his "Told you that you *needed* those chaincutters. Everything is connected. Everything has a purpose." thats less silly and more hopeful in a way i really really like. he's got many delightful lines, and i think is the one that is most clued into the video game-y aspects (dialogue trees, etc) probably the saddest instance of this we see is with the dolores dei dream. "Don't let her. Don't let her go there. You should re-do the topics. Go over *everything*, the things you didn't say before too. Make it go on and on..." wailing. screaming and crying. on a brighter note! when you lose your pen he goes "Nooooo! That was my favourite thing, of all the things you have."

composure: calling reaction speed a "shifty asshole" is pretty fucking funny ngl.

[this-tumbleweed-surecan-fish]

Stratos is haunted. That's a fact. And the people of Lower Stratos know, they know about the other entity that sometimes comes down to wander among them.

Stratos is haunted, but the ghost is nice, they're pretty sure. It calms crying children, leaves flowers in their cribs, leaves bits of gold in pockets or among the belongings of distracted merchants. Some say they've heard it, but it speaks in tongues, others claim it humms. One of the night guards says it cries.

Stratos is haunted. Lower Stratos is only haunted when Hermes is away in Sanctuary for the week. The ghost trails after the demigod when they wander the streets and the people think it might be watching over them. They aren't sure if Hermes knows.

Stratos is haunted and Hermes likes that. The ghost tells them bedtime stories after Daddy told them that it's time to sleep now, gives them flowers and little figures of whatever they ask for except for horses. Sometimes they ask for a horse just for the reaction it gets. Sputtering and something about how horses are dangerous and not to be trusted, which is very funny in their opinion. Horses are nice. Papa is teaching them to ride. The ghost is not happy about that. He worries. He worries just like Papa and Daddy always do. Hermes told him that once. And he had reacted all weird because he is all weird, but he gave them something to call him other than ghost finally. Bape is weird but nice. They like Bape.

Stratos is haunted and Joel knows. He knows who is wandering his Islands. He's tried to get rid of him a number of times. It never sticks. He has no power over someone who so utterly doesn't believe that he has any power at all. "There is only one Goddess I respect," the idiot king had told him one time he'd tried to exorcise him, "and that is my wife. Jimmy is to pathetic to respect. And you..." Joel hated that tone. He hates the king. Dumbass couldn't even stay alive. "Well, your wife is gone. Sounds like a weak Goddess," he'd told him. "I'm going to figure out how to wake her up," the king had claimed. He wouldn't. He is just a ghost, stuck and unable to see it. A sad sight on sore eyes. Joel is being merciful, trying to exorcise him. He should just rest finally.

[adracat]

GWitch 21 thoughts

A bit of a transitional episode for the most part though it does escalate some things quite a bit. Always a fun ride on GWitch's coaster of madness and mechs!

First on the docket, Asticassia's aftermath. They really treat you to the scope of its devastation and the students having to wait it out. Bit odd imo they make the students camp there but I guess their parents are likely scattered anyway considering the state of Benerit.

Also was it just me or did y'all instinctively look for Loss in this image? Nicely organized camp at least.

Omg I might cry. Precious Suletta has decided to take it upon herself to care for the students. rescuing them in multiple ways I see. For me, it drives home the message that human connection and community are more important than destructive forces clashing. Empathy over games of war or corporate power struggles. It's also nice that Secilia* (edit: had a brain lapse lol) questions her reasons for altruism.

Because she can so she will 🥺

We finally see how Mio is faring and it's not great! She's taken on the guilt of Prospera's induced bloodshed along with Shaddiq's. Guel tries to reassure her but Mio is firm. This is her fault. Ngl, Guel, you're partly to blame for the school. No offense. It hurts to see Mio take on other people's wrongdoing, but that's a martyr for you

Her talk with Shaddiq was interesting for a variety of reasons, but what stood out to me was their mutual resignation. They're both so tired. Shaddiq admitting he escalated because of Guel and Mio is insane tbh. She calls him an idiot, but it lacks her usual fire. I do like that he tries to protect Sabina and the gang; really speaks to the fact he's more complex than a mustache twirling villain.

OMG Chuchu giving these two tomatoes instead of punches like before was amazing. The growth! The compassion! Ugh it was so good. As was the reveal that Suletta has been stockpiling the tomatoes. Mio might not know it, but she and by extension her mother aided these wounded kids. And Suletta musing on Mio fondly? Peak

After surviving the hell room, I can't blame her for reassessing her life and priorities. Sad she lost her dream but it was tainted by Shaddiq so I understand her reasoning. She'll earn her way back fairly, though it might not be any time soon once she submits herself to the authorities.

I wasn't surprised by this. Peil's horse in the presidency war lost, so might as well turncoat. They're opportunists at heart. The pure SALT though! It was the worst kind of news for everyone else at Benerit, including Mio. Forcible suppression are not words you want to hear

It's awful of me but this screenshot made me laugh. Something about her slumped forward and mouth open, just dead to everything around her. I'm sorry Mio, I'm sad for you still. She's having a hell of a month.

Sarius, surprisingly, is willing to take the fall and allow Grassley to bear the consequences. But Mio won't allow it. She can't accept anyone bearing 'her' sins. She's fully become the rose bride, enduring humanity's hatred willingly. There's also a bit of subtext here as she alludes to sacrificing Suletta. She won't do that again, no matter who it is.

YO OKAY! Suletta while being questioned by Bel and Guston, drops her clone origins super casually. No spite or outward grief either. Just yeah, Mom won't care what I say because she only loves Eri. That's rough buddy.

Surprise! The SAL confiscated a never before seen or mentioned Gundam from Vanadis. And it just so happens to be a monstrous one without a permet filter I'll admit, very confusing for me at first watch. I couldn't figure out why they sprung this without any foreshadowing, but after days I have an inkling.

I'll be frank. I'm not sure why I like Belmeria. She's super pathetic. Just an absolute failure at life with the mental fortitude of toilet paper. But she's pitiable, clearly grieving, and guilty she did not perish at Folkvangr. Has done terrible things as 5lan would attest, but she's still weirdly likable. Like an aunt who everyone hates at family reunions but they're nice to you and make good cookies. Maybe it's just me

Aaaand the suppression of Benerit was swiftly canceled. Lol. QZ can't be stopped now that Prospera has assumed direct control and destroyed every threat to her daughter's eternity.

I did note QZ looks blatantly like a coffin, which considering the Utena parallel has interesting implications. Read this post here to see my musings. It's not a dire thing imo.

Did a huge number on Mio's psyche unfortunately, which I think is the true tragedy. Red shirts got nothing on babygirl. Gotta double down on those swords piercing her with guilt and misplaced hatred. I'm marveling at what they're doing with the Utena intertextuality even as I bleed for Mio's state of mind. She's so fragile now

Yay Chuchu and gang are coming along to fetch Calibarn! Wait, that might be bad. Oh well, Earth House has been crazy lucky so far. Hopefully it'll hold. I will actually lose it if any of them die.

And we have 5lan suddenly deciding to go. I have some thoughts about why, which I've discussed in another post, but for now let's assume he's telling the truth and only wants to leave. He's an interesting character and bounces well off any cast member so it's cool with me. I enjoyed him going out of his way to apologize for harrassing Suletta.

Lauda Lauda Lauda... don't you know anyone who threatens Mio gets Suletta slapped. It's happened three times now and two of them were fatal. He's just gonna get someone killed, and it won't be Mio. I know we see him staring at Schwarzette but I don't think he would need to or have the ability to pilot it. Mio isn't a pilot, so I suspect he'll attack her with more practical means. Could be wrong ofc! This show loves twists and curveballs.

I am eager to see what the rest of this cour has in store for us!

[finniestoncrane]

Gonna scoop this idea here and you van get to it whenever youre ready/feeling it! >w<

But i wonder.. how would edward feel if his s/o asked to be degraded but soon felt sad and hurt from what he said? Kinda like theyre attempting jt but s/o figured out quickly it isnt for her

(Arkham riddler ofc because he disses out the worst for degrading)

Too Much

Arkham!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 1k now i feel bad for him because i bet he was super into it lmao 💚🔧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: degradation, humiliation, angst, hurt, some fluff

Degradation was second nature to him, whether he realised it or not. Edward Nigma was good at dishing out insults. His wit was quick, his tongue was sharp, and he had a never ending supply of cruel retorts, backed up by his mental thesaurus, to offer to anyone at any time and for any reason. You knew this about him, and you didn’t mind it. Mostly because you found the way he was consistently condescending and ready to bestow a hurtful word sooner than a compliment almost attractive in a way. As though just the act of him paying attention to you was akin to him bringing you bouquets of flowers and writing you sweet love notes. Every time Eddie called you an idiot, your cheeks flushed and you could feel your heart fluttering.

Considering how it made you feel, you thought it might be worth it to ask if he could utilise his skills in that area in conjunction with the ‘co-workers with benefits’ agreement you had entered, unspoken, into. And he was more than happy to oblige.

“It’ll hopefully keep that boundary between us, before you start thinking that you mean anything more to me than you do.”

He had said it with the menacing smile, a toothy grin that was so Eddie, and you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from kissing him, leaping towards him and throwing your hands around his neck, knocking him back into the wall as he raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise, almost shy as you took control before he fought back for it. He gripped your forearms, holding you back from him as he looked you up and down, a cruel smile slowly spreading over his face.

“You’re practically drooling, so desperate for a taste of the great Edward Nigma, hm?”

You nodded, your cheeks feeling that familiar heat of embarrassment and arousal.

“I don’t blame you, of course. If I were as pathetic as you I’d be clinging to any semblance of greatness just so I could see what it felt like.”

As you stared into his eyes, you could feel your heartbeat rising, your pupils widening.

“Don’t look at me, avert your gaze.”

Edward gripped your face, his fingers and thumb on either cheek, pushing you to the side, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“You are an insignificant speck on this earth. Entirely worthless, useless even. Especially to me. You don’t deserve to look at me. You don’t deserve anything I give you, but here I am anyway, out of the goodness of my heart, willing to waste my time on you.”

It was definitely insulting, definitely cruel. But it was a bit different. It was far more personal than he usually was. Calling you an idiot was an old standard, he called everyone an idiot. And insulting your work ethics and abilities, you were so used to that it barely registered anymore. But questioning your worth to him, especially when he knew how much you valued him and the time he gave to you, it felt targeted in a way that left a bit more of a sting that you had anticipated when you asked for this.

“Uh, Eddie-”

“Don’t speak, I didn’t say you could. And besides, for all that your input into any conversation has any merit, it would be a better use of your lingering brain cells to keep quiet.”

Even as he kissed at your neck, the same tongue that spat the words at you lapping softly at your hot, reddening skin, you could feel the hurt making a home in your chest, the worry that he meant the severity of these opinions dropping into your stomach and forcing it to cramp around the nasty, tangled ball of stress it formed as.

As Eddie’s mouth made its way to your cheeks from your neck on its path of kisses, he pulled back with a start, the taste of salt on his lips being tested by his tongue before he stopped and held your face in his hands. As he realised you had been unable to hold the little tears that had formed, he dropped his hands to his side and stepped back.

“You’re crying.”

His voice was quiet, a slight tremble in the words. You tried to wipe at the tears, covering up how much they had hurt you, trying to assuage any worries you imagined he might feel, despite him not usually caring to acknowledge the consequences of his words and actions.

“You asked me to. You said… This isn’t my fault, is it?”

You neither nodded, nor did you shake your head. Just looking at him, mouth open, unsure of what to say until the strangled words managed to make it out.

“It’s… not what I thought it would be.”

Eddie began pacing in a short pattern in front of you, stopping to look at you, wringing his hands in worry.

“You told me to do that! You knew I was good at it, you said it yourself! Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Because you said I couldn’t-”

“…said you couldn’t talk… yes.”

He stopped in front of you, and you could almost see the apology forming in his mind, being batted away by his childish insistence that he was never wrong and had nothing to apologise for. And you could see him picking at his fingernails, something he did when stressed, and regulating his breaths, though they were shallow and shuddering.

“Are you ok, Eddie?”

He scoffed, throwing his hands to the side and then rubbing them down his face, settling his palms in front of his eyes for a few seconds before completing the action and stepping to you.

“Am I ok? Why would you ask that, idiot? I mean… not…”

He took your hand, holding it while he averted his gaze again, tapping his foot on the ground as he tried to speak the words he already had, but couldn’t bring himself to say.

“I’m not going to-”

“I know… you don’t have to. I know.”

He squeezed your hand in his, dropping it and leaning in to hold you, his arms sliding around your waist and settling, on your lower back.

“If it helps, I was actually lost for words, if you’ll believe that for a second. Of course, that was before I solved the problem incredibly quick, the obvious solution being to reverse the truth of how I feel in order to have it be negative.”

You smiled into his shoulder, lesson learned.

[pervysenpaix]

More monoma content pls..? Saw the recent official monoma art where he tugs his tie and awooga…

Hnndfgggg—im foaming at the mouth and sweaty. How can you come here and not drop the receipts? I’ve searched far and wide and I can’t find this holy grail that you speak of so please bless us with links of our blue eyed king 💙

While we wait, would you like to discuss some more Incel!Monoma ? 🤭

18+ MDNI| tw! Breath play.

Things have been different since your little outburst in the elevator. Monoma still glares at you in the cafeteria whenever you’re sitting with the rest of your class but he holds his tongue, choosing to turn up his nose whenever you meet his periwinkle gaze. Walks to class seem so much longer without Monoma bumping into your shoulder or saying something vile. You can’t even focus during hero training because you’re constantly tugging at your costume thinking he’s going to comment but he never does.

You finally decide that enough is enough and now you’re standing in his doorway twiddling your thumbs while you wait for him to respond to your confession. It sorta just spilled out how much you missed his attention and admired him as a hero and felt sad that you didn’t hang out anymore.

His mind blanked for a second. Here you are dressed in your cute little blue pajamas tugging at the bottom of his shirt to let you in. Of course he has to oblige , look at the state of you! Practically crying when he asks what you want from him.

“Jus’ wan’ you , Neito” you hiccup, pouty lip wavering as you hold back tears.

That’s why you’re on your knees know struggling to take his length. And he’s being so mean—pinching your nose so that you’ll open your mouth wider in attempt to breathe , not that it’d be possible with the way he’s forcibly fucking your throat. your throat feels raw and your jaws hurt but you can deny the throbbing between your thighs. So you’re whimpering and drooling around his cock , tears streaming down your face while you grind your milky cunt against your heel. You look so fucking pathetic and Monoma is rock hard—did he accidentally take that red heads quirk ? He doesn’t have time to ponder because he’s cumming down your throat with a gasp. Not even paying attention to the sweet degradations that he’d been spilling the whole time.

“Nasty little dove”

“Such a whore for me. A perfect whore”

“You’re pathetic you know ? God I can’t believe I’m wasting my time with a beautiful idiot like you”.

So , he runs a shaky hand through his blonde strands and looks at your poor poor trembling frame. Just begging to cum. And he wouldn’t be much of a hero if he didn’t help you out 🥹

@mhathotfic I was thinking about our boy.

[lunathebee]

Pairing: Marc Spector x fem!reader

Warning: angst, me doing some research and have to trust Google, no happy ending

A/n: This is my second fic so pls be easy on me, i am very sensitive to criticism (jk lol pls say your thoughts!!) anyone who like this fic should thanks @helloimtina , she offers me a part of her soul for me to write this, i also want to point out something

1. Marc live in Steven's apartment (as always and ofc)

2. This was heavily inspired by *you will see when u read it, don't wanna spoiled too much*

"Baby I'm home!" Marc happily calls out for you right after swinging open the door of his apartment. After a hard day of Khonsu constantly ordering him to be *the fist of vengeance*, he wants nothing more than to be in the arms of his lover, getting smooches and hugs.

"Y/n? Baby?" Marc called out again after hearing no answer from you. Are you still mad at him? It seems like you're more interested in staring at his little goldfish Gus than saying hi back to him.

Marc thinks back to the argument he and you had in the morning, he can't even remember what it is about to be honest, all he remembers is how sad you look when he decided to leave for work, earlier than everyday 15 minutes and with no goodbye kiss.

God, he feels like an idiot, of course you would still be mad, and now look at him, coming back with no flowers or chocolate, nothing to seem like the argument also affects him as much as it is to you, what can he possibly do? Look in your eyes and say a half-ass apology? Marc feels pathetic, but he has to do what he must do anyway.

'Couple argue all the time Marc, cmon, get yourself together' Marc told himself while awkwardly standing next to the fish tank, hoping that you would give him a sign, that you would yell at him or hit him, anything, just please don't give him the silent treatment.

"Y/n I-"

"Marc-"

Both of you decided to speak at the same time while looking into eachother eyes, but Marc insisted you talk first.

"You should take your medicine Marc" Your voice was so small he could barely hear it, but Marc could make out one word, and for him it was enough.

"Med- Medicine? Y/n baby what medicine? I don't-" You can hear the confusion, almost panicked in Marc's voice.

"Take the pill Marc, YOUR pill, take it Marc, stop trying to hide it, MARC TAKE THE MEDICINE" Your voice gets louder and louder each time, making Marc stumble backward in shock. Who are you? no, you're not Y/n, his Y/n would never yell at him like this, the eyes that one looks at him with love and adoration now full of hate and spite.

Marc feels his heart aching and his head pounding, why are you acting like this to him? What is happening? What did he do? No...no...no...

"YOU CAN'T MAKE ME YOU CAN'T MAKE ME-" Marc yelled out while repeatedly hitting himself in the head, hands losing control.

---

"Marc!" A male voice called out, taking his full attention. It was a man with a mustache and funky glasses, Marc squinted his eyes so he could read the name tag on the man's shirt.

'fucking....Dr.Harrow...what kind of name is that...' Marc thinks to himself while slowly blinking his eyes, getting adjusted to the bright light and white-ish room he is in, how did he end up here? He was talking to you one moment ago, and now he is siting on this chair, facing (what he assumed) a doctor.

"Marc, as I was saying, you have to take the medicine I personally-"

"where....Y/n, she...where...what did you do to her" Marc spoke out in a breathless voice, completely ignoring Dr.Harrow, but when did he get so weak? He has barely done anything and he is out of breath.

Dr. Harrow, who is now cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief, looks at Marc in a frustrating way. "Do you really want to know Marc? I have been trying my very best to help you, but look at what you have done, always making a mess, lying to the nurse, even trying to escape the hospital. Marc Spector I am asking you once again, can you be a bit more cooperative?"

Marc rolled his eyes backwards and cursed under his breath, he believes what he is hearing is nonsense, bullshit and on top of that, annoying.

"Marc, are you listening to me? I know you don't- hey! HEY!" Dr.Harrow's voice makes Marc sick to the stomach, so he does what he can only think of at the moment: order his legs to run away as fast as it can, even if  he would have stumbled and fallen down to the ground, face smashing to the cold marble floor.

Grunting and moaning in pain, Marc tries his best to push himself up before feeling he gets lifted up by 2 people, Dr.Harrow's voice still in the background. "Be gentle with him please, thank you"

After getting pushed back to the chair, Marc can't do anything but look like he is going to destroy the whole office, he is mad, angry and confused, he can't stop thinking about you, what exactly has happened...?

"Do you want to speak to Y/n? Hm? Would that make you calm down? I can call her right now, if that's what you want, Marc" Dr.Harrow continues to speak.

'Y/n.. my Y/n, please let me speak to her, please. I need to know if she is okay, I need to' Marc wanted to say that out loud, but his ego is too big, he refused to be weak and show emotions, so all he did was give the doctor a little nod, eyes yearning.

After giving out a long sigh, Dr. Harrow begins to dial the number on his landline, looking at Marc to assure him he really is calling you and not just faking it.

"Ah, she picked up here-"

Marc didn't even let the man finish the sentence; his hand immediately reached out to grab the phone,voice quivering. "Baby, Y/n, where are you? I can-I can save you if you want. I just have to figure out how to leave this...place...office, would you wait for me Y/n?"

Marc chewed on his bottom lip, anxiety slowly building up each second you don't respond.

"Marc....we have had this talk before, you're making it harder for Dr.Harrow aren't you? I know you're feeling very scared right now but it will get better bae, you will get better...I hope so" Your voice waver at the end, Marc know you're trying your best not to cry while speaking to him.

But what did you just say? You know Dr.Harrow? And..."we have had this talk before"? When? So many questions flood into Marc's mind, he can't help but ask again, hoping to find out the truth.

"You don't remember? You said you're ill Marc, you said that you need help, and that's what I have done, trusting Dr.Harrow to help you..."

"But... but you will have no one to protect you, I can protect you..." Marc's hand tightened on the phone after hearing what you said.

God... Marc is more stubborn than you think, he refused to drop the act, or admit that he is the one who is wrong, you're sick of it, you're sick of HIM. "For fuck's sake Marc, how can you even protect me? With your imaginary god and goddess? With whatever crap you bring up whenever I ask you where have you been? What the HELL is a Khonsu anyway? We fight so much because of it Marc, our last argument is the last straw. I can't... I can't love you when you're like this Marc. "

You cried out while saying everything, not caring if Marc can even listen clearly to what you have said, but you are too tired now. After hearing no response from Marc, you decided to hang up and shut down your phone, scared that Marc would call again, talking with you in his desperate and yearning voice, and you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from running back to him.

But the truth is, no call was made. Marc never dared to ask Dr.Harrow to call you again. He was on his knees, crying, screaming, throwing a tantrum like a little kid, and instead of receiving hugs and sweet encouraging words like he used to in the past when he was with you, Marc was met with a hard and disappointed voice from Dr.Harrow, saying he would never change and "the more you try to be tough, the more pain you have to suffer".

At this point, Marc has no energy to answer anymore. He looks like a corpse. His heart is beating, but at the same time, he wishes it would just stop.

"Now...like I said before....----" Dr.Harrow's voice faded out in Marc's head, he couldn't focus on anything besides what you had said to him. How ironic, Marc chuckled, he guesses the only way he can protect you now is to stop protecting you.

[accustiv-archived]

@vanishinq ❤️

there was a buzz of activity in the corner when beau got to the mess hall. a cluster of inmates quite clearly attempting to intimidate some poor soul, he’d been there too, at the start.he’d looked like an easy target, young and skinny and rumoured to be some pathetic white collar criminal, but beau had stood his ground, made the right kind of connections, made himself well liked enough to avoid more than the most desperate attempts of some brute to look tough. His eyes dance over the scene, then flick to his cellmate in silent question. ‘ some new guy got brought in last night, they say he’s the ghost, you know? ’ the information came so freely that beau was almost surprised. he'd faced those same rumours, until agent bishop had unceremoniously stripped him of the honour of being art crime’s number one bastard, making his own efforts and career feel horribly pointless. all the same, beau scoffs. “ doubt it. ” he mutters in response, because it had been years, and he doubted casper was even still in california, only an idiot would have trusted beau to keep his mouth shut, only a fool would -

his eyes flick up again, and this time there’s a break in the intimidation team, his gaze locks on someone he hadn’t expected to see until after his release. he wasn’t the same; his eyes duller, face more rigid, he looked sick, he looked sad. but it was casper. beau’s heart stopped, he was sure of it, felt the final thud and expected to wake up in the infirmary. but he didn’t, time just seemed to stretch out indefinitely, until a sharp elbow is in his ribs and he tears his attention away to glare impatiently at the man beside him. ‘ you know him? is it him? ’ beau scowls, and shakes his head, “ he’s just some prick i ran into a couple of times. ” he recites, quickly. but he’s already pushing away, crossing the room, edging through the gathered huddle of men, a gentle shove against their ringleader landing him right in front of cas. he doesn’t speak, although there’s a murmur of questions aimed at him, he just stares at the man he had fantasised about destroying almost every long night since he had been sentenced.

“ well. this is a surprise. ” he says, eventually, before breaking eye contact with cas as he turned, shooting an apologetic smile at the group as a whole, “ sorry boys, i have dibs on this one. mind if i have a quick word with - ” he shoots a glance over his shoulder, “ my old buddy here? ” his accent’s rougher, more in line with his natural one, his boarding school clipped consonants and sharp vowels giving way to a lazier, flatter tone. beau knows when sounding like a rich boy is useful, turns out, federal prison isn’t the place. he doesn’t wait for a response, turning away, “ you gonna talk to me, reid? ”

[hellofastudysession]

the narrator? stupid idiot motherfucking narrator god damn fool pathetic skip button eating rat old bastard shithead idiot avatar of the authors ego biggest clown in the circus laughed out of steam comment section game dev motherfucking narrator? stop reblogging my posts when i talk about the narrator i hate him so much why does he have so many fucked up hallways why did he decide to fuck around and find out just cut your losses and end this stupid game is he dead? is he a bastard? man has such a visceral effect on me just reading his dialogue on the wiki never seen this mans face and i know he has the worlds shittiest inconsistent humansona get away from me if i wanted to get into heaven and god said the narrators waiting inside for you i would piss on gods feet for the sole purpose of getting sent back down if i have to deal with rhe narrator speaking one word in person on rich deep soft voice in playthrough not only will i close the tab i will delete my ultra deluxe $20 game out of spite and rewatch my entire youtube playthrough again for the experience of being able to mute all the times when he is mentioned or alive i know fucking exactly why i hate him so much i am just mad because i am angy he doesnt even have some fucked up backstory to explain this hes just some smug shithead whos a fan of pushing his artistic vision and wanted to be liked BETTER have had some guy named stanley make him kill his mom cause if he didnt im going to make him. paypal.com/IFuckingHateTheNarrator i wasnt even playing the stanley parable saw a wall that was beige and lost it where the fuck is the narrator if hes still alive im so deeply going to wish he wasnt crusty old man i'll punch the narrator and his sad frail old man twig bones will simply flake apart under my epic huge meat fist and he will disintegrate until all that's left is one final dialogue line he kept on him at all times that says now you fucked up in shitty french

[berestweys]

Kinnporsche Rewatch - Episode 12

Summary: Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too So I stayed in the darkness with you

Or, alternatively, for people who still have their wits about them (not me): Some boys fuck up and other boys fuck.

Favorite Line: “If you’re feeling sad it means it’s important.”

Porsche’s Wacky Antics: Arm and Porsche together again! CODE RED we must spy on Kinn immediately to make sure he’s not cheating, using Arm’s Super Secret Spyware. Uh oh, CODE BLACK Arm you gotta go catch them red-handed! … Uh oh this is... not cheating but. Uh oh. Elsewhere, he moves Chay into the Main Family house, moves him back into Porsche and Chay’s house, and we already know because this is a rewatch that in short order he’s going to move Chay back into the Main Family house. 

Why is Chay crying? He’s sad he’s about to break Porsche’s heart by not going to his Music Academy University interview. Come ON kid.

Woe is Big: Still dead. Still no wake. Poor Big.

Tankhun Highlight: Tankhun has disappeared from my eyeballs. Disappointing.

A Woman Speaks: University student asks Chay if he’s here for his interview. When he says no, she goes and starts greeting other students.

What’s Pete eating, and who prepared it for him? Pete doesn’t eat anything. Of the two of them, Vegas is the only one eating. 🍑 He savors it.

Vegas Report: Vegas and his assortment of wide leg pants emphasizes how pocket-sized he is. I would like to pat him on the head. Right as his big pet is recovering and regaining his spark, Vegas’ littlest pet is sick and he fails his dad again. “Everything my dad gives me to do is important,” and Vegas failed in keeping any of the pets foisted on him by his stylish fuck of a father alive. His life is pathetic, and Macau is the same. Being born into the Minor Family is a Series of Unfortunate Events.

Shipping Activities

KinnPorsche: Oh nooooo Porsche’s spying reveals Kinn was behind the debt to force Porsche to take the bodyguard job. People in love don’t lie to each other, Kinn! He was following Korn’s orders and he didn’t know Porsche then. He promises he’ll do better & help Porsche find any answer he wants. He waits until Porsche’s body language indicates permission to touch, and they are such dumbasses with the constant lying and mistrust (it’s hilarious I love it) but they also demonstrate respect for each other? Kinn’s excited to be a domestic goddess at Porsche and Chay’s house – isn’t bread and water a delicious snack? (From a purely Watsonian perspective, these dudes are obsessed with eating bread.) They talk about who has the best home and Kinn is firm that he wants to be in whatever house has Porsche in it. Kinn supports Porsche when they go to take revenge on the dude who supposedly killed his parents, but Porsche can’t hurt someone’s grandpa. Of course he can’t. They revisit the back of Hum Bar where they first met and they start all over again, with no secrets between them (Once again, Ha!). Then there’s bug eating and this time I skipped over that shit because I can only tolerate one watch-through of bugs.

VegasPete: Okay. Okay. *cracks knuckles* Pete’s reading a book about personalities and blood types because “what else is there to do around here,” and Pete is the funniest dude on this show. He and Vegas bicker: “You’re an idiot.” “No, that’s you,” and tease: “I wish I was AB not O type. O is handsome, cool, smart and clever, though.” (It’s notable that Pete is no longer addressing him as Khun.) Apparently pets can reveal their owners’ personalities, and a hedgehog’s owner looks strong & scary but is sensitive inside. You need love, Vegas. Oops, you touched a nerve, Pete. Put your insights away. Vegas “accidentally” leaves the key to the cuffs on the bed when he runs off to save the hedgehog, and Pete’s free! He’s gonna run along home! Except… is that Vegas over there on the lawn? Is he- Is he crying? No, no, gotta go Pete. Time to hightail it out of here. But… what if Vegas is really hurting? Pete knowingly gives up his chance to escape, and when Vegas realizes he looks just as stunned as Pete. Pete shuffles closer and it’s so sad that little hedgie is gone, and Pete slowly reaches out with a gentle touch. I’m holding my breath this is Too Much. That’s all it takes for Vegas and the waterworks really begin. They have a lovely funeral for the hedgehog (This is not the time or place but WHERE IS BIG’S FUNERAL). Pete willingly follows Vegas back inside and he doesn’t know why he didn’t run. Everything Vegas loves leaves him and he’s stupid and he starts self-flagellating but Pete won’t let him. It’s okay to be sad but it’s stupid to hurt yourself. Vegas accuses Pete of thinking Vegas deserves this grief but Pete is not having that nonsense and he tells him so. Vegas regains enough composure to be cruel – he’s got insights too, Pete. He can see you like it when Vegas is “moody.” He can see behind Pete’s mask too. Don’t go around perceiving people when you can also be perceived! It’s rude! Pete tells Vegas he’s a psycho and Vegas basically responds with yeah? Well so are you. What are you gonna do about it, huh? Pete’s ready to let whatever is happening here happen, but Vegas isn’t willing to take this one thing. It has to be given, and Pete has to make a choice. He chose to stay, and now he must choose again. Vegas isn’t interested in a passive doll. So Pete Chooses. He grabs, demands, and takes. He asks. He wants, he hungers, and he chooses to give that to Vegas. He offers Vegas trust. Hip hip hooray for explicit consent!!! Between the two men hanging out in the torture bungalow, everything until now has been force and coercion, but this is shared and freely given. My screams are loud and unceasing. The focus on Pete’s tattoo! Pete handing Vegas the rope! The kiss to his bound hands! The tenderness! The unwavering eye contact! Asking for what you want and getting it! Their smiles in the afterglow: knowing and being known for the first time in their lives. I see you. I see you, too. I know you. There you are, my reflection, finally after all this time. There’s nothing more to question here, right? ... Right? The white noise surrounding me is rolling thunder and high pitched keening. I’m undone.  

Do I care about KimChay yet? No. Porchay jeopardizes his future at University because of this useless fucker. Stalking him to a club does not make it better, Kim (Did he put a tracker on Chay’s phone? Did he? I will fight him. He’ll take me out with his bare hands but I will fight him.) Yeah Chay’s making some questionable choices but that’s none of Kim’s business. Chay can be an idiot without you, dude. (Oh dear. I’m rereading that and realizing my tone is not one of disinterest. Well shit. If I’ve played myself here I’m gonna be so pissed. No. Nope. I’m just gonna breeze on by that moment of self-reflection mmmkay?)

# of KimChay scenes in this episode: 1

# of KimChay scenes I watched without skipping through: 1

Kisses: Vegas and Pete consummation sensation. Porsche and Kinn smooching and eating bread. More KP smooching behind Yok’s bar.

Tits Out: Pete and Vegas, baby.

What’s Gun wearing? He left Vegas alone for five minutes, praise all the gods. Wherever he is I’m sure he looks amazing.

Serious Observations of Various Sorts: Porsche and Chay are precious together. That’s all. Watching Korn lie through his teeth without a care in the world is just *clenches fist* grrrrrrrr fun. His betta fishies in their terrible vases smashed up against each other! Gah! Tay is the ultimate cinnamon roll: too good for this world, too pure. Time ought to get his shit together and be worthy of him. Or, you know, ASK first before trying to start up a polycule. Tay is clearly over the bullshit and I support him I will buy him so much Farmhouse bread.

Have I calmed down? No, and we’re close enough to the end that I’m starting to worry I just… won’t. I know what’s coming and it does not bode well for my future peace.

* 

Episode 1/ Episode 2/ Episode 3/ Episode 4/ Episode 5/ Episode 6/ Episode 7/ Episode 8/ Episode 9/ Episode 10/ Episode 11/ Episode 13

[asukamood]

We are gathered here today to celebrate this beautiful day, which is the one our amazing king and archon of reruns was given birth to: AJAX

To celebrate, here is some juicy angst, enjoy.

TW: Manipulation, implied abuse. If there are any more, let me know.

This contains Chaeya (Childe x Kaeya), if you don’t like it, please don’t read it.

===

“S-Skirk? What are you—“

Before he could continue any further, a finger was gently put on his lips, its owner flashing him her signature smile.

“Oh Ajax, you never learn do you?” She said, a sort of sympathetic smile drawn on her features. She let out a sigh and brought the younger man into a cold hug, an unwelcoming one, while the latter was frozen in place, unable to even breathe.

“I knew that the second I would leave you, this would happen.” She continued, tracing a few patterns on his back. Ajax couldn’t move but he did feel his heart increase in speed and his eyes starting to water.

“How did you find me?” He managed to choke out breathlessly, hardly swallowing a sob. He needed to get away right now, but his body seems to have stopped listening to his orders.

“He doesn’t love you.” She ignored the question royally, instead choosing to stab right through the fragile heart she has already damaged a long time ago. Ajax’s unsteady breath hitched, body tensing up even more than before.

“What are you—“

“Oh dear, you haven’t noticed yet?” She broke the cold embrace and cupped his cheek with her hand, smiling when she noticed the tears that threatened to spill inside of his eyes. “He’s just using you for intel, don’t you just find it strange how a Knight of Favonius like him would so casually hang out with you, even after you told him about your identity?”

“No-“ His voice came out as a pathetic whimper, he felt so weak right now, under her icy gaze. “Kaeya wouldn’t-“

“He wouldn’t? How much do you know about him to affirm that?” Skirk raised an eyebrow as she looked questionably at him. The red-headed man opened his mouth, searching for a retort but found none, she was right, he didn’t know the other enough to affirm anything.

“That’s the problem with you Ajax, you’re too easily manipulable.” Her hand on his cheek moved upward to wipe a tear that started to roll down his cheek. “Why would someone like him like you? Why would anyone like you for that matter?” Ajax was too stunned to speak back so the only thing he did was stare dumbly, letting the words sleep through his heart like poison.

“You’re a selfish, arrogant person whose only passion is picking a fight. You hurt hundreds of people every day without feeling an ounce of remorse, you’re an awful man Ajax. You don’t deserve to be loved by anyone.”

Ajax’s body shook, lips slightly parting. More tears fell but this time, Skirk didn’t bother with them. “Thankfully for you, I do really like you.” She smiled brightly, as if she was still speaking to his child self.

“Give up on him Ajax, you know as much as I do that he doesn’t and never will like you.” She wrapped her arms around him again. “Let me save you, as awful as you are, not even you deserve such a treatment.” She whispered in his ear, a smile in her voice.

“Plus he deserves better, don’t you agree? Cut yourself some break, I’ll protect you from anyone who would try pulling a trick on you like that again. I’m doing this because I truly care about you Ajax, surrender yourself to me and you will never feel this sad again.”

Wordlessly, he returned the embrace with eyes as empty as a black hole. She was right, wasn’t she? She’s only trying to help him, so why did he feel so scared?

It was no use thinking about that, he realized.

Even if she did treat him badly, he deserved it.

He was a monster.

No one but her would love him.

Why doesn’t he save himself the trouble and just accept that affection? It could be so easy too.

He was an idiot, of course, he would be getting manipulated again.

He deserved it.

===

I always pictured Skirk as a manipulative prick, thus why this happened. Don’t take this for canon though, I only made her mean like that because I’m craving angst. Kaeya isn’t actually using Childe, Skirk only made him think he was.