#the fourth wall is especially thin in this one…

[junkissed]

love thy neighbor

member — fwb! neighbor!joshua x f reader genre — smut, light angst, college au, idiots to lovers, happy ending word count — 5.1k synopsis — there's perks to having your fwb live next door to you, but there's also downsides. like the fact that it's really hard to hide that you're in love with him. warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, one mention of periods, masturbation (both reader & joshua), the smut is REALLY quick, premature ejaculation sort of, a little bit of body worship, nicknames (baby, good girl), not really described but implied creampie, they are idiots and they are in love and it's gross and sweet notes — tysm to @wongyuseokie & @onlymingyus for help choosing the banner <3 and thanks to @petrichor-han for this idea !! fun fact this was originally going to be for skz han but i figured it would also make a great shua fic so i chose him instead. fun fact #2 i am addicted to giving shua's fics religious titles even when there's no mention of religion in the fic at all lmao. it gives me a giggle like how could i not when it fits so well?? also this is one of my few attempts at angst so if you liked this please reblog or send and ask and lmk how you liked it! hope you enjoy!!

joshua should be asleep right now. 

really, he should. it’s 11pm on a sunday night and he’s got his chemistry lab at 8am tomorrow, and he’s still got a couple of assignments that he really needs to catch up on before the final next week. 

but then there's that bump against the wall that he’s grown so accustomed to, and his eyes fly open.

maybe becoming fuck buddies with your next-door neighbor isn't the smartest idea he's ever had, because this is the fourth time this week he's had to hear your moans as he tries to fall asleep.

the walls are thin, but he's certain that you must not realize just how thin they are, because he can hear every sound you make as clear as day. every whimper, every buzz of your vibrator, even every moan of his name, barely muffled by the wall separating his room from yours. especially every moan of his name. and it’s been driving him insane.

really, it’s his own fault for trying to be a polite neighbor. he almost wishes that he hadn’t run into you when you’d moved into the apartment next door at the beginning of the semester, because then he probably wouldn’t have recognized you at that party during homecoming weekend and got to talking with you. 

and because of that he probably wouldn’t have taken you home from said party and given you the best dicking down of your life (your words, not his), and then after that you probably wouldn’t have decided that you wanted to keep fucking him and agreed to become friends with benefits.

except he doesn’t actually wish that at all.

having your situationship live right next door is pretty convenient, after all. you’ll shoot him an “omw” text and be waiting at his front door seconds later. he forgot to bring condoms? it’ll just take a sec to run home and grab some. when you accidentally leave your panties in his apartment, he can drop them off the same day and then forget about it (he definitely won’t). 

he could probably even just bang on his side of the wall and you’d know to come over, but to him that’s a little too far, too impolite. he at least has the decency to send a text first.

a part of him wonders if that’s why you’re so noisy at night, if you’re doing it on purpose and knowing he’ll hear it, secretly hoping for him to come knocking at your door. but he doesn’t want to assume, doesn’t want to show up without asking and realize he’s been completely wrong this whole time and make himself look like a fool.

so he settles for earplugs instead. because there’s no way he can sit there and listen to the sounds you make and not start thinking about all the times he’s been in your bed with you just inches away. and by the time he’s cum all over his fist and he’s finally worn himself out enough to fall asleep, it’s 4am and he has class in the morning and he’s wasted an entire night yet again.

he’s been inside your apartment dozens of times, enough to know the layout by heart. enough to know that your bedroom sits directly next to his, enough to know that your bed is pushed against that very thin wall the same way his is and that your nightstand with the drawer full of toys is right next to the bed.

oh, he’s gotten to know more than just your apartment over the course of the semester. he knows which positions are your favorite (you’ve never told him outright, but you always cum harder when he fucks you in missionary). he knows the names you like to be called and the ones you like to call him. he can even tell which vibrator you’re using right now (the red one doesn’t buzz as loud, so you only use it when your favorite purple one is dead. tonight you’re using the purple one.)

but he’s also gotten to know the way you smile when you see a cat video, the way your forehead wrinkles when you talk about your calculus professor, and the way you like your pancakes in the morning (though he’s never been able to make them for you himself, he swears one day he will. one slice of butter, a ton of syrup, and a handful of cut up strawberries.)

so maybe that’s what makes these nights so unbearable. he can keep lying to himself that it doesn’t bother him, that it wouldn’t bother him as much as it does if he just… didn’t like you. 

but, unfortunately, he does like you. and he’s stuck with this problem until he finds a way to fix it, but just like in the lab analyses he has to write every week, he’s got no ideas. so he’ll have to settle for fucking his hand and biting his pillow so you don’t get suspicious of the noises he’s making, and hope that his silly little crush goes away on its own. 

after all, he isn’t anything to you. albeit a sexual one, he’s still just a friend. and he’s certain that’s all you want.

god, you wish that joshua could see you right now. you’re certain he’d love it.

earlier tonight you’d had to physically force yourself to turn your phone off so that you wouldn’t be tempted to text him to come over. you’d already texted him on monday night and thursday afternoon, and you’d knocked on his door on saturday at practically the crack of dawn because you’d woken up thinking about him.

were you embarrassed about it? absolutely, but that wasn’t enough to stop you. okay, maybe sometimes it was, because the girl who lived across the hall had caught you (on multiple occasions) sneaking out of joshua’s apartment twice in one day and you refused to meet him again for nearly a week after that.

but joshua didn’t seem one bit embarrassed by your arrangement. he always gave you a friendly smile and offered to walk you to your door afterwards, which you always declined, and he always made sure to say he looked forward to seeing you again. you even saw him wave at the nosy neighbor girl when he’d left your apartment once (which you only remembered because you’d spent the rest of the night in tears about it, but not that you were jealous about it or anything).

you felt bad enough meeting up with him so often, but you felt even worse that you didn’t even have a label to show for it. you knew it was probably exactly what he’d wanted out of this, just somebody to call for a quick fuck, but it made you mad. it was why you got so angry about the girl across the hall; because you knew everybody loved joshua, so of course he couldn’t love only you. 

he was hot and he was in a frat and he probably had a hundred girls he could call if he wanted to. with how often you text him to fuck, plus the other people he’s probably seeing? he’s gotta be exhausted.

which is why most nights you opt for touching yourself instead. in the months since you first met joshua, your vibrators have been going through batteries a lot faster than usual, a fact you’re not exactly proud of but will own up to nonetheless.

it’s not your fault that the image of him leaning over you, his thin gold chain dangling in your face as he fucks you is burned into your head practically 24 hours of the day. or the fact that his voice plays on repeat in your brain, specifically that one time he called you “baby” and you came so hard you nearly passed out. 

so really, it’s actually his fault that he’s constantly on your mind. his fault for being sexy… or your fault for falling for him?

either way, you find yourself yet again with your pussy stuffed full of your own fingers and your favorite purple vibrator on your clit (you remembered to charge it last night, after you came to the thought of joshua fucking you on your kitchen counter), wishing he could be there to see it.

you close your eyes and picture him in front of you, holding the vibrator against your clit as he grins down at you. such a good girl, he’d say, brushing his thumb over your nipple with his free hand. you love this, don’t you?

“fuck, yes, joshua,” you reply, gasping as you push your fingers deeper inside. you arch off the bed a little, pushing your head back against your pillow. you’ve learned that he loves it when you call him by his full name instead of “shua” or “josh”; you don’t know why, but it always seems to drive him crazy, and you never fail to leave his apartment sore in all the best places afterwards.

you spread your legs a little wider and moan, rolling your cheek to the side as you imagine him fucking you with his fingers instead of your own. i can tell you’re getting close, imaginary joshua says with a smirk, his hand cupped against your pussy as he thrusts his fingers in and out at a bruising pace.

“mhm,” you whimper, curling your fingers and trying to convince yourself that it feels as good as when he does it. “please, joshua—”

you turn your vibrator up to the highest setting, your hips canting into the air as you squeeze your eyes tighter shut. you can feel the waves beginning to wash over you and you repeat his name like a plea, chanting it over and over until you can’t form words anymore.

cum for me, baby, all over my fingers, he says, and your mouth falls open as you let go, your knee accidentally smacking against the wall as your legs shake with pleasure. you keep your vibrator held firmly against your clit until it sends you over the edge again, still riding the high of your first orgasm as you struggle to breathe through it. joshua loves to overstimulate you, until all you can do is weakly push at his hands and beg him to leave your exhausted cunt alone.

the post-orgasm clarity soon starts to hit and you’re left with the realization that you just got off from pretending your neighbor is just as in love with you as you are with him. absolutely pathetic. 

but your eyes are starting to droop and you’re quickly finding that you’re too tired to stay awake to think about how much of a loser you are, so you tuck your favorite vibrator back into its spot in your drawer and put your pajamas back on and tuck yourself into bed, trying not to wish joshua was there beside you instead of infinitely far away on the other side of the wall.

when joshua wakes up the next morning, he half expects you to be waiting outside his door again.

of course anyone would be annoyed at being woken up by their neighbor before 7am, but then you’d sheepishly told him that you’d had the most insane wet dream about him and he’d been more than happy to let you come in and bounce yourself on his lap while he watched the early morning sunlight stream through his bedroom window onto your cheeks. 

pretty much the perfect morning, in his eyes, except for the fact that you hadn’t slept in his bed with him. you never sleep over and it’s obvious why, but maybe it’s for good reason: he won’t get so attached to you.

unfortunately, though, this morning you aren’t waiting for him, so he trudges to his kitchen to make himself one lonely cup of coffee and one lonely stack of frozen waffles and get ready for his day.

he’s started noticing patterns about when and why you text him, and he finds himself checking his phone all day. 

on mondays, because you have all your classes on those days and you’re already exhausted so why not get fucked within an inch of your life before you settle in for the night?

on thursdays, usually in the afternoons because both your schedules happen to line up where he’s just finished his work shift and you’re on your break between classes so it leaves the perfect amount of time for him to eat you out.

if you have a particularly hectic morning you’ll text him right away and ask him if he’d come over once you get home that night, and he’ll reply that he can’t wait with a big red heart emoji.

in fact, most of the times you want to see him is when you’re stressed or upset, which makes sense to him but at the same time makes him a little disappointed. he hopes that you’d want to see him on your happiest days, because any day he gets to see you is automatically his happiest day. but he supposes that’s where you’ve drawn the line, and he’ll have to be okay with that.

joshua’s restless through his chem lab this morning, and then his english lecture, and then his shift at work, not-so patiently awaiting you to ask him about his plans tonight.

but you don’t text him at all on monday, and you don’t text him on tuesday, either. he catches you going into your apartment at the same time he’s leaving on wednesday, and he waves as usual but you just give him a small nod and hurriedly close your door behind you. he’s almost positive you’ll text him on thursday, but your lunch hour comes and goes without a word.

he almost never texts you first, because you text him so often and most of the time he’s already thinking about you anyway. so when sunday rolls around again and he still hasn’t heard anything from you, he thinks maybe you’re waiting for him to say something first this time.

he knows you’ve been home, because he’s heard your friends coming and going. maybe you’ve just been busy with other things and didn’t mean to ghost him. sure, you get together pretty often, but that doesn’t mean it’ll happen every single week. plans change and that’s fine, and it is right before finals week after all. 

but even when you’re on your period and aren’t in the mood to see him, you usually send a text as a heads up, and he’s definitely not keeping track or anything but this week shouldn’t be one of them. he’s going through every possibility he can think of as to why you’ve seemingly disappeared, but he just can’t find a reason why.

but then he realizes something else; he’s stopped hearing you at night, too. and then he really starts to worry, because he remembers how upset you looked when he saw you in the hall and maybe something really awful happened to you and he’s been pouting in his room like a selfish idiot this whole time.

so he pulls up your contact, cursor blinking over the text box as he tries to figure out what to say.

hey, he decides on, and he’s surprised but happy when you read the message right away. 

he waits a moment, but you don’t respond, so he texts again. you can talk to me, you know? about other stuff. i’m your friend.

he shakes his head and deletes that last sentence before pressing send. you read it immediately again, but it’s a long and agonizing few minutes before you reply.

okay

he frowns, not knowing what to say back. did i do something and make you mad? you seem upset and i’m sorry.

it’s nothing. don’t worry

joshua wants to say, but i do worry, but he knows that might be too far and he’s still not even sure what’s wrong. 

so instead he stands up and walks out his front door, leaving his phone on his bed. he may be an idiot, but the least he can do is try to act like your friend.

you don’t answer when he knocks, so he calls your name. “i know you’re home, i can hear you through the wall.”

finally the lock clicks, and you open your door just a crack. “what do you mean, you can hear through the wall?”

he pauses. “i can hear you… walking around, and stuff. making noise. the walls are thin.” so you really didn’t know? oh god, now he feels like an asshole for listening, even if he was trying not to.

“oh. well.” you sigh and close your eyes, inhaling. “that’s embarrassing.”

“can we talk?” joshua asks, suddenly feeling exposed. he’s plenty comfortable in large groups of people, but when he’s around you he wants to hold you tight and keep you secret and safe, out of sight of any wandering eyes. standing out in the hallway where anyone could hear is not how he’d like this to go.

“sure,” you mumble, swinging your door open for him to come inside.

you close the door but don’t move from behind it, standing like you’re waiting for him to say something. so he does.

“listen. i know whatever this is, is messy,” he starts, gesturing between the two of you. “but you’re my friend, and i care about you and i want you to be happy.” he sighs. “so please tell me what’s wrong, because not texting you has been really weird, and if you want to end this then that’s fine and i’ll leave you alone, but don’t just ghost me. we’re still neighbors and i’m not a fan of awkward hallway conversations.”

you crack a smile for a second, but it quickly fades. “do you want to end this?”

“no, not really. but i don’t want you to feel like you have to keep doing this if you don’t like it.”

“i thought it was pretty obvious i did like it,” you say with an almost laugh. 

he stares at you quietly. “then what’s going on?”

“i want to keep doing this, but i just… i don’t think i can,” you say, avoiding his eyes. “at least not like this.”

“what do you mean, ‘like this’?”

“joshua, because i like you. and i feel awful because i know we’re not on the same page and it feels like i’m taking advantage of you because you probably have a dozen other women telling you the exact same thing and it’s probably exhausting and it’s not what you want!”

his face contorts in shock at your words. “well, first, that’s not at all true. and second of all, stop trying to guess what i want without just talking to me. what is it that you want?”

“you! i don’t know. i don’t know what i want anymore,” you say, covering your face with your hands. 

joshua’s not sure if he should hug you or not, but he really, really wants to. “is that all that’s been bothering you this week?” he asks softly.

“yeah,” you say, moving your hands but still avoiding his eyes. “it’s stupid. i know, and i’m sorry.”

he laughs, and you look up at him like he’s crazy. “you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he says. “i’m sorry. because for months i’ve been wishing we could change this but i never said anything because this is what i thought you wanted.”

you keep staring at him, but he can’t read the emotion on your face. “so… what is this, then?”

“i’ll be whatever you want me to be for you. your fuck buddy, or your friend, or your boyfriend, whatever.”

“you really don’t see other people?” you ask, still unsure.

now it’s joshua’s turn to look at you like you’re crazy. “no, why would i want to? i don’t care if you do, but with how often you text me it sounds like you don’t, either.”

“i just figured— nevermind,” you sigh.

“can i give you a hug?” he asks after a minute. “we’ve been sleeping together the whole semester, and i don’t think i’ve ever given you a real, proper hug.”

you smile, and seeing that instantly makes his day. “yes, please.”

his arms feel secure around you, and his chest is warm against your cheek. with a sigh you close your eyes, breathing in the smell of his cologne that you’ve been trying to push out of your brain for weeks.

you stand there for a while, neither of you making any moves to pull away. it's been a really, really long week without joshua and you didn’t realize how badly you missed him until this moment.

“so about the walls thing—”

“hm?” he mumbles.

“—you can really hear everything?”

he laughs. “oh, yeah. your bedroom is right next to mine. been having trouble sleeping for so long because i kept hearing you moan my name and it got me hard every time.”

your cheeks burn in embarrassment. “joshua, i’m so sorry! if i had known—”

he shakes his head, cutting you off. “you can make it up to me by telling me everything you were thinking about.”

“probably nothing you don't already know,” you grin shyly.

“probably, but i wanna hear you say it anyway.”

you lean away from him a little bit, releasing your arms from around him to rest against his chest. “i should've known this is why you wanted to come over,” you say, pretending to be mad, but you can already feel the tingling feeling building up in your stomach at the thought.

“it's not,” he replies smoothly, “but i did miss waking up to you knocking on my door.”

you pout. “that was only that one time!”

“doesn't mean it has to be the last.”

heat creeps up into your cheeks and you glance away from him, gaze trained on his shoulder. 

“you really wanna know what i was thinking about?” you ask, finally building up the courage to look back up at his face.

“of course i do.” his eyes are sparkling as he watches you, and you can't exactly identify the emotion but you know it makes your heart flutter.

“well,” you start, “it was different every time, but most of the time it started like this.” you trail your hands down his torso, pausing when they reach his hips. he stays silent, eyes fixed on your movements and a little smile on his face that you don't think he even realizes he's doing.

“and then…” you look down, a little surprised to notice the bulge in his pants already there. you place your hand over him gently and look up, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn't stop you.

you clear your throat and start again. “and then, you'd sit on the couch and let me gag on your cock for a while.”

you start to push on his hips, backing him into your living room. he’s enjoying this way more than he should be, but then again, you basically just confessed your love to him so it’s kind of the best day of his life.

the back of his thighs hits the arm rest of your couch, but before you can move him any further his hands pull you flush against his body, his bulge pressing into your stomach. 

“how about we skip that part for another day?” he says, his voice low. “tell me what happens after.”

you try your best to hold back a moan, suddenly losing your ability to speak. you can practically feel his cock throbbing through his clothes and it makes it impossible to come up with a coherent sentence.

“don’t get shy on me now, baby,” he hums, hands still firmly gripping your hips, and if your brain hadn’t short-circuited already then it definitely has now. “been hearing you in your room for weeks, i know how loud you like to be.”

“that’s not fair,” you finally manage, still trying to collect your thoughts.

joshua leans forward to kiss your neck, gently at first but quickly growing harsher, and you’re sure he can feel your pulse jump every time his teeth graze your skin. 

“fuck, just like that,” you whimper, “exactly like that, shua—”

after a minute he hums and glances up at you through his lashes, clearly waiting for you to keep talking.

“we’d make out for a while, and then you—you’d fuck me on the floor,” you gasp out. joshua moans against your skin, and it’s only then that you realize your hands have found their way to his hair, tugging on it to urge him on.

your fingers loosen and he pulls away, the corners of his lips wet with saliva. “on the floor? you deserve better than that, baby,” he tsks. “can i take you to bed instead?”

“please,” you whine softly, suddenly feeling unbearably eager to fuck him. all week you’ve been using every last ounce of your energy to avoid thinking about joshua, but now that he’s here in front of you and way too willing to play into your fantasies, all the emotions you’ve been holding in are spilling out, and you don’t feel like containing them anymore.

you grab his hand and it’s like you can’t make it to your room fast enough, falling onto your bed and pulling him down on top of you. by then you’ve both forgotten the conversation you were having before because you’re too busy desperately pressing your lips against his, barely remembering to breathe as he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you and what were you even talking about again?

your brain is clouded when he finally pulls away with a gasp, kissing your cheek and your neck once more. his hands slip beneath your shirt and tug it over your head, making his way between your breasts and down your stomach and leaving more kisses as he goes. your skin burns with each touch, gentle lips and not-so-gentle hands covering every inch of you until you feel like your whole body is on fire.

he sits up just long enough to pull his own shirt off and now it’s your turn to touch, your hands instantly finding his chest as you trace your fingertips down his abs.

“how do you want me?” joshua groans, his hands joining yours at his hips to help him push his pants to the ground.

“fuck… missionary? just like this?” you say as you kick your pants and panties off in a rush, wrapping your legs around his waist.

his cock brushes against your stomach and you sigh out a moan, your hands moving up to grab at his biceps. he doesn’t say another word as he runs his tip through your folds, his attention fixated on your pussy and how you’re already dripping for him. for a second he forgets where he is and what he’s doing, so engrossed with the sight of you and how fucking glad he is that he didn’t lose you because you’re both idiots that assume too much about what the other wants instead of communicating your feelings like normal adults.

you let out a little noise and his eyes flick back up to your face, his gaze immediately softening at the blissful expression on your face. to think, he could’ve been seeing you like this the whole time if he had the balls to admit how he felt sooner. but there’s plenty of time for him to pout about it later because right now you need him, and he needs you, too, so why waste time thinking about that when he can think about how good you look taking his cock?

he leans down because he can’t resist kissing your beautiful face one more time, and finally he pushes into you, letting out a loud whine at the same time you moan his name. the sound of your voices joined together goes straight to his dick as he pulls almost all the way out, thrusting back into you with renewed energy.

“baby— fuck,” he groans, his grip on your body tightening as his thrusts begin to grow faster and rougher. “so good to me.”

you clench hard around him at the nickname, clinging onto him as you squeeze your eyes shut.

and then without warning everything hits you all at once, and you go boneless in his arms as he whimpers and groans and gasps and holds you tight and he probably told you he loves you about a million times as he was cumming too but you can’t hear anything as you lay exhausted on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with your ears ringing.

even with his shaking hands you can still feel the gentleness in joshua’s touch as you start to come back down, the warmth of his breath on your cheek as his fingers lightly brush your hair out of your face, feeling him twitch inside you before he slowly pulls out. 

with his own orgasm following just barely after yours that was probably some kind of record for the fastest round ever, but you don’t even have the strength to care. so what if he usually fucks you for hours on end? all you care about is the fact that he’s tracing your collarbones with a fucked-out little smile on his face and it’s probably the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

with a soft grunt he stands up, and you call out his name with all the energy you have left.

“joshua?”

“mhm?”

“can you stay?” you ask, and somehow you both know you’re talking about more than just for the next few minutes.

he smiles. “wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.” and when he comes back with a towel and a wet wipe and apologizes for how fast it all was and promises to give you more whenever you want because he’s officially yours now, you know he’s telling the truth.

even when he’s doing nothing at all, joshua never fails to make your head spin. 

laying in the dark with you, his fingers absentmindedly twirling your hair as you snuggle into his chest, you can’t even begin to find the words to explain how good it feels knowing he loves you and you love him back. 

but it doesn’t seem like he needs words right now. all he needs is you.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[holybibly]

let me just say sadistic dom Yeosang is driving me fucking crazy. like just imagine he’s this soft spoken, polite gentleman in public but the second you guys are alone be ready to be fucking wrecked.

god he will drive you fucking crazy with the number of times he’ll edge you.

“come on baby you can take another one.”

he lives off of just hearing your whiny moans and your little mewls every time he hits that’s one place that makes you see fucking stars.

you can tell this man has taken up my entire brain at this point.

And here is another of my brave bunnies. Hey baby, how are you?

Mmm, sadistic Yeosang with that angelic face, yes, yes, yes and a thousand times more yes.

As Yeosang's thin, long fingers squeezed your throat, you whimpered loudly and shook your head weakly from side to side. Vague dark spots appear and disappear throughout the night as he tightens and loosens his grip on your throat, enjoying the way he can control the way you breathe.

He especially enjoys watching your sweet face contort with painful pleasure, and it really gets him excited. He couldn't wait for you to come back from the award so that he could finally ruin you for good. All that sweet smiling and behaving so perfectly—he didn't care; all Yeosang could think about was you lying naked on his bed.

You gasp when he lets go of you, gasping for breath. All your nerves are tensed and tingling, as if electrified. The expression on his gorgeous face sends a shiver of excitement down your spine. He's just so fucking amazing.

Soft and needy, sultry and dark, cold and burning—Yeosang could choose any role he wanted, and you loved every single one of them to the point of madness.

But this new expression on his handsome face is one that has never been seen before. It is an intense, all-consuming, hot look that sends a shiver down the length of your spine.

As you feel your velvet walls flutter around Yeosang's cock, alerting you to the building sensation of an orgasm, your train of thought is interrupted. And it was no good.

"S-Sangie please."

"Yeah, Petal, I hear ya."

"C-Can you stop, please? I'm so sensitive; this is too much for me. I'm not going to be able to handle it if I cum again." You can barely manage to whisper it out; your throat is still a bit sore from his tight grip on you.

You see something dangerous sparkle in his normally gentle, sparkling eyes. He stops in the middle of his movements. There is a sigh of relief as you think he will stop now and release the tension from your muscles. You let out a hoarse cry as he throws your leg over his shoulder and bites the inside of your calf with a light nip. At this point, Yeosang could hardly be described as a cute puppy.

"Yeosang?" A gleam of hope in your eyes. You really can't stand it any longer. What was this orgasm—the third or fourth?

"Of course we'll pause, sweetheart. But first, you give me one more."

You whine as he rolls his hips around and watches with a smug smile as your eyes roll back into your head.

Yeosang lifts up your other leg so that it rests on his other shoulder. Your hands clench into the sheets, trying to find something to hold on to. But it doesn't help much. The muscles in your legs are twitching and spasming as you come again and lose count of how many.

Yeosang slows his rough pace, watching his cock disappear in and out of you. He hums softly with satisfaction as he sees how much of your cum coats his cock as he pulls it out of your used, sensitive cunt. And he thought of that all evening, while he had to be polite and courteous to everyone around him.

"Oh God, Yeosang, please, it hurts. I can't stand it any longer."

"It's too much for you, my darling? I think you can do this for me a lot more times than that."

He smirks, then leans in closer, nipping at your lower lip and folding you in half. You gasp as his hand tightens around your throat again. God, all those muscles aren't fucking kidding.

"Or do you just want to make me even more angry?"

Your eyes widen as he fucks you harder, faster, and deeper. Drowning in an endless ocean of pleasurable pain that borders on pleasure, you scream from your hypersensitivity.

"Yeosang! I can't take it!"

"Is it too much for your overstimulated cunt?"

"Y-yes, please."

"It's good, though, is it not?" he asks. Don't you love the way I screw you, my love?"

You sob openly as he fucks you harder, the muscles in your legs burning from straining and stretching.

"No, I-I love it. I love it when you use me, Sangie."

"There's my good girl. Cum for me one more time, darling."

"I can't!" You're literally on the verge of hysteria, but something in you still doesn't want to let him down. God, you've completely fooled him.

"Yes, you can. And you will."

Your hips lift slightly off the bed to meet his thrusts, and you feel your walls tighten around Yeosang's cock. With your vision fading and your whole body shaking, you moan long and hard as you come again. Yeosang moans so softly that it turns into a growl, causing your eyes to fly open as you see the desperate look on his face. He stops in his tracks, bites his lower lip hard, and fills you with his cum.

You whimper as he lowers your legs down until they are on either side of his hips, his hands releasing your neck. His hands are released from around your neck, and you take a full, deep breath.

"I told you that you could do it, my darling."

Yeosang kisses you too tenderly and pulls out, watching with a sense of self-satisfaction as his cum oozes out of your pussy.

"Are you going to tell me what it was that made you so angry that you decided to literally fuck the life out of me?"

"Nothing really; it's just you, darling."

[thewertsearch]

Oh, please tell me we're getting a SBaHJ-styled recap.

Uh... no. That's not a question I'd thought to ask.

Based on what Karkat said about the Fourth Wall, I've been assuming that the Hussie character was going to stay non-canonical - and for good reason, too.

The author interludes only work because they're clearly not part of the story. If Hussie turns into a real character, then the nonsense above will bleed into the comic, and we'll just be watching Looney Tunes. Now, I like Looney Tunes, but Looney Tunes couldn't pull off a Descend or a Make Her Pay. It doesn't have the right tone.

In short: a Homestuck where Hussie starts interfering with canonical events is a Homestuck without dramatic stakes. How can it have stakes when the author's in the room, reminding us that this is all fake, actually?

The fact that this is being brought up at all is making me a little worried...

When the time comes, I will interact directly with the events of this narrative. But this moment will be responsibly confined to a passive intervention. [...] My window of influence, end to end, will be exactly ONE YARD.

...and hearing the explicit statement 'I will interact directly with the events of this narrative' is doing nothing to reassure me.

Maybe I'm not giving Hussie enough credit. He is the one who wrote Karkat's Fourth Wall misgivings, so he's clearly aware of the thin ice he's standing on here. So far, Homestuck's meta shenanigans haven't interfered with the plot, and I'm just going to hope that this state of affairs continues.

I don't know what's up with this 'yard', either - but since it's coming directly from Hussie, I'd be a fool to take it too seriously. Hopefully, it's just some extended joke, and doesn't actually represent Hussie jumping into the story.

Please.

So that’s the Tumor. It certainly appears organic, and the tendrils extending from its edges make it look like it's slowly spreading throughout Skaia. Maybe it just keeps growing forever, until it collapses into a star-destroying black hole.

There's also a clear yin-yang theming, which could represent multiple dichotomies - but since we're on the Battlefield, I think it's symbolic of the struggle between Prospit and Derse. This struggle has been 'corrupted' by Jack's interference, and can no longer conclude the way it's supposed to.

The walls also bear the sigils of the Players, which makes me wonder what this chamber was originally for. It's located at the exact center of the session, which seems like it'd be important.

I doubt it's solely intended to house the Tumor. Rose isn't sure whether theirs is unique, but both of her hypotheses imply that it wouldn't exist in a non-doomed session.

Ten hours, eh? That’s significantly more time than I was expecting, especially since the Veil’s timeline is down to less than three.

[dreamingofaizawa]

Posession

Ulquiorra Cifer x Fem!Arrancar!Reader

***18+ Fic*** If you are under the age displayed, please find your way to another station.

Warnings: Penetrative sex (p in v), biting/marking, fingering, edging, overstimulation(?), choking/breath play, rough sex, VERY posessive Ulquiorra, spanking (ass and pussy spanking), liberal use of 'master' (both sexual and not) squirting, creampie, cockwarming if you squint, teeny bit of praise kink, dom! Ulquiorra, sub! reader, tiny bit of aftercare (ish), brief mentions of suicide (not descriptive, it’s used as a power grab/show of loyalty)

Word Count: 3.6k

Auhor's Note: Yeeeah....I'm making writer's block my bitch LMAO

Anywho, enjoy the depravity~

Being a fracción was a simple thing, really. Obey. Apologize. Obey. Especially under the fourth Espada, your job was easy. He’s reserved, quiet, but his silence does not convey weakness. It’s calculated, like everything he does. So you must be as well. You match his stoic facade, keep everything in check. You’ve learned to read his every fractional expression, most of his thoughts you’re able to read without struggle. Once you’d begun thinking like him, it became infinitely easier to remain as his fracción and remain unpunished, for the most part. 

With all of that in mind, you can’t fathom what you missed. 

He’s cornered you in your personal quarters outside of your usual fracción duties. If he needs something urgently, he can easily summon you to his side instantaneously. Clearly, it wasn’t urgent enough to warrant a summons. So what exactly do his barely furrowed brows and unusually dark glare mean? You stand, awaiting orders of some kind, while he stalks slowly closer to you. His footsteps are measured, as always. He doesn’t stop, however, when his chest bumps your own. His frame pushes against yours as you easily step backward, matching his pace until your back hits the wall. It isn’t often you can’t read his mind.

“A thousand apologies, Master Ulquiorra, I am unable to discern what you need tonight.” His viridian glare flickers over your features, schooled to match his own usual indifference. The silence is long, stretched thin over the seconds you spend trying to decipher the Espada’s thoughts to no avail. All you can do is study his face. Those piercing, unwavering eyes that you could lose yourself in forever. The tiny tick in his sharp jaw, the tiniest pinch in his brows. Dark lines reminiscent of tear tracks streak down his pale cheeks, drawing the eyes down his neck toward the hollow at the base of his throat. It isn’t often he chooses to leave it exposed. 

“Has anyone paid you a visit today?” The deep baritone vibrates through your body, snapping your thoughts back to the present. No other Espada would dare come to you, unless it were urgent or a special case. None of the humans would bother with you either, even Lord Aizen is far above seeking the assistance of a fracción. He should already know the answer to that question.

“No, Master Ulquiorra.” You don’t bother to elaborate, he hates hearing unneeded explanations. A simple answer is all he ever needs. At the confirmation, his features relax. His expression is blank once again, the calculated persona clicking into place like a puzzle piece. You know you’re one of the very few that can read his micro expressions, if he were talking to any of the other Espada or fracción they’d probably never notice whatever inner turmoil plagues his mind. But you do. 

When he turns to leave, you can’t help but want to ease whatever troubles him. It’s second nature, for a fracción such as yourself. You were made to serve him, to assist him, to do anything and everything necessary to help him reach his goal.

“Master Ulquiorra?” He stops on a dime, casually turning to face you once again. He wants this kept short, he always does. So you don’t bother beating around the bush.

“May I be of any assistance? I can see something is on your mind.” His eyes swiftly trace down and back up your entire form. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d have missed it.

“No. Good night.” Swiftly, he turns and leaves, the door to your room closing softly behind him. How odd. 

The next week is spent assisting the fourth Espada with research of the hogyoku. There isn’t much to be gathered besides what Lord Aizen already knows, and each night you wonder exactly what has Ulquiorra wound so tightly. Yes, his mind still lingers on whatever it is he confronted you about that night. Unfortunately, an answer does not come to you, but instead a new series of questions is given to you when you’re visited once again in your quarters. You feel him approaching long before he arrives, that spiritual pressure is unmistakable. But why is he here?

You’re down on your knees before the door swings open, head bowed down, not from the pressure but out of respect for the man. Lord Aizen steps over the threshold, his footsteps heavy and booming, into the small space of your room. You’ve only ever seen him across a hall or room during a meeting of some kind, and he’s never ever addressed you directly. Any and all orders came through Master Ulquiorra, even if they were from Lord Aizen himself.

“So respectful. Ulquiorra has trained you well, fracción. Stand.” You waste no time, standing at full height and keeping your eyes focused on the ground. Making eye contact could be fatal. You have to tense every muscle in your body to keep from flinching when a large hand reaches out toward your face, and you stop breathing when he grabs your chin and begins to turn your head this way and that. He’s…examining you. Releasing your face, he begins a slow, steady pace circling around you as you stand perfectly still. You don’t know what this is about, but you don’t dare ask, his piercing gaze is more than enough warning not to speak at all, let alone move.

“Very interesting.” It takes all of your resolve not to scream and protest when you feel two large hands, suddenly and harshly, grasp your waist and tug your back against his chest. His chin hooks over your shoulder and his voice is too close, too deep, too dark.

“What a darling fracción. Tell me, why is Ulquiorra so distracted lately? One of my most loyal Espada has been faltering lately.” He’s been faltering? Oh no, what could have him so worked up?

“My sincerest apologies, Lord Aizen. I have not been able to discern his troubles. He has hidden all of his mind from me lately. I have failed as his fracción.” You know you’ve failed. If his mind is so distracted that Lord Aizen has noticed a difference in his performance, then you have failed to be of assistance. You were created for it, and yet you have failed. The ultimate failure.

“Oh, don’t be so down, little fracción. You have not failed, yet.” Yet? What does he mean by that? He releases you from his hold in favor of meeting you face to face, grasping your chin once again and forcing your eyes to meet his own. It’s a terrifying thing, those eyes are pure bloodlust.

“If Ulquiorra were to have you kill yourself for any reason, would you do it?”

“Yes.” You didn’t even have to think about the answer. Undeniably, you would. No matter the order, you’d follow through. If Ulquiorra ordered you to kill Lord Aizen himself, you would kill him or die trying.

“Very good, fracción. Such unwavering loyalty is not so common.” Maybe not, but fraccións are created for the sole purpose of mindless loyalty and obedience. It should not be a surprise that you are this way. Though something deep in your psyche tells you loyalty is not the only quality you hold for your master.

Another layer of spiritual pressure falls on the room, but you are unable to look over Lord Aizen’s wide shoulders with your face stuck in his grip. Regardless, you know who has joined you.

“Ulquiorra, I was wondering when you’d arrive.” The Espada’s footsteps halt behind the former shinigami.

“Lord Aizen.” Nothing more than an acknowledgement, but all of the questions you know he wants to ask remain unspoken when dark brown meets deep emerald, their sharp gazes piercing each other. The tension is palpable, for reasons you cannot calculate. Never would you have thought Ulquiorra could level such a glare at the man he’s sworn his loyalty. Your chin is finally released, and a boom resonates through the small chamber, the white fabric on Ulquiorra’s back suddenly filling your gaze as Lord Aizen turns back to face you both. A sonido? Here? Now? In front of Lord Aizen? What is going on with Master Ulquiorra? The thick silence is suffocating, the air itself seems to be vibrating with clashing spiritual pressures and tension. You’re having a hard time breathing, your body feeling heavier the longer the silence stretches. It feels like an eternity passes and you fall to your knees, but you know it can’t have been more than a split second. As quickly as it built, the tension dissipates as you sit there on your knees, panting and sweating in the aftermath.

“Tend to your fracción, Ulquiorra, the way we both know you want to. She may not be privy to your thoughts but I can read you like a book.” Lord Aizen’s smirk is measured carefully, and he’s gone in an instant. You don’t dare move until that spiritual pressure is gone completely, and even then you’re struggling to recuperate. Tenderly, lithe fingers brush away whatever hair had fallen in your face, emerald gaze searching your face as you peer up at him. Searching for what, you don’t know. 

“Stand.” You do as asked, wobbling for a moment while your strength returns. Strong hands, one on your shoulder and one on your waist, steady you. It’s strange, he’s never actually touched you before. Not like this. You don’t know what to do about the sudden feeling in your chest, warmth and contentment spreading like a wildfire to your mind. Even more so you’re left unsure about your newfound feelings, when instead of giving a command he chooses to lift you in his arms. The boom of a sonido is so much different when you’re moving the distance, but not of your own volition. The door to Master Ulquiorra’s quarters is thrown open and you’re unceremoniously tossed onto the large bed.

“Master Ulquiorra?” You can’t help your confusion. The past fifteen minutes have been a whirlwind of unnatural occurrences. His movements are almost frantic as he strides over to the door and seals it shut, locking it from the inside and training those eyes right on you. It’s a predatory glare he pins you with, the viridian swirling with something dark and sultry and filled with an insatiable lust. It makes your carefully crafted mask of indifference crack and splinter, eyes widening as your body curls into itself. You aren’t afraid, not of him. But something in his eyes just screams danger, and you can’t help the blistering heat coiling in the pit of your stomach nor the involuntary squeeze of your thighs. It doesn’t go unnoticed. Before anything else, a tension settles over the room much like earlier.

“What was Lord Aizen’s business with you?” What a strange question.

“He asked if I knew why you were lacking in your duties lately. I couldn’t answer.” His chest rises and falls heavily, a muscle in his jaw tensing momentarily.

“Was that all?” You shook your head, not at all inclined to keep anything from Ulquiorra. 

“He asked if I’d kill myself at your order.” He went eerily still, every muscle in his body tensed and ready like a coiled snake.

“And your answer?”

“Without question. I would do anything you asked of me, Master Ulquiorra.” The glare he levels you with is primal, carnal desire. There’s no question about it, his entire being is consumed by lust. In the time it takes you to blink, he’s got you pinned to the bed with a hand wrapped tight around your neck, his lips claiming yours in a display of barely controlled dominance that has your entire body trembling. Teeth grab at every piece of skin he can reach. Blooming bites and bruises form along your jaw and neck, carefully skirting around the hollow in your own chest, his fingers squeezing around your throat in increments sending your vision blurry. Your clothes are shredded off your body and you’re left completely exposed for the arrancar keeping you pinned to his bed. Pain shoots through you, jolting your body, the sensation of teeth burying into your shoulder and it’s all you can do to bite your lip to stay quiet. The hand on your throat squeezes, Ulquiorra’s voice rattling your brain.

“I want to hear you. Not a single noise you make will be stifled.” It’s a proclamation, a statement of fact, rather than a request or demand. The next bite is accompanied by a sharp pinch, your nipple peaked between his index finger and thumb as he tugs at it, your voice coming out in a yelp and slowly melding into a low moan while he toys with your breasts. 

“Beautiful.” That single word sends shivers down your spine. There isn’t a single moment you can remember being praised in any way, and your head is spinning from it. His mouth continues its assault on your skin, following the curve of your shoulder and down your breasts. You can see the bite marks scattered over your chest, it lights a fire beneath your skin you can’t quite describe. He takes his time marking you, one hand ghosting over you and the other remaining planted on your neck, his lips mapping your body. You’re trembling from the attention he’s lavishing you with, you know he can feel the way your body shakes from all the stimulation. When his wandering hand finally reaches between your thighs, you’re shy knowing how messy you’ve become. His fingers are toying with the folds of your pussy, teasing around the entrance and barely ghosting over your swollen clit, his lips still sucking and biting and marking. He’s claiming you, completely dominating your being and making you his. 

He’s squeezing your throat in longer stents now, giving you short spaces to breathe between the dizzying cut off of your air supply. He can see the effect it’s having on you, your legs weaker as they try to close around his hand toying with your cunt, tears falling down your cheeks, your eyelids fluttering shut the longer he keeps your breathing controlled. And your pretty pussy is leaking so much more now, dripping onto his sheets and soaking his fingers. His emerald gaze stares up at you when you reach up and grasp at his arm, weakly clawing at him for a breath. He loves seeing you like this, completely reliant on him, even to do something as simple and basic and breathing.

The edges of your vision spot black and you’re shaking harder the closer you get to unconsciousness. You can’t fight it much longer, as much as you want to. Your eyes roll back into your skull as two long fingers plunge into your pussy and you’re granted air once again, the gasping breaths you take making your head spin and the fingers buried deep inside you curl up to hit a spot that makes your back arch up off the bed. It’s euphoric. You’re shaking hard, your legs clamped around Ulquiorra’s hand as something snaps in your abdomen, sending you head first into a freefall of blinding pleasure. Your guttural moans bounce off the walls after being ripped from your lungs, a sinful melody in the arrancar’s ears. When you can finally focus again Ulquiorra is standing above you in all his naked glory, clothing tossed into a random corner. He’s a beautiful man, pale skin flawless and smooth, and you can’t help the way your eyes trace down his toned body to lock onto his hard leaking cock as it stands proud.

“Get on your knees. Turn around and present yourself to me.” The command is clear, the dominant cadence of his voice making you tremble as you obey your master. Dropping your chest to the bed, you spread your knees and grip the sheets tight between your fingers, exposing your ass and cunt to the lust crazed Espada. Shivers wrack your body from the groan he lets slip past his lips, you yelp and jolt when a sharp slap lands on your bare pussy. 

“Look at you. So obedient, so submissive. Such a pretty, slutty little fracción for me.” A moan is punched from you at the praise, and your cunt clenches down around nothing. One hand smooths over one of your ass cheeks and slides up your back, reaching all the way to the back of your neck and keeping steady pressure, pinning you in place. Again you clench around nothing as Ulquiorra teases the tip of his cock at your entrance, never delving further, bumping your clit and making you jump with every pass. You know better than to speak out of turn, but you can’t take it anymore.

“P-please…” Everything halts, even your breathing stops at the realization of what you'd just done. A heavy hand slaps your ass, leaving a blooming red mark in its wake, your whole body jerking at the contact and a moan tearing from your throat. Another slap lands in the same place, harder this time, and another. They keep coming until your moans are sounding more like screams, but Ulquiorra knows better, the gush of your cute pussy giving away just how much you’re enjoying yourself. Mercifully, he rubs at the raw skin in soothing circles.

“A fitting punishment, don’t you think? For speaking unprompted,” you nod as much as you can still pinned beneath him, tears staining your cheeks and the bedsheets.

“Y-yes, Master Ulquiorra.” You can’t see it, but you can hear the devious grin in his voice. If only you had the pleasure of witnessing such an expression.

“Good girl, you’re learning.” Your loud moan is swallowed by the sheets.

“Oh? You like the praise, sweet thing?” It’s formed as a question, but it feels like he’s taunting you, like it’s something shameful to enjoy. You can’t bring yourself to answer, embarrassed to be so affected by his praise. His hand comes down again on your still painful ass.

“I asked you a question. I expect an answer.” Between small hiccups and sniffles, you squeak out a response.

“Yes! I love hearing your praise, Master.” Satisfied, he chuckles, deep and dark and dangerous. He doesn’t bother speaking anymore, focused solely on dragging out your torturous pleasure as long as he can endure. His fingers are shoved into your pussy, ripping a groan out of you and he sets a punishing pace, pumping and curling and spreading to prepare you to take his sizable cock. You can feel that sensation again, tightening in the depths of your belly, feel your legs begin to shake like before, whines and moans spilling into the room. But just before that tension snaps, you’re left empty. You could cry, being denied that release. Ulquiorra just laughs again before rubbing tight, quick circles into your clit to build up the tension again. You desperately want to beg him to let you cum, want to sing his praises in hopes that he’ll pull you over that blissful release, but you know you can’t. Your chest is heaving, entire body shaking as he builds you up to the point of snapping, only to stop just before you’re shoved over the edge again. You cry, sob as another orgasm is stolen away from you. Your body is shaking so hard he doesn’t even have to move his fingers to rub at your clit, just hold them while you tremble and let you work yourself to that peak again and again. Then he stills completely, listening to your pathetic sniveling at being denied so much pleasure.

“Go ahead. Beg.”

“Please! Please Master Ulquiorra make me cum! I want to feel it so bad, I need it. I can’t take any more, please make me cum!” You can hear his evil chuckle, he’s adoring this. In one fluid motion he buries his aching cock all the way to the hilt, your scream is punched from your lungs and your vision blanks, his heavy balls slap against your clit as he slams into you with his full weight. You can’t hear anything as you cum hard, feeling liquid gush from your cunt and drip down your legs, squirting all over Ulquiorra’s thighs. He doesn’t stop, leaning over you and pounding into you until he feels his own orgasm quickly approaching. Shaking is all you can do, pinned down and at the mercy of your master as he empties into you, hot ropes of thick cum filling you to the brim as he finally stills. 

You’re both sucking in heavy breaths in the aftershock, slowly he releases your neck and lays the both of you down on your side, cock still plugging your cunt, keeping all his cum inside you. He holds your trembling form close, gently massaging your shoulders, hips, neck and thighs. Every piece of you that he’s sure aches, he tenderly soothes. It takes a long while for you to pick up the shattered pieces of your mind, he can see your eyes regain their focus as he places soft kisses over your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” You blink away some of the daze, nod slowly to answer. The both of you hiss when he slips his soft cock from you, sensitive as ever. He flips you around to face him, tugging your body over his own so you’re laying on top of him. His fingers caress down your back and massage your scalp and neck, further grounding your mind. It’s comfortable, sweet. You don’t want to be anywhere else. Gently, he turns your head to look into your eyes.

“For the last week I have battled with the notion that you were not solely my own fracción and you would be stolen away by another Espada.” A small, lazy smile graces your features. What a silly concept.

“I’m not going anywhere, Master Ulquiorra.” His gaze turns possessive.

“Of course you aren’t, my dear fracción,” his hand grips your chin firmly, eyes piercing your own, “You belong to me, and only me.”

[iloveboysinred]

just read ur keith nsfw hc😩😩I ILOVED THEM SO MUCH N UR WRITING IS AMAZINNNGGG,, i was wondering if u could write some more keith nsfw, whatever comes to your mind💗💗

First of all sorry anon bub i had to touch grass and breathe outside air before i wrote this bc i havent written for Keith in a miiinute (sorry voltron feens, i been starving yall right along with the Zuko Stans 💔) but lets get right into it cause i woke up wanting to get active!

Afab! Reader here.

- so since you read my other hcs you already know i think Keith is a FREAK. And let me elaborate!

- dont let his emo lone wolf persona throw you off, cause once he gets through that beginning shy faze hes on your boddyyyyy

- backshot warrior. He likes to be at your ear at all times with his nasty, dirty mouth.

- so while he’s giving you backshots he’ll lean down, whispering nasty praise into your ear, or if its angry sex he’s teasing you about your moans and laying claim to you by leaving marks on you where he can reach you.

- “you’re gasping, your hands gripping the pillows to try and stabilize yourself from the rough back and fourth of Keith’s thrusts and his hands on your hips pulling you back onto his dick. You feel him lean down on you, his chest pressing up against your back. “So tight” he whispers, rotating his hips in tight, agonizingly deep circles. “This pussy’s so good. You’re so good f’me baby” he grunts, bringing himself down to nip and lick at your earlobe, his tongue hot against your skin.”

- he really likes to fuck in front of a mirror, especially if he’s feeling some type of way and wants you to watch as he fucks you open or he wants you to see your face when you cum all over his dick. Bonus points if he’s angry or jealous.

- “eyes on the mirror.” You could tell Keith’s patience was wearing thin, his voice curt as he grabs your chin, turning you back to look at the full body mirror in his room. He started up his pace again with mean thrusts rocking the headboard and filling the room with loud squelches as your poor pussy quivered and drooled around his girth. He had a tight grip on your hair, holding your head up and in place to watch as he fucked you within an inch of your life. “I’m the only one that can fuck you like this.” And he sounds so self assured, your tight walls clenching around him at his words and proving his words true. “Fuckin pussy was made just for me.”

- and dont get me wrong! Keith is a sap too. I genuinely feel like most of the time he’s the sentimental sex type. Like i’ll speak on Keith being a freak ass all day but i genuinely believe most of the time you both have soft, loving sex until yall get booted to space and all the crazy shit starts happening and he just has to take that stress out in other ways besides training.

-Like when you came to him about how you miss home and how you miss just being with him before this whole galaxy space war crazyness began, he comforted you, reassuring you that the two of you being together was as close to home as ya’ll could get. That night, he held your hands in his, fingers interlaced as he made love to you. He held your gaze in his, whispering sweet words and little nothings to you while he rocked his hips into you, slow and deep.

- quickie obsessed. Like i said in the hcs when he wants you he’ll have you. He’s lucky you’re just as down as him because the way this man will just drag you into whatever mildly secluded area and just either swallow your tongue and feel you up or straight up just try and bend you over is crazy. It only takes a misplaced touch or a sultry look and he smirking at you, nothing but ill intent in his eyes as he drags you away. And its even crazier that he has the audacity to act embarrassed if you ever get caught

- I feel like he genuinely likes when you’re a little rough back. Grab his hair, choke him, bruise him up a little and he’s loving it. Has literal hearts in his eyes when you take control and treat him so meanly. When you did it he was shocked the first time, but he definitely finds himself liking it, taking your dominance as a challenge to see who can crumble first.

-loves loves lovessss when you moan his name when he’s fucking you stupid. Its cute how you cant get a coherent word out, everything you say fading into mumbles and gasps.

- pussy EATER. He’s not a pro by any means but once you show him how you like it he does it just to see you squirm and rock into his face. He gets pussy drunk easily, and his eyes bore into yours every time as if he’s holding you down with his gaze.

Thats all i got anon bub. Thank you for your ask💟 AND THANK YOU FOR ENJOYING MY WORK I LOVE YOU

[aziraphales-library]

Could I recommend a few of my own fics perhaps? I’m quite proud of them, especially my two more niche AUs. No problem if shameless self promo isn’t a thing on here though! Thank you for all that you do.

The fics are; Pull Up the Ladder When the Flood Comes (3 chapters, 17k); iwgbysasbsooi (the name was too long to write the whole thing out lmao) (6 chapters, 25k); my cat AU Strays on the Street (13 chapters, 54k); and my human AU, Coffee Breath (6 chapters, 29k words).

There’s a variation of angst, fluff, and some smut in the last one! ❤️ I have many others as well, with the full link of my stories here. 🥰

Self promo is not only allowed, it is actively encouraged!...

Pull Up the Ladder When the Flood Comes by midnightdragons (T)

What sort of backwards world was it – that the Almighty God and Her angels, who were meant to be the kind, the Holy, the good, were leaving innocent people, innocent children to die, were the bringers of their deaths? How was it that a demon, the lowest of the low, the scum of the earth, the literal damned Serpent of Eden, had been the only one to spare those innocent lives a glance; who had assured the mothers that it would be alright as they handed their children to him, who had sworn to them with everything he had that he would protect them? How was it that the one who was supposed to be the embodiment of everything evil had been the one to rescue innocent children from the wrath of God Herself? (Or: Crawley saves children during the Flood in Mesopotamia, and finds himself in an even more jeopardizing situation as he seeks out shelter. Aziraphale struggles with his own internal conflict, but attempts to help all the same.)

i wanna grab both your shoulders and shake, baby (snap out of it) by midnightdragons (T)

“Hello, demon,” said the angel coolly, tilting his head to one side and grinning broadly in a crude imitation of Aziraphale’s warm, comforting smile – and it took Crowley perhaps half of a second to decide in certainty that this angel was absolutely not Aziraphale.

Two hundred and seventy-three days. That was how long it had been since Crowley had seen Aziraphale, how long it had been since the angel had left him, how long it had been since he had yanked the angel into that horrible, awful, desperate kiss, a plea disguised as an act of undying love. And now, on the two hundred and seventy-fourth night, he finally reunited with . . . someone. Someone who looked like Aziraphale, and sounded like Aziraphale, but was – and Crowley knew this with every fiber of his trembling being – not his angel. Crowley isn’t the only one who needs saving.

Strays on the Street by midnightdragons (T)

The black tomcat eyed the Aziraphale from his perch, his long, thin tail flicking with apparent disapproval. His jaws stretched in a wide yawn, and his yellow eyes blinked slowly. With them closed, he could be mistaken for a shadow on the backdrop of a brick wall. “Who’re you, then?” He asked in a gravelly, hoarse voice that suggested disuse. His words were stated rather rudely, and he did not move, save for the flicking tip of his tail, and the flexing of his hind claws. Aziraphale nervously padded closer. The wiry black tom looked quite hostile, from the way his thin fur was prickling along his spine, but this was the first cat he had seen ever since his human had (accidentally) left him behind, and he needed to take this chance. Even if he had to handle a little rudeness.

Crowley is a long-abandoned, hardened street cat, angry and wary and guarded against anyone intruding on the fragile peace he had carved out for himself. Aziraphale is an anxious housecat, who's just wondering why his owners had thrown him to the streets. He's certain it must've be some sort of mistake. (Ineffable Husbands AU: they're cats. This is as ridiculous as it is angsty.)

Coffee Breath by midnightdragons (M)

He stared, mouth half-open, at the stranger he had collided with, and became momentarily frozen in place as his barreling heart caught up to his fretting mind. The (man? woman? neither? well, there was a he/they pin clasped to their sweater, so at least he had that to go off of) person who he had just crashed into, knocked onto their arse, and made spill coffee all over their things, was undeniably and irrevocably the most gorgeous creature Aziraphale had ever laid eyes on in his entire life. Just his luck.

A rather cliche but cute human AU story with bookshop owner!Aziraphale, plant shop owner!Crowley, and a meet-cute involving spilt coffee, with angst but also lots of fluff because we all need a cute little story sometimes. Featuring a bonus chapter with their "first time."

- Mod D

[dirtysvthoughts]

i feel like chan would be into marathon sex. like, nothing too wild, just long long nights where you both come over and over again until you're incoherent from overstimulation

OH MY LORDDDDDDDDD BESTIE 😩 your ask has me crying through my legs, i need this and him immediately and expeditiously 🙃

i definitely feel chan would be into marathon sex, especially on those nights when he hasn’t seen you in a minute :( the minute he sees you, his hands are all over you and the two of you are making out like nobody’s business, tongues interacting intensely. and he wouldn’t just have sex in your bedroom. oh this man is fucking you in every area in your place.

he would fuck you on the couch first, having you sit down while he’s on his knees, between your legs, eating you out (not too fast, but not slow either). he would smirk as his tongue traces your folds, knowing he was making you feel good and because the whines you were letting out were so cute, yet so sexy. when you come all over his lips, he gladly cleans it up, never failing to mention repeatedly how good you taste and how beautiful you sound when you moan for him.

next stop would be the kitchen, this time he would lift you up and carry you, sitting you down on the counter as your mouth kisses his the side of his neck. your shorts and his shirt are somewhere in the living room, leaving him shirtless and you with your panties on covered by one of your oversized shirts. you press into him to feel his crotch on yours, and immediately a wet spot forms in your clothing. he notices and starts grinding, thrusts his hips into you. you can’t help but pull him in closer, wanting to feel chan’s dick press on the thin material of your underwear. this time though, it’s him who��s coming first, the dry humping enticing him more than he thought, a wet spot on his own boxers.

and for the grand finale (after fucking you against the wall, putting his dick in only halfway), chan takes you to your bedroom, both of you finally naked - nothing left to separate you from what you really want. he’s showering you with compliments and adoration, praising you for how well you’ve been taking him and how you waited so long for his dick. he pounds into you with intention, every thrust feels to sweet and has you nearly thrashing on the sheets for more. you can feel your stomach start to tighten, but before you can say anything, you come for the fourth time that night and your vision turns white.

after you come to, chan would give you a bit of a break, getting you a change of clothes and having you eat something if you were hungry. after a while, it’s you who asks him if you can sit on his lap, wanting to make out with him again, but also wanting to feel chan get hard.

and without question, he pulls you into his lap, you on top of him, his back on the headboard, hands on your ass, you two seemingly far from coming to a complete stopping point.

[jolapeno]

i and love and you

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (helen!reader) wc: 2.7k || warnings: ghost in his feels, fluff, ghost!fluff. summary: her eyes meet his, and he doesn’t drop his gaze. his brain goes silent, just like the night around them. from here, he’s reacting. he’s listening, even if words aren’t being spoken—wishing he could remove his mask instead. an: for helen lovers, this a cute, fluff flashback. and is before the proposal. dedication: for @guyfieriii, the one i'd sit on a rooftop with and take out a sharpie to write words on.

simon ghost riley masterlist

Normally, Ghost seeks her. 

A need that throbs until he does so. Usually, he finds her near a patient or bent over paperwork, sometimes even decompressing in a small space—most often her office.

It’s been that way since the very beginning, a calling he struggles to ignore.

There have been times when he’s been able to shove it down, but as of late—fuck, since she came back into his life—it’s something that grows in intensity until he sees her. A pull he cannot ignore, if he's able to answer it.

Here, in the makeshift base, one that’s housed in some crumbling family home, it's harder.

She has no spaces to hide. No small cupboards to escape to, no patients to fret over and even less paperwork to busy herself. And so, he has no reason, no real excuse to find her, to hide with her and let her lift his mask until he only breathes her.

Ghost has considered visiting her room. Sliding into the cot, lifting her until she's over the top of him, sliding his fingers past her cheeks into her hairline. But, the walls are thin. Too risky for either of them. She's too loud for such secrecy, meaning they’re only allowed minimal hand brushes and heart-stopping gazes. 

It could be worse, she could be miles away. Too far away to check in on, too perilous to try and radio or contact. 

For those reasons, Ghost should be glad she’s here. 

He isn’t. 

It’s one thing that she mops up their missions, eyes bouncing, assessing the damage they’ve come back with as she triages them quicker than anyone can explain the ailments. But, this is different. Her being here, properly, fully. It means she’s at risk, in the eye of the storm—one he can't protect her from. 

She doesn’t have a strong track record of walking away unharmed. Each time in the past, one of them has walked away with a scar that tells a story. Sometimes, they have an array of memories to haunt their nightmares. 

He’s thankful Price makes her do recon at this base. 

You’re too valuable. Can’t have the only soul who can stitch us back together riddled with holes, can we, hmm?

Ghost had clenched his fist at that thought, though. The image alone prodded and twisted its pointy edge inside of him.

But, it falls down the list of things to concern himself with, especially when he learns that she enjoys night watches, requesting them—practically demanding them each morning when they re-brief. 

It’s something he hadn’t known before but finds himself intrigued by. 

He wonders if it’s the solitude. The fact that it’s quiet and calm. The night tends to blanket worries, providing the chance to think—something he suspects she has little time for when people are always rudely bleeding out. 

Each night, he watches her slip upstairs—the sounds of her footsteps often easing his bones until she stops, likely sitting, taking the weight off. He fights following her, forcing himself to retire for the night out of fear he would. 

On the first night, he doesn’t sleep at all. Just listens.

The second he finds he’s able to steal an hour, able to nod off to the sound of her pacing.

By the third, he’s able to sleep more—waking to silence, dread filling him, chest tightening, only relieved when he hears her footsteps sound. 

By the fourth, he’s tired of battling with himself. Even if he knows there’s little need for two of them on the roof, he goes all the same.

It takes him a moment—a moment too fucking long—before his eyes land on her sitting, back against the wall of the roof, her head dipped, hand drawing in some book with one of her sharpies.

So, he sneaks a moment. 

One which he won’t have to shift his face, ensure his eyes haven’t softened and his body isn’t fully turned towards her. He allows himself this moment, moonlight on her skin, jaw tight in concentration, hair down as the breeze teases its ends. 

He knows he gets to see her like this often, but it has been sparse as of late. The mere thought of which almost disarms him—trying to recall the last time he was able to see her without a cause etched into her features, without an axe to grind. 

“Y’know, being on watch means watchin’, Helen?”

She doesn’t look up, not that he expects her to. But she does smile. One of those Achilles heel kind of smiles—fuckin’ Helen. 

“Oh. And there was me thinking it was to sit here and look pretty?” 

He snorts, leaning against the wall as he slides down to sit beside her. “Y’do that well. Look pretty.” 

“Charmer.” 

“Sh. They’ll hear you.” 

She chuckles, light and airy—he wishes he could bottle it. Slide the vial into a vest pocket, and listen to it when the edges darken, unable to find the light. 

“Do I dare fuckin’ ask what y’doing?”

“I’m drawing the roofs,” she says, pausing her drawing to show him the other pages before it. “Done it every night I’ve been up here…” 

He sees that.

Observing it as she shows him a similar drawing, each page going and going, the lines sometimes thicker, sometimes thinner. Her hand stops eventually, offering a half-smile he knows is painted on purposefully: don’t worry, I’m fine.

But, he will worry.

And she isn’t fine. 

Ghost knows she’s capable. Hasn’t had one single doubt about her being here. He knows when given the chance, she doesn’t miss—when shit hits the fan, her brain thinks quickly, feet acting. 

But, in her beautiful, self-hating mind, she writes a different story. It irritates him, and makes his piss boil that she can’t see it—can’t see how fucking good she is. 

But, then, they both have their struggles—their own demons they have to face in the mirror and live alongside. He wishes he could rid hers, though. Wish he could banish them, drive them away with each brush of his fingers and each whisper of her name—her real name. The one which feels momentous when he’s able to speak it. 

“I do it because it’s easier.” 

But he knows it means, ‘so I can show myself I didn’t fuck up’. 

He’s slept beside her, he’s held her close when she’s lost in some dreamscape that tries to burn her for a mistake she thinks she could’ve prevented. He’s watched her eyes dull when she’s lost, he’s watched her fist clench when things go wrong. He’s heard her fucking mind go into overdrive the moment their breaths are caught before he’s even wiped a wet cloth between her thighs. 

His hand twitches unknowingly, knocking into her knee. And it forces her eyes to meet his, holding them for a moment—spilling all of her secrets into the space between them. 

Some he can understand with ease. Some require more of an explanation he knows she doesn’t have the words quite for. 

The air brushes past them, proving the moment isn’t frozen—that time hasn’t stopped and stilled. It smells of spices and salt, it kisses the pages of the book as the pages rattle in the soft breeze; it blows through the house they’ve commandeered. It’s all he can hear, that and the beat of his heart—one which thumps in his neck and ear. 

It’s why he runs a gloved hand up the back of his mask, scratching at his scalp, staring at her as he wonders what the fuck to do with her. But, all he can think is his hair is long, he feels it as he tugs it between his fingers. 

“Hair too long?” 

“How’d you know?” 

She shrugs, light and innocent—as if she can ever be the latter. “Call it a hunch.” 

“Shoulda got you to cut it when I got back last time.” 

And fuck, the stern look she shoots him almost makes him snatch the book from her and kiss it from her face. Mask still on, and all. 

“No.”

“No?” 

She laughs, shaking her head. “Ask Soap.”

“m’not asking Johnny. The man has a fuckin’ hawk by choice, Helen.” 

It paints the air, the rest of her laugh. It having grown, becoming something bigger—shifting the dread in his chest and making her eyes twinkle like the stars above them. 

“I’m not cutting your hair.”

“You cut Johnny’s!”

Brows arching, lip curled. “Because he doesn’t bitch and moan that I do it wrong, Simon.” 

“Y’almost scalped me!” 

Rolling her eyes, she leans her head against the brick, lips rubbing together as she tuts. “You moved! Fuck, I hate you sometimes.”   

But she doesn’t. 

He knows she doesn’t. She’s told him as much, each one of them stored in his mind, hidden away, kept just for him when he feels himself shrinking away.

“No, you don’t.” 

“No,” she sighs, closing her eyes. “I don’t.” 

Silence greets the air, and it’s welcomed. It sits comfortably, blanketing them both, even as he wrestles with it—debates it. Permits the thought and the words to scald the tip of his tongue. 

It’s not that he doesn’t think it, feel it. He does. It fills him, head to fucking toe. But, the words themselves leaving his tongue? It’s… They're hard. Laborious. Knackering.

He puffs out a breath, all dramatic and over the top. Just like her.

Smirking to himself as he slides his glove from his hand with his teeth. Her eyes meet his, and he doesn’t drop his gaze. His brain goes silent, just like the night around them. 

From here, he’s reacting. He’s listening, even if words aren’t being spoken—wishing he could remove his mask instead. But he can’t, not with the possible risk of watchful eyes, and the danger of needing to move into action at any moment. 

Ghost hears her swallow as he slides up her sleeve, exposing her skin to the moonlight and the stars. And then he takes the pen from her hand as she holds the cap, dropping the book between her bent knees. 

He holds it, her special pen, the one she never lets anyone ever use—holds it, rolls it between his gloved fingers. 

But, it’s the feeling of warmth in his bare hand that makes him almost smile. The way her hand is dwarfed by his, that it fits so perfectly—all long fingers and softness aside from the plasters and dry calluses. Hands as soft as hers are hard to find in this line of work, and he holds her hand like it’s the prize it is—stretching out her forearm. 

Neither of them speak, both their eyes dropping to her forearm as he slowly glides the nib of it over her skin. 

It leaves its mark with ease. One letter, then four, then three. Her head remains down, even when he places the pen back in the cap, still in her hand. 

“So, y’know I don’t either.”  

Her lips twitch, and he watches them. 

“Know y’can be forgetful, Helen.” 

She lifts her eyes, staring at him as she scrunches her nose. “It’s nice that you can write it, but not say it.”

“Leave it.”

She does. 

Her eyes observe him as her thumb circles the space under his words—his writing. His own personal branding, the only one he can currently get away with. 

“We should make that our new sign,” she whispers, and his eyes narrow in confusion. 

She touches her forearm, before holding one finger up, then four, then three—smirking at him, in that wicked way she always does. 

“Can add it to our secret code—our two-tap ‘miss you’ and our flat palm ‘be safe’.”

“Your secret code.” 

“He says as if he doesn’t freaking love putting me off in the middle of a briefing” she teases. 

And fuck, if she isn’t right. 

He loves catching her eyes, brushing past her, letting her know—in a room full of their colleagues—that he’s thinking of her. That she’s his. “I’m not doin’ it against my chest, or anythin’.”

“The very fact you suggested that Simon, tells me that is very much what you’re going to do.” 

“Helen.” 

“Yeah, yeah, ‘enough’,” she smiles, almost resting her head on his shoulder. “Your warning tone has little effect on me, Ghosty-one.”

“Don’t I know it.”

She smirks, shaking her head, twisting her pen, “My turn—“

“No need,” he says, quickly. Watching her confusion weave into her brows and forehead.

Releasing her hand, he slides up his own sleeve, fingers sliding over his inked arm until his finger stops, pointing, gesturing. 

There, in all of its inky goodness, a stethoscope hanging from one of his skulls—one she has so often traced with her nail when she has been lying on his chest, breath dancing over his skin. 

“I wish I could hug you.”

“I know.”

She sighs, rolling her head as she twirls the pen in her fingers, his own pulling the glove back over his hand. 

“I also really want a shower. And, a Chinese…”

Tugging his sleeve back down, he watches her as she stares off to the side of them. Nothing, not even a sound albeit the wind in between the branches of the tree. 

“Yeah? What y’ordering?”

“Some noodles, rice, maybe a curry? Duck, probably. That place near yours does a nice duck—“

“No. Not again.” 

His hand nudges her, pulling her gaze back to him, watching her fighting a smile. “What do you mean?” 

“You hate mushrooms.” 

“And?”

“Y’fuckin’ made me pick them all out last time.” 

She laughs, and he’s sure it paints another part of his world in colour. Watching in awe as her giggle touches each corner of her face, leaving evidence of it on her cheeks and lips. 

“I think you did that all on your own, Simon. I am a big girl, I can scoop out my own shrooms.”

He grunts. “No. Can’t have tha’. Wouldn’t be gentleman-like.” 

“Well, my hero.”

“Oi. That’ll do.” 

“Y’know what else?”

He sighs. 

Not because he hates listening to her, or all the things she wants. But, rather because he hates that he can’t give her a single fucking one. Especially when she asks for nothing.

Not a single thing.

Just stay alive. Come back.

Two things he can’t even fully promise her. 

And that turns in his mind sometimes, shifts between the thoughts of plans and briefings. Makes his insides knot, because how can her eyes catch his across the room, make his lips jerk behind the mask in a sea of so many—and yet she never truly asks for anything from him.

Just need you, Simon. All of you. Nothing else.  

No one else could get that from him.

Not all his past, present and future. But, she makes him do a lot of things with ease, without thought. He suspects it’s why he knows she’s the one. 

“Go on.”

Her head leans against the stone wall beside him, eyes trained ahead, likely focusing on some roof as she releases the words, “I also really wish we could fuck, y’know. I’d even take a quickie, one where you don’t even fully undress…” 

It slides into the air and drips into his ear. And, if he wasn’t already thinking the same, her head turns on the stone, eyes landing on him with an intensity that makes him hard. She doesn’t smile, doesn’t smirk. But her arm comes across her chest, clutching her elbow as she bites her index finger—knowing exactly what she’s fucking doing.

“... Just wish you could fill me up right here, right now—chafe my bloody thighs with your ridiculously wide hips and horrid scratchy belt. Fuck, I’ll even take you scratching the shit out of my cheek with that sharp bit of your mask again. Just so, even when I’m lying in my empty, cold cot, I can feel you.”

He says nothing.

Does nothing.

Using every fibre of restraint not to shove her to the ground and rip her fucking clothes off. From the way her eyes are aflame, he assumes she’s praying for him too. 

“Y’really miss me that much, Helen?”

“Simon, I miss just being next to you more than I miss your ridiculous bed in Manchester.”

He snorts. “You do love my bed.”

“It’s the only reason I’m with you, personally.”

He nudges her and she rolls her head closer, barely a space between the two of them. He can almost see the moon reflecting in her eyes, and can even smell the vanilla body wash mixing with the air. 

All he can think is, if he’s quick enough, he might be able to kiss her.

May be able to run his tongue across her bottom lip, pull her close, right over his lap, and her knees apart, spread all for him—

“Shame Price’ll be up in a second,” she says, dismay warped around each syllable. “I want you quick, but not that quick.”

“Have to settle for a joke, then.”

She uncaps her pen, and the pop sound is so loud compared to everything else. “Go on then, Simon. Gimme your best line—make me laugh so hard it pulls a muscle and I have that to keep me company tonight.”

an: couldn't bow out 2022 without some roof top sweetness with the main man. right? happy new year, team ghost. i can't put into words what you all mean to me, or how happy you've made me feel. j'adore.

[phyrexian-lesbian]

i’ll talk about what i liked about the new episodes before i get into what i didn’t like (because there’s a lot more of that) so here’s my positivity post about series 14 (it’s never being s1 sorry rusty fans)

as a avid deadpool fan i enjoyed the fact that maestro and fifteen broke the fourth wall so much (maestro playing the dr who theme, 15’s “i though that was non-diegetic”, then both winking at the camera)

liking the children of the toy maker storyline so far. the One Who Waits so far sounds like a cool villain. although i’m not confident after the 60th that rusty has any idea what they are (especially after t*nnant doctor came back for literally no canon reason).

murray gold, ncuti gatwa, millie gibson, and most of the rest of the team are absolutely killing it:

the susan reference??? foreshadowing???

the old lady is following them.

positive side of the post over. now time for what i didn’t like.

the babies. the space babies. every single fucking thing about them. how they were written, their concept, the goddamn cgi- they were just horrible. what the fuck. what the actual fuck.

the booger monster???? my brother in christ there is a thin line between camp and just fucking stupid.

liked the doctor’s emotional response to the bogeyman dying, but like. wrong time. this is literally a baby eating savage animal. no brainpower. it was created (by what, again? you never explained that properly) to eat children. just because it was created at the same time as the babies doesn’t mean it’s not gonna eat them when it gets the chance.

the doctor can heal dead creatures now?wow that would’ve been very useful the past 10,000 times someone had died in their care. don’t @ me with “but the butterfly didn’t have super serious injuries” because the doctor’s friends have died of relatively unserious injuries before.

mr “i can’t have davros in his transport device because it demonises disabled people” immediately made a overtly sexual drag queen nonbinary character as the villain. like pick a skewed ideology my guy.

all he had to do was interview the beatles to get a read on their personalities. dr who is a multinational franchise i’m sure he could’ve done that. but no. the greatest musicians of all time, who laid the groundwork for so many musicians of the modern age, were reduced to two dimensional characters with monotone voices.

fifteens jump to ruby’s time in the nuclear winter, although thematically cool, kinda ruined the continuity of the show. because the future ruby exists in is the one where maestro was defeated and music healed. because that’s the past they traveled to from the future. so where tf did the doctor go to find the nuclear winter

the butterfly paradox was dismissed way to easily.

the humour was not it. i’m sorry.

also the piano zebra crossing? what? hu? whattt?!

rusty immediately used the presence of a god to explain everything that made no sense away again. like the 60th. why the musical? “cuz maestro”. why the musical crossing? “cuz maestro”. nah man. fuck that. it’s bad writing.

all in all bring back moffat or chibnall or hear me out here- get. someone. new.

[the-sage-libriomancer]

i try not to overthink the worldbuilding in Scoob and Shag because it's a thin premise that can't withstand much scrutiny (especially stuff relating to Toone), but i did have some thoughts that don't blow up the story's logic, so.

-first of all, the concept of "cartoon characters = actors" is inherently fascinating. especially since a lot of the actors seem to be government workers as well, implying the government used their own staff along with professional actors (like Yoge). what was the criteria? did they just have to look human? did Toone write show premises around whatever "characters" they had available? maybe that would explain some illogical plots and clunky lines in saturday morning cartoons - the actors didn't have much acting experience, and for all we know the writers were entry-level accountants.

-ballyhoo is also fascinating. it's basically a living metaphor for how an audience can influence their media: a toon's ballyhoo is directly empowered by how much love the human population gives them, just like how enough love of a fictional character makes them popular enough to keep appearing in media. it increases their strength (bc they have influence over the world) and extends their lifespan (bc they don't "die" until people stop caring about them), and all the ballyhoos are named after tv/movie terms like Picture in Picture or Jump Cut, implying that using tv/movie screens as a medium influences what sort of abilities they can get.

-the fact that too much ballyhoo causes you to instinctively, uncontrollably break the fourth wall is super fun and super fascinating and (as Bugs demonstrates) super horrifying. too much energy from meta sources causes the confines of your narrative to break down, leaving you in a weird spot in-between your world and a world you can't see.

-i can't stop thinking about The Inspector's backstory. it's just so tragic. born an android, given a literal soulmate shortly after creation, constantly looked down upon for not having a ballyhoo, losing his soulmate to old age, then losing his home to a war caused by the very thing you were devalued for not having. Bugs said that a toon's ballyhoo can extend their lifespan (likely bc a character who's beloved by fans doesn't really die), so the fact that Penny got old and died means she wasn't popular enough with the humans, which makes sense - Inspector Gadget is the iconic one after all. he's the one who everyone loved and remembered, and it was completely useless to him because he didn't have ballyhoo. no wonder he never smiles.

-i just realized that the Inspector was forced to leave Penny's grave behind when he escaped Toone. he can never visit her again :(

-speaking of screen partners, i love thinking about how the dynamics in cartoon series translate into real life and vice versa. it's a chicken and egg question: did certain characters land roles together because they were friends, or did they become friends because they worked together as actors? were Spongebob and Patrick actually buddies? did Felix the Cat work with Mick back in the beginning days of sending broadcasts? what's Scooby's professional opinion on Scrappy-Doo?

-(i wonder if you could justify the short period in Scooby-Doo history where Shaggy and Scooby were the only members of the gang regularly appearing in shows as "the government needed a way to keep the dangerous terrorists busy so they literally Could Not let those two stop appearing in things" asjhshbjahsjahsja)

-i I love that all the commanders are cartoon characters who were so popular/beloved that they seeped into (usamerican) popular culture: Mickey Mouse, Homer Simpson, Bugs Bunny, etc. They were the most powerful because their cartoons became the powerhouses of their respective eras - you can't get more loved than them.

-i wonder if the Simpsons were basically an ageless family back on Toone because they're still popular even after 40+ years, halting their aging. actually, i bet a lot of toons stopped aging after ballyhoo became commonplace. if your lifespan was defined by how loved you were by a fickle human audience, how do you think that affected relationships? it must've been hard if you had a tangible, literally life-affecting gauge of how popular you are according to alien beings you've never met.

-i was thinking about why Kermit is included as an mc when he's a muppet and the other toons are strictly western animation characters. the doylist explanation is that the author hadn't decided to limit the media used (similar to how Mario and Goku appear in early episodes), but i have a watsonian theory. i think Kermit is from the old Muppet Babies saturday morning cartoon, all grown up. he might've been a child actor who stayed with the government even after aging out, possibly explaining why there aren't any other muppets: they left the business and probably didn't escape Toone as a result.

-relatedly: my headcanon is that traditional (i.e. not toon-led) animation IS possible in this universe, and any animated project not usamerican is created that way. so anime is to the toons as a cg character is to humans, and the Goku pic is the equivalent of...i dunno, a photo of Avatarized Jake Sully lol.

-the fact that anime characters apparently didn't exist on Toone is probably for the best. can you imagine how powerful characters like Sasuke and Bakugo would be lmao.

-lastly, i was thinking about the old gods (or whatever they are). i'm pretty sure they're beings who exist behind the fourth wall. when Dee is pulled into the purple one's domain, she at first sees it as a wide open area in space, but then she starts processing it as more of a glass cube, with one huge window screen, large tubes, and wires running through the floating spheres - not unlike being held inside a tv. the purple god even says that staying too long will cause her mind to "shatter under the weight of reality" which...i think discovering you're actually a fictional character in a webcomic would do that to you. so the gods "interfering" is them going against the story's narrative to give the characters a boost. (this might tie into who Bugs is talking to when he/she addresses the camera - it's not technically us, it's the gods behind the wall.)

i have other thoughts but uh. this post is probably long enough.

[gabessquishytum]

Ok so,Dark Dream is my favourite Dream.

Cruel an manipulative, selfish and thinking of his own amusement. So what if the first meeting with Hob goes as shown, cause Dream wants to placate his sister. He's normal and OK, no worries, well adjusted kind of guy, don't you see sis?

But later he meets Hob in some dark dank alley and pushes him up the wall with: "Nothing is ever free, certainly not hundred years of your miserable life" and he ruts himself on Hobs back and ass like an animal, biting his neck, cumming on his back and unmistakeably claiming him as his and definitely bruising his ribs in the process. Dream says:"So in hundred years time" and disappears before Hob can pick himself up from the ground.

Hob is terrified of the second meeting with the devil and rightly so. He books a room at the White Horse but before he comes downstairs, there is a Presence his room. He is being pushed to his front and slick fingers are pulling is pants down and pushing in him.

He was never fucked before. The stranger asks him to recount his century as he stretches him. As Hob babbles and Hob cries and talks of chimneys the guy seems to be actually listening to him as he is taking his time with the preparation. The fourth finger gets pushed in him and it's so much, Hob feels like this is his breaking point. He can't breathe, much less speak, he feels so full.

Then it stops and The Stranger pulls his fingers out. Hob is just shivering on his front almost fully clothed only his ass is on display and The Stranger asks: "so do you still wish to live" and after moment's silence Hob whispers: "yes." And The Stranger forces his thick cock in. His fingers are thin and Hobs is well ... virgin tight and he flails. The Stranger grabs his hands and pushes him down into the straw mattress and snarls into his ear. "Hundred years for this. It's not such a price to pay. You said you want it." And Hob just wails as he is being railed beyond his imagination and it's horrible, it hurts, but he's still hard.

The Stranger keeps on pushing in and out and in again in such a ceaseless rythm: "Tell me how much you want this Hob Gadling and I will ruin you for anyone else. Speak, you are good at running your mouth after all"

And Hob is loosing his wits here. Tears are streaming down his face but he's hornier then ever in his long life: " please, ple-ase devil, take me, fuck me yours, please demon I want this, ple-ase plea-se." The Stranger impossibly picks up speed while Hob babbles. There is a hand pressing down on his cock and full belly and a single word breathed into his ear: "come" and he does. By god he does and the creature fucks him right through it and then fills him with it's burning hot seed.

Hob whites out for the moment and when he pulls himself together Stranger is sitting fully clothed in a chair by the window. Elegantly dressed, not a hair out of place. "I am no devil or a demon Hob Gadling. I shall see you in hundred years," he says and between one blink of an eye and next he disappears, leaving Hob on his own to wipe down the cum leaking out of him with his own shirt.

Bastard.

I have an idea how the next meetings are going to go, if I have the strength to write it I'll send it to you. Hob is in for a wild ride, especially in 1589. After all he's thinking that he's meeting the stranger as an equal this time 🤡

~ 🧀

Ohohoho this is excellent, dark bastard Dream is so spicy. I’m eating him right up.

Poor Hob. On the one hand, the humiliation of being fucked like that, like he’s a whore or worth even less than that… it’s so much, and Hob shudders when he thinks of it. On the other hand, he wants to keep living! And… there’s a part of him inside that makes sure that his cock gets helplessly hard when he thinks of his stranger’s thick hot cock ramming inside him.

But surely if he shows up in 1589 and shows the stranger that he’s not worth nothing, he’s not just some slut that can be used and discarded, surely the outcome will be different? The stranger will respect him and charge him some other price for his immortality?

Somehow I think that Dream won’t be impressed by those fine clothes and courtly gestures. In fact, I think he’ll be crueller than ever. I think he’d willingly bend Hob over his rich and plentiful table in front of all the patrons of the inn. If you have the strength dear 🧀 anon, I’d love to hear what you think!

[perfectsunlight]

𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 [𝟏]

𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝘀𝘂𝗯𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝘂𝘀𝗲, 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲, 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 𝟮,𝟴𝟭𝟴

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀: 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗽𝗶𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲

“yes, we understand the situation.” SM’s managers were gathered in an emergency meeting. the finance team was on standby, as well as the leader of the team was currently on the phone. from the outside, it seemed as if it was an intense business meeting, like ones that you see in movies where companies end up making millions from securing a partnership. some men were hunched over their chairs, some were pacing around the room, and others were running their hands through their hair trying not to rip it out.

however, no one from the outside could guess the real reason behind this fraught situation. 

the team leader gripped the work phone in his hand tightly, knuckles whitening as he scrolled with his other hand through the numerous images dispatch had sent SM entertainment. as his mouse wheel scrolled through each one, the team leader’s look of stress only deepened. each image seemed to be worse than the last, and he finally hung his head in defeat. there was no way they could cover this up if it got released to the public.

“how much do you want?” 

the movements of the others in the room stopped, and a dreadful silence filled the room. all gazes shifted to the suited man at the front of the room. 

a painful expression was present in his features. he only shut his eyes and nodded before mumbling an “okay” in agreement. he slammed the handset against the receiver, a thin film of sweat on his forehead ever evident as he threw stacks of papers that were once occupied on his desk. 

they each flew and fell in different directions as he also kicked his chair, rattling the entire desk and knocking down a few desk ornaments in the process. no one in the room flinched, an obvious foretelling sign that this was not the first time a scenario like this had happened. 

the team leader’s fist slammed down on the desk, making everyone’s head turn to face him once again. the hand on his desk shook violently, and his other one pulled at his collar in an attempt to loosen it. he was fuming and seething with anger, pure venom dripping from his voice as he shouted.

“where is she?”

-

minjeong’s arms stretched forward, watching herself in the mirror with aeri next to her. the japanese girl was stretching as well. giselle’s hair fell over her face as she bent down to touch her toes. the otherwise silent room was filled with the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.

they were scheduled to practice in preparation for an upcoming performance. each of the aespa members also had an individual solo stage. the anticipation and amount of work that had went into preparations was unfathomable. each of the idols were also beyond excited for their comeback, especially after it being delayed for so long. from the outside, it was like everything was falling into place. well, almost everything.

there was still one piece that was missing. 

“it’s been over an hour, jimin unnie.” winter tried to reason. they only had a few short hours to practice today, which was why it was important that everyone show up on time. however, that was definitely not what had happened.

karina’s scowl only deepened as she glared at the clock. her brows furrowed deeper as she stood up and stomped over to the door. she yanked it open and craned her neck to look both ways down the hallway. 

she was hoping to hear footsteps, or even the sound of the elevator dinging to signal that someone had used it. unfortunately, she was only met with silence. 

“we could just run our solos?” giselle suggested from behind her. it was the only thing they could run without their fourth member there. 

minjeong turned to nod in agreement with her older member. they had been waiting long enough, and it was obvious that they were going to have to run the practice regardless. she ran a hand through her hair, frustrated at the situation, but understanding that there was only so much they could do.

“maybe try calling her one last time?” she offered timidly, knowing already how many times karina had called their youngest member. 

karina let out an agitated huff before she stomped over to her phone. she mumbled a few curses under her breath before placing it next to her ear. the dial tones rang, each one dragging with suspense until it finally went to voicemail once again.

“yah! ning yi zhuo! you have 5 minutes to get here and if not you’re going to get it! it’s been over an hour, and we’ve been waiting!”

she ended the call by pressing the big red button on her screen before tossing her phone back onto the shelf. furious was not even a strong enough word to describe what jimin was feeling. as a leader, she needed the other member there. as a friend, she was disappointed, but not surprised at all in the slightest. 

“jeongie, we can start with you.” jimin shouted as she ran a hand through her hair out of frustration. it was beyond her control, but she still knew that she would be held responsible since she was the leader. 

“where is she?”

-

tails of smoke danced in the air, each one disappearing before her eyes. the tile of the bathroom floor felt cool against her bare back, contrasting with the heat being generated from the blunt in her hand. the afternoon sun shone through the glass and casted shades of deep orange across the room. 

the chinese woman watched the trees dance in the wind from the small bathroom window, admiring the shadows they cast into the room. she liked watching them dance. she danced all the time, every single day. for once, she was simply enjoying mother nature performing for her, and she was loving every moment of it.

however, this could also just be because she was completely high out of her mind.

her lips met the tip of the blunt once again. ningning inhaled the smoke, feeling the burn in her throat and lungs as the vapor traveled through her body. the tingling in her head turned fuzzy, and the young woman couldn’t help but smile at the effect. 

it was short lived though, because she heard her phone start ringing again. she already knew it was karina, her leader. the idol had told herself that she would make it to practice, and she even promised jimin that she would be there today.

except, she got side tracked once her dealer brought her more weed, and how could she refuse a quick smoke break?

she had lost track of time, truthfully. she didn’t mean to stay there on her bathroom floor for more than 30 minutes, but the high felt too good for her to stop. it was always like this whenever she got new weed, so in her mind, it was jimin’s fault for not remembering how she gets.

thoughts of work and their comeback stage only made her upset, causing her to no long find enjoyment in her high. she was only 3/4 of the way through her blunt, and she was not about to waste it since she had just gotten the fresh cannabis today.

ning suffocated the cherry before leaving it in the ashtray next to her on the floor. she would get back to her smoke session later on, assuming she wasn’t going out tonight.

she sat up slowly and stared at herself in the glass from the shower door. it then dawned on her that she was topless, and in nothing but a pair of underwear and socks. well, it wasn’t that she had not known she was topless, but rather that she had forgotten.

she tends to lose track and forget a lot of things when she’s high. 

the youngest aespa member picked up her phone and played the most recent angry voicemail from her leader. the only words she was able to make out were “5 minutes” and “been waiting.” she stood up slowly, holding onto the bathroom counter for support as she began putting some sweats and a bra on. 

she moved as fast as she could, stumbling a little. it wasn’t the high that made her disoriented, but rather the day drinking she had done earlier this morning. to be quite frank, ningning had taken the kesha lyric “brush my teeth with a bottle of jack” a bit too seriously. 

there were two things ning loved more than herself: weed and whiskey.

after being in the industry for so long, ning no longer felt like she had to fit into the “good girl” image. she’s been living on her own since she was a teenager, and the moment she left china she knew she wanted to have fun. she missed out on so much of it since she spent her childhood singing and dancing on a stage.

if it was up to her, she would rather quit her idol life and instead smoke, party, and drink merrily until the day she died. 

unfortunately for her, that was not something she was allowed to do. it already caused numerous issues for her, already.

ning knew that there were numerous photos of her having sex with a fanboy outside one of the clubs just outside of seoul. it was obvious it was her too, since once she saw the cameras, she simply just pulled her top town further and turned her neck to make the tattoo of her initial visible. 

she also may have flipped off the cameras, but she doesn’t remember if she actually did. she also didn’t even remember the guy’s name, either. it didn’t matter, anyway. she’d never see him again.

she would probably get scolded again for making the company spend another million or two to just make dispatch keep quiet. ironically, ningning always showed up to those staff meetings already high out of her mind. she knew they were going to yell at her, and she already knew what she did, so why should she sit there and listen?

the chinese idol threw a hoodie on before making her way out of the dorm and towards the elevator. thankfully, it was only two floors below their dorm, meaning she could get there in time before karina got even more upset with her.

she sometimes felt bad for her group members since they had to always deal with her. 

karina was always doing her best to help ning’s image, at least in the group, as clean as possible. even if it was as obvious as a red wine stain on white sheets, jimin never said anything bad about ning in the public eye or even to the other staff members.

giselle was often her party buddy, but the half japanese girl could never hold her liquor the way ning did. most of the time, it was aeri babysitting her and keeping her out of trouble. even though she ruined a lot of her fun, she knew the older girl meant well.

then there was winter. minjeong was the second youngest in the group. they spent a lot of time together eating out and trying new restaurants, which was why whenever ning had a little too much to drink the night before, she would wake up to a box of takeout. “hangover soup” as winter had coined it. the slightly older girl was always looking out for her, just like her other members.

which was why she felt bad sometimes. they were trying so hard to keep her from going further down the path she was on. it was useless, really. because it wasn’t like she had any plans of changing. 

and if she wasn’t going to change, or even think about it, why should she bother apologizing?

the young idol made her way out of the elevator once the ding sounded. she slipped out slowly as the doors parted, throwing her hair up into a messy bun. it was just practice, and it wasn’t like she was going to be there long anyway.

especially since she was almost two hours late. 

“look who’s finally here,” jimin commented as the chinese girl entered the room. the bright lights of the practice room irritated her eyes, causing her head to throb in distaste. she was still high, and slightly buzzed, and even though she was used to these feelings, it didn’t mean it made it less annoying to deal with.

unfortunately, her members were also used to it, but it didn’t mean that it made them any less upset.

“ningie,” minjeong sighed in disappointment as she physically recoiled at the strong odor of marijuana coming from the younger girl.

 “holy shit, how much did you smoke?” aeri called from the other side of the room. “i can smell it from here.”

ningning slid her shades from her pocket and put them on, already tired of being here. she didn’t know why they were complaining. she showed up, didn’t she? that should be enough.

“let’s just practice.” the chinese idol snapped. ningning wanted to get out of there as fast as she could, and the only way to do that was to get their dance practice done. “at least i showed up.” she added while she slid her slippers off and walked towards the center of the room. 

minjeong and aeri both glanced at each other before looking back at their leader. “you know, ning? you’re a pretty functional stoner slash alcoholic.” aeri pointed out as she got into her position on the floor. giselle’s witty comment did have some truth to it. ning may be a mess, but at least she was a somewhat functional mess. 

karina scoffed. it wasn’t like her to get upset usually, she was their leader after all, but she was sick and tired of the youngest member’s antics. jimin loved ningning, the girl was like a child to her. but as the oldest, and the leader, she knew that the other girl was beyond help. 

“what are you waiting for, unnie? you ran my shit up, and now im here. let’s go.” the youngest member ranted. she wanted to go back to her unfinished blunt and half empty bottle of jack daniels. they complained about her being late, and now here she was, and they weren’t moving.

jimin bit the inside of her cheek as she rose from her seated position. she shook her head as she took her position in the center with the other girls before waiting for the music to start.

practice went as well as it could have, and despite ning’s current state, she was able to keep up pretty decently. the only things she didn’t do were any ground moments or anything that involved her almost breaking her neck. she already had a migraine, she didn’t need another one. unfortunately, the aespa members only got barely an hour in to practice before irene and seulgi were scheduled to use the room. 

the four girls made their way out of the room, ningning noticing the not so subtle looks of disappointment from the senior girls. she knew a lot of the idols in SM didn’t approve of her lifestyle, but it wasn’t like she exactly cared about their opinions.

karina’s gaze noticed the way ning walked in the opposite direction as them. her brows furrowed in confusion. “ning?” 

minjeong noticed the girl walking in the other direction and called out after her. “ningie, i don’t know if you’re still high, but the dorm is this way.”

the chinese girl turned her head over her shoulder and replied back before making her way to the other door at the opposite end of the wall. “i’m going out.”

aeri rolled her eyes, winter shook her head, and karina only placed her hands on her hips as she watched the youngest member slip out the door. 

jimin turned and followed her other sober members towards the elevator. the raven haired girl knew that ningning would definitely come home drunk out of her mind, or she was going to end up calling one of them from a stranger’s phone to come and pick her up because she lost her phone somewhere and couldn’t get home on her own. 

just last night alone, ning almost fell down the stairs because she was too disoriented to find where the railing was. thankfully jimin was with her and helped her get up to her room in one piece, but it was always a struggle doing such a task.

and yu jimin knew that she would, without the shadow of a doubt, that she would have to do it again later tonight. shaking her head in disapproval, she quietly mumbled to herself while watching the elevator doors open.

“here we go again.”

𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧: @jiihu @silantryoo @rosiehrs @craftymasterlistcomicsprune @skisk1 @jisooftme @babycubchae @yunjinhart

[ryttu3k]

Thoughts on Space Babies and The Devil's Chord, in no particular order:

So we agree that the overarching storyline for this season is stories becoming real, yeah? Starts with invoking folklore at the end of the universe, is solidified with the Toymaker and his rules of play, used heavily in The Church on Ruby Road, and now children's fairytales and musicals? Fascinated to see where this is going!

Generally ridiculously camp and bonkers and you know what, I goddamn missed that. It had whimsy. It had space babies and musical battles! It was fun and ridiculous and just. Felt good, man.

And it also had far-future dystopias and reproductive horror and slow starvation and suffocation and refugees and a timeline of depression and nuclear winter simply to create the universe's biggest aeolian harp so, you know. Doctor Who is back, baby!

Space Babies

Okay the episode was pretty fun and, at times, sweet (they saved the monster!) but oy the CGI/voice acting for the babies was… not great XD;;

Rani reference!

RTD detractors: "Ew, fart jokes with the Slitheen, so immature." RTD, writing an elaborate snot joke that ends with a colossal projectile shart: "Watch this :D"

Okay yes the projectile shart to get the space station moving is one thing, but, uh. How is it going to stop? XD;;

The nanny filter made me giggle each time.

I actually had to go back and check because I was squinting at the readout trying to work out what's weird and somehow failed a spot check and missed the fact that it had started snowing. Good observational skills, self. Anyway, the snow is definitely a Message. (Is it snow? Like I agree that it's connected with the day Ruby was born, but is what's falling in the church scene snow to begin with?)

Do you. Do you think the butterfly can regenerate now.

The Devil's Chord

Oooh, a Pantheon! Love a Pantheon. There's mention of the One Who Waits, speculation on whether 'the Oldest One' was there the day Ruby was born, we already have the Toymaker -> Maestro line, so maybe we'll be getting others? Also, the way Maestro phrased something earlier was fascinating too - "the Lord Temporal who sealed my father in salt". The Lord Temporal. There's been a lot of references to how the Doctor isn't just a Time Lord, maybe they're part of the Pantheon too, as the personification of time? Regeneration and Time Lord society all coming from this base primordial being?

Anyway I goddamn adore Maestro.

I wonder if we'll get Susan at the end of this season? (See: last link of this section!)

July 2024? So that's a good six months of travelling unaccounted for! Big Finish just going 👀

Semi-related but Ruby saying she was born in 2004 gave me a Crisis. Rose was 19 in 2005 and born the same year as me. Yeah okay I am good with that! Martha born in either 1986 or 1984, yep, fine, all checks out. But now there's a companion who was born when I was already an adult how is that legal.

"He ripped my soul in two." Oof.

The sonic actually did something sonic!

"I thought it was non-diegetic!!" I have so many questions. The walls are getting thin. Yeah, especially the fourth! (Random thought: Doctor Who official ARG?)

Lennon-McCartney saves the world! (I still like Harrison's stuff better.)

Apparently Murray Gold had a cameo but I have no idea what he looks like so it went completely over my head lmao

Missed opportunity to play The Devil Went Down To Georgia or The Devil's Trill, although we did get Danse Macabre and Rhapsody in Blue (which I put on as soon as the episode finished)!

Fun fact about Danse Macabre: "The solo violin enters playing the tritone, which was known as the diabolus in musica ("the Devil in music") during the Medieval and Baroque eras, consisting of an A and an E♭—in an example of scordatura tuning, the violinist's E string has actually been tuned down to an E♭ to create the dissonant tritone." (People hated it when it premiered. It made them feel anxious. Which is... kind of appropriate.)

There's always a twist at the end~ (I thought it was little H.Arbringer, but who knows?)

[roxannepolice]

Outside the boundaries of the universes lie the raw realities, the couldhave-beens, the might-bes, the neverweres, the wild ideas, all being created and uncreated chaotically like elements in fermenting supernovas.

Just occasionally where the walls of the worlds have worn a bit thin, they can leak in.

And reality leaks out.

Thank you, sir Terry, for once again providing me with an excellent opening quote for a Doctor Who rambling. That probably has nothing to do with the fact that both DW and Discworld fall into the Gulliverian satire poetic.

So yeah, about what's grown to be called a Truman show theory, and I cannot stop making it clear, me critically poking at it is not me hating it especially if Ruby's story ends up throwing shade providing metatextual insight on the mystery baby extravaganza of 2010s (am I the only one who thought that Splice looks like Rey?).

But the problem is, how far would the revelation go? Is it just the endgame for the season? Did it start when Fourteen invoked a superstition at the end of the universe, as the text implies? Or does it go further back, as the Newton and apple story is unreal, too (HOT TAKE: THEY'RE IN VOLTAIRE'S BRAIN. THE CRITICISM OF ORGANISED RELIGIOM CONFIRMS THAT). Or was it already there when Fourteen regenerated in new clothes (he does talk of "canon" in the Dalek Mini-sode)? All of this is just digging deeper into figuring out just how clever the Cave is. But let's dig even deeper, shall we?

Ok, maybe it's Flux. Flux definitely messed up a lot of things, such as replacing Russia with Sontarans. Except...

There's Robin Hood in season 8. And not just a guy called Robin Hood, it's the Robin Hood of legend. Twelve is explicitly confused by that.

In fact, fourth wall breaking was probably most recurrent in Twelve's run.

Though let us not forget Thirteen looking straight into the camera to explain humans must recycle or else we'll turn into props.

Hey, remember how in Let's kill Hitler Eleven is like "The British are coming" and Hitler reacts with fear? In 1936? When the alliance between Third Reich and UK looked like a very realistic prospect? When the Windsors were enthusiastic over what was going on in Germany? PROPAGANDA MUCH?

Bashing on the royals will definitely go down better than my next point on this anarcho-communist coffeeshop AU website, but if you guys think the Red Army's involvement in WWII was fresh faced boys so filled with faith in equality for all people that they came to fight its eternal enemy of fascism then no. Nonononononono. No. NO. Go read about Ribbentrop-Molotov pact NOW. Sincerely, a person living east of the Berlin wall.

Seventh era is also when we get a hint there's a Doctor Who show on BBC.

I'm not going to go through every single time DW has leaned into a made up version of events (wonder if the Doctor ever changed their mind about Mao Zedong, though), but you're getting the drift, but there is one last point to be made.

Nero didn't start the great fire of Rome. The eternal city was a densely packed stack of wood and would go up in flames quite often, though the one from 64 CE was a particularly nasty one and putting it out could have been coordinated better. Still, the idea Nero intentionally started it is 100% made up.

Why should this be important? Well, The Romans are from the 2nd season of Classic Who, from 1965. While we're at it, season 1 historicals are also based more on simplified ideas about Marco Polo, the reign of terror, or Aztec human sacrifices (Barbara Wright Victorious, my love) than true facts (probably because documentary about everyday life of the Aztecs would work better as a way to get children to sleep than to get them hooked on history), but that's more a matter of how than what. In case you want to somehow reconcile this via the Pantheon, then the Toymaker first appeared in season 3, and that after the Doctor visited the Trojan war and Vicki stayed there with Troilus as actually faithful Cressida.

So. The thing about Truman show revelation is. It's either groundbreaking on a last episode ever, goodbye yellow brick road, level, or not meaningful at all. I just can't see it work as a seasonal endgame, because if the episode from 2023 is in unreality, then so is the one from 1965. Just, where do you go from here? It's either waking up in the crude reality or. y'know. acknowledging the convention, which is what the Truman show theory kinda set out to negate in the first place.

Again, I genuinely want to discuss! I myself am never sure if hot take posts are open to discussion, which is why I made a separate post, so I want to make it clear, I want to have the holes in my own rambling explained!

[obsidiennes]

Tatsuki has Associated Akuma References

So, Tatsuki has always been a bit... extreme... as her relationship advice to Orihime in chapter 4 tells us:

But it goes even further than that. She's a fighting game boss. Specifically, she has several references to Akuma (Gouki) from Street Fighter II Turbo and beyond.

This becomes apparent starting in chapter 15:

Akuma is known for his use of the Satsui no Hado, or Surge of Killing Intent. That is exactly what Tatsuki puts on display here. She then mimics one of one of Akuma's most famous poses:

It's notable that in the Viz translation, Keigo and Mizuiro's thoughts instead class her as a devil. The specific character used in the original Japanese is 鬼. Akuma's original name of Gouki is 豪鬼, which as you can see uses that exact same 鬼. These remarks are reaffirmed by the school principle, and you can see he uses the same character:

Much later, in chapter 411, this will be returned to by Don Kanonji, who in Japanese uses the same 鬼 as well:

Back in chapter 42, while defending Orihime, we get Tatsuki giving boss dialogue:

In Japanese, while laughing maniacally she specifically says, もラと強いの出てこいやア, which means something to the effect of "Please send me a strong one." This is not unlike a lot of Akuma's quotes, especially: "Weaklings! Is there no one worth fighting?"

What is especially interesting is that Akuma came into existence at least in part because of a hoax of a character named Sheng Long. You might know that name from Dragon Ball, and Shenlong is a mythical Chinese dragon. This is pertinent as the "tatsu" part of Tatsuki's name, 竜, specifically means "Chinese dragon", and is often rendered "ryū". While there is obviously also a character of that name, Ryu, who is also an enemy of Akuma and also struggles with the Satsui no Hado in the form of Evil Ryu, Tatsuki's continued association with the "devil" and her other symbolic linkages with dragons make Akuma the more appropriate connection, in my opinion. (This is doubly amusing as she physically resembles Sakura.)

What is most interesting about this connection though, is her mention of Tekken in chapter 424:

This is one of the only named product references in Bleach, if not the only one. But it gets stranger.

We know for a fact that the Xcution/Lost Agent arc is happening in April of 2003. Tekken 4 was released on PS2 in Japan on March 28, 2002. Tekken 5 would not be released until March 31, 2005. Although there is apparently an error in the translation here (it's more like, "The next one's coming out, so if you don't return it soon, I'll have a problem"), there is no actual conceivable reason for her to need it back as the next game wouldn't come out for almost two years.

Maybe this is just another error by Kubo. However, there's another possibility.

This chapter came out on November 8, 2010, after a brief hiatus following the end of the Aizen Saga. Earlier that year, on July 24, Tekken X Street Fighter and Street Fighter X Tekken were announced. And who has continued to appear in Tekken since then (most recently in Tekken 7) and refused to stay in his own universe?

Akuma.

I submit to you that Tatsuki's mention of Tekken, so soon after the real life announcement of a Tekken and Street Fighter crossover, yet so far from the release of a Tekken game in the manga's internal chronology, is a fourth wall-breaking reference to real life events made to draw attention to the jokes associating Tatsuki with Akuma, and not supposed to make us think the Tekken series had a completely different development and release schedule in Bleach's reality.

You are supposed to think of Tatsuki as a fighting game boss. And of course you are, as chapter 68 told us:

The imagined version of her opponent has a similar hairstyle to Karin, rival of Sakura, but a much more monstrous physique. That Tatsuki can compete at all, or do any of this at a meager official weight of 41 kg and such a thin build, let alone a broken arm, comes back to her implicit Satsui no Hado. This then goes a long way toward explaining her durability, as I've covered before.

While you can assuredly plainly see that she is something of a compilation of Street Fighter references, I think that Akuma is the strongest of these for the reasons I've laid out. (Another way of saying this might be that she looks like Sakura, and dresses like Ryu, but is truly most like Akuma.)

[wondernus]

˗ˋˏ When We Meet Chapter 3 ˎˊ˗

synopsis: there is only so much forgiving and forgetting you can do when you end up getting stood up by your date over and over again. so when you're stuck between the best friend, the first crush, and their mysterious roommate whose existence seemed like a myth, you can only hope the decision you've been making is the right one.

pairing: kmg x reader

chapter tags: food mention, present-day, mingyu's first appearance

wc: 2k

message from nu: :-) mingoo finally here but also not really. - nu

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A crash sounds from the floor above you, and a muffled voice yelling he’s okay quickly follows. The crash isn’t big enough to cause a reverberation large enough to wobble one of the paintings hanging above the television in front of you, so you ignore it and continue vacuuming the thin red textile rug under your feet.

The living room space is tiny, but it feels like the interior came straight out of an Ikea showroom — and to be fair, most of the interior did thanks to Minghao’s job at a commercial bank. There is the grey sleeper sofa with the outstretched chaise that ends so close to the white lacquer television storage cabinet that you could reach over for the remote instead of standing up. Framed photos and paintings form a gallery wall above the television, the photos picturing memories made since university. There is a photo of DK, Minghao, and you grinning together at graduation, each clutching empty diploma books in your hands. Cast off to the side is a paid photo from an amusement park rollercoaster ride with the fourth person’s face — an ex —covered and replaced with a picture of a famous actor that the three of you all agree to be charming. A blue fortune teller and two origami frogs sit on the windowsill next to the row of fake plants in their pots and vases.

Maneuvering the vacuum back to its corner, you’re careful not to knock over the two rolled yoga mats leaning against the wall when you pull its plug. While looping and retracting the long vacuum cord, your eyes wander to the hanging calendar to the side of the staircase. It’s a calendar of some random family that made it to the shelves of a nearby thrift store that the guys thought was funny enough to buy and hang in their home as if they were a part of the photographed family. Important dates are marked with red permanent marker: utility bill due, rent due, Wi-Fi bill due, company dinner… Then there’s a date circled many times over and then crossed out and drawn on the correct date. Mingyu is coming back.

It’s been about two years since graduation. You’ve managed to not fall out of contact with your college friends — even regularly grabbing brunch at fancy hotels with those who stayed in the area. Work is near your childhood home. The only thing that seemed to change is DK — or at least his name.

DK, or rather Seokmin now as stated on his business cards, thumps down the stairs with a giant cardboard box in his arms. He sets it on the sofa and collapses on open the spot next to it, sighing loudly with his arms stretched out like he’s making a snow angel.

If it hadn’t hit you then, then it surely hits you now: Mingyu is coming back. All this preparatory work for someone whom you don’t know, for someone whose humidifier sits in the corner of the hallway closet collecting dust, for someone who clearly makes your friends happy…you can’t help but feel excited for your friends. And you can’t help but feel excited yourself.

Kim Mingyu’s stuff sits in their tiny townhouse like the objects on display in a museum after only being used for about a month or two. The owner, who couldn’t give up an opportunity for working abroad after graduation, is finally able to transfer back. For good this time. You’re sure you’ve memorized every single photo in that household, especially those of Mingyu and the stories behind them. How he towers over his two roommates, holding up bunny ears behind his friends’ heads. How his shiny silver braces catch the light when he stops what he’s doing to smile for a photo. How he made them take a picture together that first day they met in the dorms. In just a few days you’ll be able to meet him in person. And maybe tell him sorry for accidentally breaking one of his ceramic plates.

Minghao quickly follows after his friend, bounding down the stairs, car keys jingling in his pockets. He stops in front of Seokmin and pulls his keys out of his pocket, waving them in front of his face.

“Let’s go.” He lightly slaps his friend’s knee twice. “I’m driving.”

Seokmin groans in response, letting his body slide down the sofa like a piece of butter on a hot skillet. He lands with a thud in between his friend’s legs, and the friend simply crosses over his friend’s body to make his way to the kitchen where you’re standing behind the island sink with an amused look on your face.  

Minghao places his arm on your right shoulder and leans into you, his floral cologne engulfing your senses, “Promise me your next boyfriend won’t be as lazy as he is.”

“I heard that,” Seokmin calls from the floor. “You can’t hide anything in our place. Not even your snacks that your friend brought back from China for you. It’s too small.”

The man standing next to you sighs and pats you on the shoulder twice before making his way to the front door. He tells you to text him your lunch order. Lunch will be on him today.

“Are you going to tell him he’s still wearing his froggy headband?” you ask Seokmin after Minghao closes the front door behind him.

“No.” Seokmin finally pushes himself off the floor and stares downwards at his old stained t-shirt. He frowns while lifting up the hem up his large tee past his bellybutton, inspecting all of his various stains, kind of embarrassed to venture in public wearing old clothes next to Minghao (even while he’s sporting the bright green cartoon froggy headband). Turning to you, he tells you that he’s going to run upstairs to quickly change before heading out. “Answer my phone on the counter if Mingyu calls. Hang up if Hao calls,” he instructs you from the top of the bannisters.

The sound of Seokmin’s soon to be shared bedroom door closing rings throughout the townhouse, and you are alone to yourself. Picking up his abandoned cellphone, you bring it to the living room area so you can look through the box of unwanted items the guys are thinking about donating. You know you wouldn’t mind taking a couple of Minghao’s old clothes — he would probably even give you styling tips if he had time. However, in the cardboard box are old second-hand college textbooks that they bought from a friend of a friend of a friend and a couple of hand-made tie blankets and gifts from exes. To be honest, the thought of throwing away that paid amusement park rollercoaster photo is extremely tempting, but the guys insist that the memories that the three of you share (and the price of that photo…amusement park items are heavily overpriced, but it works because people will pay for them) heavily overweigh a stupid ex whose face could easily be taped over by someone better looking.

Plus, the guys reassure you, your self-worth is much higher than whatever you lowered yourself to with that last ex. It’s about a year since you last dated anybody and even you know to never settle for less.

Fingers gloss over the knots and fringes on the fleece tie blankets, feeling the smooth fabric that’s slowly falling apart at its hand-tied knots. It’s a shame the guys are throwing away the projects, but the blankets don’t, as Marie Kondo says, spark joy. And to be honest, you don’t think the guys ever enjoyed receiving the blankets with the tacky and bright patterns. It was a weird time: both Seokmin and Minghao coincidentally dated best friends.

A familiar marimba ringtone plays from the phone in your lap and you bring the phone up to your face. Mingyu’s name flashes on the phone owner’s lockscreen and there’s a picture of him from probably his first year to go along with it. Freshman Mingyu, baby-faced and only eighteen, smiles back at you, awkward and thin-lipped, waiting for somebody to answer the video call.

It’s exhilarating thinking about meeting Mingyu for the first time. It would be no worries at all, a chill call. At least that’s what you assume from your fragmented idea of Mingyu composed of the different stories you’ve heard about him. You were also pretty sure you could recognize that man anywhere because of all of the pictures and videos of him that you’ve seen over the course of the last few years. And with a large breath in, you answer the call.

“Seok,” a deep and tired voice immediately mumbles from offscreen. There’s a slight lisp present, just as the guys have described. “Did you double-check to see if my humidifier still works? If it doesn’t then I have to find a way to ship the one I’m currently using over to our place within the next few days. Or do you think if I bought an extra checked luggage it would be cheaper?”

The room is dark, most likely because the owner lives on the other side of the world. You can assume his phone is leaning against something on his desk. There’s not a lot to see — most of Mingyu’s stuff is already being shipped back home on a plane or a boat. A lit table lamp sits on the floor next to his bed, the nightstand probably sold or gifted to somebody else. You hear the familiar rumble of a closing desk drawer and then see a hand reach for the phone.

“Seok?” The audio crackles when Mingyu picks up the phone and brings the phone up to his face.

Then you see him for the first time. Kim Mingyu. His tanned face glows under his dimmed bedroom lights. Black hair damp, dripping, and pushed back from his shower. The man who wears a navy blue silk top with a pearly white trim, who quickly adjusts his thick wire glasses to see you better, looks nothing like the young man from Seokmin’s Mingyu contact photo.

“Oh? Hi, you must be-”

You instinctively end the call before he could greet you, slamming the phone onto the couch like you’re using a fly swatter, feeling like you accidentally stumbled upon something you weren’t supposed to see. Heart beating fast, you sit there wide-eyed in shock.

If this Mingyu is the same person Seokmin and Minghao have been referencing to for years, then they have some serious explaining to do.

Seokmin walks into the living room while adjusting the baseball cap on his head, asking if Gyu called. He trades places with his cellphone, sitting down where you slammed it on the couch and unlocks his phone to look at the follow-up text that Mingyu sent.

“You hung up on him?” your friend snorts while reading his friend’s message. “Did he say something stupid?”

“No,” you mumble to nobody in particular, “just stupidly handsome.”

“Hmm.” Seokmin tilts his head side-by-side as if he’s weighing his options. “Not sure about the handsome part. But ‘stupid’ I can agree with.”

You see him again when Seokmin returns his call, clearly this time. Plump rosy pink lips and deep smile lines that dimple his cheeks even with the laziest smile. Eyes are always looking at the center of his screen, never in the corner. They widen then shrink into comfortable semi-circles when Seokmin casually adds that you’re single after suggesting that the two of you meet when Mingyu comes back.

“Great.” Mingyu smiles while waving goodbye to the two of you. “It’s a date.”

You, awfully dumbfounded after the call and who is now stumbling towards a fuming Minghao’s car, cannot comprehend how that man is single. You just can’t.

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