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#they are very fun to write indeed
thyandrawrites · 1 year
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I guess its easier to write shouto when comparing him to dabi like... current shouto is smart and thoughtful and tries his best but when he talks hes very simple and direct with his words/what he means. Meanwhile dabi is just as smart but more dramatic and faster and purposely rude. Like i see dabi saying some Edgy Shit to shouto and shouto thinking about how much he understands dabis feelings but then just says something like 'dude omg pls stop'. Anyway i think their interactions would be funny
ksajfjka yeah, that's what I've been aiming at, too! My only struggle is that I'm currently writing a futurefic where Touya is slightly more emotionally well-adjusted than canon, and he has a better relationship with Shouto. So I'm still figuring out how to balance writing him from a place where he doesn't immediately shut down vulnerability, while also not diverging too much from his characterization :') Shouto poses a challenge solely because a lot of Touya's complexes are tied to his tendency to compare himself to his brother, you know? But I'm getting there! They'll have this talk if it takes me ten years to write it down!
Anyway, thank you for sharing your thoughts! This actually helped me a bit
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captainmvf · 10 days
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When you take seven years of Mandarin through grade school but then get a compliment when you're nervous so you start speaking some German you picked up.
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aka-indulgence · 1 year
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Made another Bob Velseb drabble… thing. Idk why I was suddenly inspired, I just was > < It’s a lil thing where he comes to take care of you a little while you’re sick in the winter, while it’s snowing, late at night /w\ hehe
——
It’s snowing pretty hard out, and your bed is placed next to the windows. You’ve drawn the curtains, as if it was going to protect you from the chill outside. Huddled in your blankets, trying your best to force yourself to sleep, through the headache.
It’s pretty damn hard to do.
Especially when you hear some hard knocks on your apartment door. In this late night.
“Mmnerghhh,” you grumble, giving the doorway an irritated look. You are not getting up from your bed. Who was it anyway?
You tried not to let your mind run wild at whatever spooky monster had crawled its way to your door, from all the rumors you’ve heard around the town. Especially when an acquaintance you had couldn’t resist introducing you to the scariest ones when they found out you were a newcomer.
Thanks, Luna. You thought sarcastically to yourself, Real helpful for the newcomer who lives alone.
It’s probably nothing anyway. Though you struggle with a proper explanation, since.. you didn’t really know your neighbors.
Tried to ignore it.
… The knocks were back.
Fuuuck.
“Who??” You try your best to keep the irritation out of your voice, and physically cringe at how raspy your throat sounds. “Is it???”
Silence hangs for a moment. You’re about to start cursing, you didn’t have TIME for this, when a voice answers.
A familiar one.
“.... ‘s Bob.” His baritone voice answers.
It startles you to alertness, eyes opening wide, looking at the doorway. It’s a good thing you didn’t curse immediately, you would be very panicked right about now.
“O-oh, c… comingng!” You say, the ‘ng’ sounding stuffy. You had the problem of getting out of your bed… the heater was warm, sure, but it felt as if anything was cold when you were sick. Especially in winter… while it’s snowing…
You decided to try to walk barefooted towards the door, stepping over the carpet threshold onto the tiled floor.
Bad idea- you made a very unattractive yelp when your delicate foot touched the icy cold floor (probably not that cold if you weren’t sick, you note). You mumbled incoherently, putting your feet in your fluffy slippers and shuffling towards the door.
You have little brain-power, some of it going to the thoughts of What if he’s confronting me about giving him late notice on your absence? Maybe this is why he worked alone-
You don’t hesitate to open the door, however. You blink confusedly, looking at a wall of red before you remember right. Have to look up to look at his face, before doing just that. Bob is… looming over you a little bit, eyes narrowing as he looks at you. Puffy eyes, stuffy nose, blanket wrapped around you, making you look like a cloaked grandma.
The question that comes after a moment of silence surprises you with how warm with concern it was. “Are you ok?”
“Yes I am, don’t worry about me, just… cold.” You explain easily, “... I mean I’m cold, but I also have a cold… but it’s fine, I’ll… I’ll try to come to work tomorrow.”
… You shivered.
He looks unimpressed. Although… you aren’t sure how you’d read his expression, right now.
“... Let me in.”
It comes as an order, rather than a request.
You… you weren’t prepared for that, and all too quickly the word “Yes,” tumbles out of your mouth.
Bob opens the door wider. And maybe, if you had the clarity of mind, you’d start to feel pretty awkward, having invited your boss into your modest apartment while you were poorly, but. You didn’t have that right now, and simply hobbled back closer to the warmth of your heater, in your bedroom. Your boss(/friend????) walked in after you, his footsteps heavy.
“I’m sorry… ‘bout the late… message,” you muttered, “I don’t think it’d be good to work like this, and I didn’t have energy to talk it with you this morning and just passed out…”
Bob is silent as you try to explain yourself.
“.... Are you firing me?” You turned to look at him as you stand in the bedroom, your brain too headachey to think about how odd it was that you had this big man in your bedroom… not that you don’t trust him. Just, odd.
You don’t see the weird face he makes.
“No. You’re sick.”
Hm… why does he look so angry then? … no that’s a look of concern.
“I’m… mean not tuh be rude…” you say, as you feel your legs aching, sitting back on the bed. “Why’re you here, Bob?”
“To check on you,” he explains simply.
“Awh… that’s very nice of you,” you say, unintentionally interrupting something that he looked like he was about to say. “It’s not that bad, just-”
Itchy.
Ah.. ah…
“ACHOO!” you sneezed, quite violently in fact, that your whole body shaked and snot was dribbling down your nose. Wonderfull, (Y/n), you looked great in front of your boss. Curse this window right now… you could feel the chill when you bring your hand to it. You ungraciously feel around for the box of tissues beside your bed, and furiously wipe away your snot. The trash bin you’ve moved closer to your bed was almost full.
You look at Bob… then start shrinking into your blanket. You must look like garbage right now- not a look you wanted him to see.
“... Sorry.”
The man only shakes his head, asking “Have you eaten?”
“Mm… sure…” You nod your head at the yet-to-be-cleaned table just beside of him. Microwaved, ready to serve food, that.. didn’t taste very good. You needed something warm, something that tasted good even if your taste buds decided to take sick-leave.
It was not that.
“... Darlin’,” your brain doesn’t even process the nickname, “No.”
He looks at you disapprovingly. As if on cue, your stomach starts grumbling, and you shift uncomfortably in your bed.
“Was a good idea I came here, then…” He puts his hand in his coat pocket (he hadn’t taken it off)... producing a tupperware.
You sit up straighter.
“What’zat?”
“Stew.” He answers simply, then smiling secretively, adds “Beef stew.”
He smiles wider (but not eerily so!) when he sees how your eyes start to regain it’s sparkle, looking at it. Maybe you even start to drool when he opens it up, and the delicious scent starts wafting in the air.
“Whoa…” You wipe your mouth with sleeve. If he noticed it, he doesn’t mention it. “That smells heavenly… … did, did you make this for me?”
Bob chuckles, that warm chuckle that made you feel… something, when he did. “Yeah. Can’t have my only waitress sick… need her back as soon as possible, hm?”
Your cheeks warmed, at the idea of mm, stew, and that Bob was being such a sweetheart. You thank him, as you take the stew into your hands (wonderfully warm… wonderfully fragrant…), dipping the spoon he’d so kindly offered you to taste.
“Fuck… this is so good!” you moan a little at the taste, “Burger isn’t the only thing you’re good at, huh?”
“It’s… anything with meat, really,” his eyes cast to the side, eyes giddy about… something. He takes off his coat, revealing more of his signature red sweater, putting it on a clothes hanger, and… you notice, as you slurp your soup, the snow starting to melt off it. You open your mouth to mention it, the winds howling out the window, but it’s Bob that talks first.
“I can make other stuff too, if you’d like…”
“Oh, would I!”
—————
Bob was happy to see the color flooding your cheeks again, (he always enjoyed watching blood rushing…) and you looked less miserable while he talked with you. You shivered less, too. Eventually you went quiet, and it took a while before he noticed that you’d fallen asleep, head on your pillow.
Eyes softening, he pulled a blanket over you. By the stars, he thought you looked cute. Your cheeks were slightly pink, even if your nose was redder. You were snoring very quietly that it sounded cute. He chuckles to himself, pulling the blanket up over you, tucking you in.
He wouldn’t have pegged himself for a guy who liked… soft things. Sure he… liked soft meat, but he also found out he liked soft bodies. Soft, warm bodies. Body.
This one.
He lets his hand reach for your cheek, running the back of his finger up and down your cheek. Such delicate skin… so warm. Perhaps that was a slight fever, but it felt nice to touch in the chill.
It’d be laughably easy to break it. … but he doesn’t let his claws scratch you up. And he doesn’t even think about the knives he has on his belt.
Never this one. He thinks to himself. This one’s mine.
He stands up, wondering to himself if he could just… settle into your bed and wrap himself around you, but thinks better of it. Let her rest. He should probably leave now.
… But.
The snow wasn’t letting up soon.
And his house was a bit far away.
And the chair looks mighty comfy, right about now.
He could leave, but then your door would be unlocked and the thoughts of someone else bad that could walk in here puts a bad taste on his tongue, like bad meat. And he definitely isn’t willing to wake up the sleeping little thing in front of him…
So to the chair he goes. It creaks under his weight, grunting as he settles into it. He closes his eyes for a moment, before opening one, to look at you again.
… Yeah. This was much nicer than having to go home alone, where there wasn’t any adorable little things to look at.
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snowangeldotmp3 · 1 year
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'to the market'
(hello again, this is from another prompt requested by @fishwear ! i challenged myself to do all three prompts, so here's another! sorry it took so long heh, but i hope you enjoy, and thanks again for the prompt!)
32. markets x ronance - they go antiquing. nancy is obsessed with trying to hunt down valuables. she’s got her little antique pocket guide in her hands furiously checking stamps on china sets. meanwhile robin is having the time of her life to track down the ugliest, kitsch trinket in the whole store so she can annoy (amuse) nancy by displaying it proudly in their living room.
Robin was not a stranger to the many multitudes of Nancy Wheeler. After everything, nothing really surprised her about Nancy. Priss and a massive nerd. Badass and made Robin get rid of the spiders. Gorgeous and a gunslinger.
Serious Antiquing Nancy Wheeler, though, was something Robin can safely say she never expected.
Though it was quickly becoming her favorite.
It was adorable, the way Nancy was so passionate about it. And Robin had to admit, it was kind of fun.
(Mostly because Robin enjoys finding the most radioactive item in the antique store, keeping her own record of whatever she finds—Nancy refuses to let her bring it home—but that’s not the important part.)
What is important, is that Robin can say without a doubt, that antique malls were Nancy Wheeler’s favorite place in the world.
And specifically, the antique mall that was closest to their apartment. They’d been all over Boston, but nothing came close to this one. It was enormous, and Robin often found it hard to keep up with Nancy, who always had an open edition of Picker’s Pocket Guide and meticulously searched through every antique tea cup she could find. Robin’s job was usually to either hold Nancy’s guidebook, or use the black-light flashlight to search for radioactivity.
Which is the case for today. Nancy’s got her eye on another antique tea set, one that she’s been hunting for months now, bound and determined to find the damn things if it’s the last thing she does.
The stalls have changed since the last time they’d been there, new antiques (which is Robin’s favorite oxymoron now) from countless vendors all trying to get rid of all their old junk. Everything from dolls (creepy with a capital C) to paintings, old comics, and small clocks that Robin knows without a doubt have radium painted on the dial.
She is thankful, too, that it’s at least warm inside. The cold in Boston decided to have an extra bite to it today, and Robin maintains that they should’ve stopped for hot cocoa.
Nancy’s got her guidebook opened to the page she needs, hair tied up in a messy bun, bag thrown over her shoulder, and, most surprisingly, her glasses perched on her nose. It’s adorable. Nancy’s face scrunches up in thought, tongue darting out as she frantically writes something down in her book. She looks like a librarian, turtleneck under her lavender Emerson sweater and long skirt with pockets (Nancy’s favorite). She’s even tied her hair up with a matching lavender scrunchie.
Believe it or not, this is Nancy’s most casual look. She rarely wears her glasses out, but desperate times and all.
(It’s Robin’s favorite look. She only ever sees her this relaxed at home, and Robin’s mentally kicking herself for not bringing her Polaroid to get a picture of Nancy like this, in her element. Maybe some other time.)
“So,” Robin says, walking a half step behind Nancy to the first stall, “what teacup are we looking for? Is it even a teacup? Or is it another saucer?”
Nancy rolls her eyes as they find the wall of fine china. She searches for something in her tote, pushing her glasses up as they slide down her nose. “It’s a teacup this time, Robbie, I promise.” Nancy fishes a pen out of her bag, and then hands the book and pen to Robin with a small smile. “Hold this while I check the stamps on these? Please?”
And well, Robin can’t tell her ‘no’ when she’s got that spark in her eyes and that small, almost shy, smile.
Robin hums, tapping Nancy’s pen against her chin. “Well, I guess… since you asked so nicely.”
Nancy’s grin widens, stepping closer to give Robin a quick peck on her cheek. “Thank you,” she singsongs.
Robins rolls her eyes fondly as her face reddens. “Yeah, yeah. Anything for you, Nance.”
***
She should’ve expected that they’d be here all day. After all, Nancy was on a mission, and if it’s one thing Robin’s learned about being with Nancy, once she’s on a mission, she’s practically unstoppable.
Nancy had, after about an hour, released Robin to look at whatever she wanted, while Nancy continued to look at near-identical teacups. Though, Robin would’ve gladly stood there for another hour or two while Nancy searched for this mysterious cup.
Robin strolls down the stretch of stalls that are behind glass. Glassware, all with a faint greenish tint. Bingo.
Robin grabs the black-light from her jacket pocket, flicking it on and pointing it to the various bowls and vases, beaming the moment the stall lights up like a Christmas tree.
She steps closer, face close to the glass, but not too close. All this uranium glass in one spot is enough to create a hotspot.
One item in particular glows brighter than the others; a small bedside clock, shining a specific shade of radium green and for a moment, she really wishes Dustin were here with his Geiger counter, just to see how radioactive it is.
If Robin had to guess, the answer would be: extremely, given how bright the green is compared to the others.
She takes a cautious step back, away from the radioactive hotspot, taking out her own small notebook and jotting down the antique clock in her version of Nancy’s pocket guide and writes: Clock, Westclox, Big Ben. Radium. January 1989. Extremely radioactive.
Putting her notebook, pencil, and flashlight back into her pocket, Robin continues her stroll around the giant antique mall.
And then she spots it.
Like a cartoon, the clouds disappear just enough; the sun shining down on it, revealing itself in a holy light.
A stuffed opossum, wearing tiny sunglasses, holding a guitar in his tiny opossum paws.
Robin strides over to it and snatches it up, racing back to Nancy.
Nancy bumps into her halfway, eyebrows raised at Robin’s excited demeanor.
“Oh, hey Nance,” Robin says, a little out of breath, “didn’t see you there.” She shifts from foot to foot unconsciously, holding the stuffed opossum behind her back.
Nancy folds her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing. “What do you have?”
Robin smiles. Nancy does not. Robin shows her the taxidermied opossum. “Nance, we have to take him home.”
“Absolutely not,” Nancy says, making a face. “Where would we even put him? The living room? The bedroom? I’m not sleeping in the same room as that.” She points at it, face twisted in disgust.
Robin pouts, if only a little, to make a point. “Please, Nance?” She begs, watching Nancy’s resolve crack, if only for a second. “I’ve already named him. Plus, I know the perfect spot for him! You won’t have to worry about him in our room, pinkie swear.”
Nancy’s face softens, another crack in her resolve, and Robin knows she’s won. Nancy huffs, pinching her the bridge of her nose. “Fine. But only if you help me look for this stupid cup again.”
“Deal,” Robin beams, “thank you, Nance,” she mimics Nancy’s singsong voice from earlier. She leans down, planting a kiss to Nancy’s cheek, reveling in the way pink dusts across her cheekbones.
“Yeah, yeah,” Nancy mutters, taking Robin’s free hand and intertwining it with her own. “Anything for you, Rob.”
***
“It’s perfect!”
“It’s hideous.”
Robin gasps, “He is not! He’s charming. He brings the room together!”
“I still can’t believe I let you bring that thing into our apartment.” Nancy wrinkles her nose, leaning further into Robin as they sit on the couch, sipping hot cocoa and taking in the marvel that is the guitar playing opossum in their living room.
“Believe it, babe. Besides, if not for me and Franklin here, you wouldn’t have found your precious cup.” Robin nods to the teacup, now preciously displayed on one of Nancy’s shelves, and crosses her arms, grinning smugly at Nancy,
Nancy rolls her eyes, lightly swatting Robin’s chest. “Shut up, Buckley.”
“Make me, Wheeler,” she teases, poking at Nancy’s shoulder. “I’d do it again, though. Help you get your special cups, it’s just so cute. I’ve seen you run a gaggle of newspaper nerds before, but I don’t know Nance, I think you could make it as a professional antique collector.” Robin pauses, considering, “Is that even a real thing? It could be. You could be the first.”
Nancy giggles into her cocoa. “I’m glad you say that, actually, Robbie, because there’s this one teacup that would match this one really well and I think—”
Robin groans, unable to think about fine china any more than she already has, but she meant what she said. She’d do it again. Just to see that brilliant look on Nancy’s face.
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beautifulpersonpeach · 5 months
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Between
the jimin cake thing and how solos have gone radio silent on it but moved the same mindless rhetoric to other dumb topics,
the things I've seen taemin stans tell themselves in the last day to cope, and
the things I've seen Army shooters say to justify their insane pettiness
I have to say you have my full respect Bpp for how you've predicted all these behaviors. {*or should I say reactions?}
You're the real fandom mvp. You make my stanning experience so much fun.
*
Ask 2:
The cake BPP
That DARNED CAKE. A friend turned into an akgae blocked me over the fucking cake said I hated Jimin. Me? Me??? Hate Jimin? Solos are too dumb. Today I wanted to find her blog to say wassup frien but i think she changed her blog name after becoming an akgae. I'm still SOOOOOOOO PISSED. Sorry for venting in your inbox BPP. I'm just SO MAD at how stupid that cake debate was. Blocking people over cake???
Sorry sorry sorry again. Just take this as my toxic quick ask. can we do toxic asks again pls? i want to vent somewhere to someone that gets it.
***
Hi Anon(s),
I'm not sure which of you (or maybe it's someone else entirely) who just sent me the 5(?) page/ask rant, but while I understand your frustration, just know there's no way in hell I'm posting that.
But, sure. We can have you vent for the next 70 ish minutes. I'm a bit sleep deprived and don't want to make these venting series too frequent, so I'm keeping it short. The energy here gets weird when some people get too comfortable.
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sadistmichael · 1 year
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it’s official: y’all are getting a fic tomorrow 💕
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solarisgod · 9 months
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tell us more about the connections between the starwake system and the phobia personifications of the sun and the moon 👀🤲
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* CW : ABUSIVE FOSTER AND ADOPTIVE FAMILIES, ADULT MURDERS AND ATTEMPTED CHILD MURDER, BODY HORROR, CHILD ABUSE, DEATH, HOLE PATTERN DESCRIPTION
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The Starwake System ( consisting of Micah, Mimi, Phoebus, Philos, and Phobos at the time ) met Heliophobia and Selenophobia when they were constantly moving between foster families between when they were a toddler to five years old in a half. Heliophobia and Selenophobia are the embodying Fears of the sun and the moon with their celestial lights that are part of the Afears race originated from the Void with Phobophobia, also known as The Fear Of The Fears, being their creator and overlord.
Heliophobia and Selenophobia are known to travel only where their respective lights exist. Heliophobia moves across the world in sunlight and Selenophobia in moonlight, and they usually target their victims who fear their existences, but given their consistent travelling nature, they will often wander and explore at various areas of where they are in curiosity. Although Heliophobia can be more aggressive than Selenophobia, both of them are the very few of the Afears that are not always hostile.
The first time Micah met Selenophobia first was at night when they were trying to run away from a foster family. Micah developed their most special passion for the outer space in early childhood, finding endless joy and comfort in the sky and space, with the sun and moon and stars and celestial more. When they stumbled upon Selenophobia who was at a park, even when seeing its tall, rough, and lanky body entirely covered in holes and there were strange red liquid substances always leaving from them, horns piercing through eye sockets and ribcage covering over an orb of water; Micah only saw it as the real moon and came closer to it, not once fearing it.
Micah couldn't talk when they were younger until they were over five years old, but they had shown and expressed a lot that would tell Selenophobia they weren't afraid of it; Micah wanted to be its friend. The pair even got to stargaze, which it was Micah's first time ever it got to stargaze with someone. When the foster family were able to locate Micah and tried to take them away from Selenophobia, it's when Micah became afraid, and Selenophobia was highly confused, wondering how could Micah fear what they were alike, yet not itself as something horrible and frightening.
But seeing Micah cry, petrified for the first time after an hour being with it, all because of the humans, led Selenophobia into slaughtering these people, protecting Micah. During this event, Phoebus had fronted and witnessed the murder. Although they weren't afraid of it either when they knew, after co-fronting throughout the time of Micah interacting with it, that Selenophobia wouldn't hurt them. Selenophobia, sensing that there are multiple presences in Micah's body, took Phoebus to their home and would look after them during nighttime. In the next few days, the authority took the system to a new foster family, never being able to find their missing family.
Selenophobia would always visit Micah then, with Micah looking forward to meet and interact with it. The first time they met Heliophobia was a week after meeting Selenophobia. Micah wandered too far on the beach and met Heliophobia who was hunting. Despite its burnt flesh, having tentacles in flames from back, and having a ball of fire within its ribcage; reminded of Selenophobia and thinking of Heliophobia as the sun itself, Micah tried to befriend it as well.
Heliophobia planned to make Micah afraid and eat its fear force before killing them, though Micah would encourage it to play with them, making sand castles and collecting rocks. Heliophobia had found something worth to look after Micah when they offered it some rocks to keep and give to Selenophobia if Heliophobia knew it and could give to it. Phoebus was a lot more weary with Heliophobia than Selenophobia due to its rougher nature, but when Heliophobia left Micah to continue hunting and gave them one only shiny rock it could find, Phoebus could accept it.
Throughout Micah's time of moving between foster families, Heliophobia and Selenophobia would be the ones to kill off their abusive / neglectful ones with Micah having no awareness to the murders. The authority and foster agencies still couldn't grasp why some of the families would suddenly vanish, and they couldn't interrogate Micah, so they eventually had no choice but to have to keep them in the group home before their abusive family took Micah. When this family tried to kill Micah and Phobos was formed, managing to murder them by burning the house down with the family trapped inside, Selenophobia was able to gather enough evidence of abuse towards the system and looked after Micah until the authority came over and took Micah to the foster agency to look after for a while.
Happiness wasn't the emotion the celestial Afears could have, but they were at some form of peace when they saw Micah was taken in by Maria and Caelum Everlove and they were genuinely happy for once in five in a half years. They couldn't interact with the system anymore when there were other Afears who were questioning their intentions with Micah and wished to kill them, so both Selenophobia and Heliophobia were forced to visit them less and occasionally watch them for a bit before leaving again.
In the present, Micah doesn't remember Heliophobia and Selenophobia, as Phoebus and Mimi have the most memories with them. Micah does get occasional dreams of them, and they don't really know why, but there's a feeling that tells Micah that they are real, and Micah hope that they can meet them someday, still not being afraid of what can somehow feel like home.
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vermillioncrown · 2 years
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I just discovered your KnB SI!Kagami fic and I adore it. Thank you for bringing it to life!
I don't know if this question has been asked before so my bad, but do you have plans on ships in that fic, romantic or platonic? (If not then that's also perfectly fine, ball is life after all.)
x, x, x i think those are the closest/most relevant discussions?
no big plans. but so many things are open
we already have the two big platonic relationships declared in the tags ✌
and i do have "undisclosed relationship(s)" for a reason - with the menagerie of characters in knb, it's too easy to overtag and i don't want to do that. waiting to see how things shape up, if it becomes relevant to tag
*edit: i immediately jumped to answer your question, and forgot to say thank you for reading and your compliments 🙏
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gummybugg · 10 months
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(Penpal letter to Morgana, from Lizzy) Hey Hey! How's it going? My name's Lizzy! I wanted to try and make new friends, so I thought I'd send a stranger a letter. Hope this is okay, and hope your day is going great! Let's see, a little about me... My passions are animals, photography, and good music. I'm a wildlife biologist currently working to help sustain our ecosystems. (I'll try not to bore you with work stuff though.) I try not to pick favorites, but my fav animal would probably be the bobcat. I also have a ferret at home. He's so cute, his name is Muffin! Heard you are/were in college? What were you studying? I always encourage people to keep going as much as they can and try their best. Even if you don't use it, a degree looks good to employers. There's always tons of tutors and stuff too! (I know history, geography, and stuff was never my strong suit.) Can't wait to hear back! - Lizzy C.
Hello Lizzy,
I'm not quite sure how you got my address, and frankly, I don't really think I'd want to know. You seem to have good intentions, so I suppose it wouldn't hurt to respond. Besides, I'm lonely, and I don't think I've spoken to another (living) person in a while, and it'd be nice to have a pen pal of sorts.
I suppose I should introduce myself. As you know, I'm Morgana (I promise it's a very masculine name where I'm from), and my favorite activities are journaling, collecting vinyls, writing messages in bottles, and people watching. We seem to share an interest in photography, which I find very curious. I like to take pictures of places after dark or places that illicit nostalgia, how about you? Also, what are some of your favorite bands? I like Weezer, the Wallows, the Ramones, and The Rolling Stones.
I love rodents and ferrets! In fact, I have a few....pet mice. They're named Juniper, Addison, and Vinnie. I really enjoy their company even though they are a bit irritating at times and don't always understand what personal space is. I can feel them looming over my shoulder, giggling, as I write this...
I'm not sure how you know I was a dropout, and it's not something I'm proud of, but I used to major in journalism--no surprise there. Things just got to be too much, and I let my solitude get the best of me. I do envy those who get to have the "college experience" because it's something I know I was never cut out to have....but I digress.
I suppose a break from school will do. Fuck tuition costs, fuck scholarships, I'm going back when I'm ready. And when I have a better hold on my life. Don't tell my parents I'm still not in college because they don't even have a clue where I am right now. I'm sure they already got a search party going after me, but they're going to find out soon enough that I mean what I say: I will not let them back into my life again.
I apologize for the rant since we don't even know each other that well. But I do sincerely hope to hear from you soon.
Signed,
Morgana
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hyperfixated-homo · 1 year
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Different worlds only buildings apart
Chapter 5 - The Scraping
Storms lead to sunny skies while the world wakes up. Six people start six stories, as different as can be. Or at least, it all seems so different. In reality, the world is much smaller than they might think, and what’s the difference between a horror story and a romantic comedy but a change in perspective?
Ao3 link
Chapter summary: What was on the other side of that door?
Warnings: Mentions of death, murder, murderers, uhhh dissociation?? possibly?? Tell me if I missed anything I'm sure I did
Word count: 952
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There was a noise from the other side of a heavy wooden door, like something was scratching against it. In the eerily quiet atmosphere, the only thing that could be heard is breathing and the low, repetitive scratching. 
A man sat in the room that the door led to, still and silent. His head tilted back and his eyes were closed. It would have looked like he was sleeping, if you could look close enough at him to see that he was breathing. From too far away, he looked ghostly. Dead. He was sitting there, waiting. Waiting for what? Well, he didn’t quite know himself. Inspiration maybe. 
That was the reason he was here in the first place, alone in an abandoned house miles away from any actual civilization. Inspiration. He was waiting for something interesting to happen, for something - or maybe someone - to leap out of the shadows and take him by surprise. 
A single, lonely lightbulb lit the otherwise dark room as he sat there. There was nothing, nothing but the man and the darkness and the faint scratching noise on the other side of the door. 
He wondered, briefly, if this was worth the effort. Worth the time. Worth the money he spent on gas for his car, the fifty bucks for the motel room, all of it just so that he could be in this strange place in the middle of nowhere. He hadn’t done anything today, not really. He was just sat in the room. Quiet. Waiting. 
The man slowly raised his head as he heard the sound again outside the door. A slight scraping sound that was just a bit too loud to ignore. Could have been a small animal, he thought. It probably was. But not a rat, or any other small vermin. No, it wasn’t quite quiet enough to be that. 
Could he write about that scratch?
It seemed to scratch an itch in his brain. Gave him some stimulation other than the loneliness he felt at the time. It was the kind of noise that made him want to jump out of his seat and do something crazy…like tear off his skin. Maybe he would write about that. The urge to tear off his skin. He wondered if it were possible to do so. Probably not, not without some sort of weapon. 
Maybe the sound was caused by just that. A weapon. A knife or even something like a screwdriver. Maybe there was a murderer out there, using the knife to pick at the walls like they would later pick at his skull.
Maybe they’d already done it. Maybe he was dead already, killed by that scratchy scraping noise and he was reliving the moment. Over and over and over again for the rest of eternity. It didn't feel too different from being alive though. No, when he floated like this, with nothing to ground him in reality except the single lonely light and that loudly quiet scratching, being alive felt exactly like being dead. 
He could write about that feeling. The feeling of floating. The feeling of nothing. Nothing except the dark and the light and the scratching. Maybe he could write about this little room in an abandoned house miles away from any civilization. 
It was on the door, he realized now. Not beside or behind, the scratching came from the door itself. Like something was clawing it’s way through the wood, like the murderer was coming to torture him to death and eat his heart afterwards for supper. Maybe they were. Maybe this was how it ended. Maybe this was death. 
The man opened his eyes. The light was still shining, cold and lonely in the otherwise dark room. He stood up, not that he felt it. He didn’t really feel anything. He didn’t recognise the chill in his bones, or the feeling of his limbs moving. He stood and looked around the small room and realized that he was all alone. The scratching had stopped. Maybe it had disappeared. Maybe it had never existed in the first place. Maybe he was insane. 
He walked towards the heavy wooden door. He moved his fingers towards it, almost unconsciously, and then stopped himself. 
Why open the door? Why leave this place? Why should he go, when he had spent so much effort and time? What was the point of all the money he spent on gas for his car, the fifty bucks he spent on a motel?
Maybe it was for inspiration. Maybe it was for the experience. Maybe it was for the murderer who was waiting outside the door, waiting with a knife or a screwdriver. 
Maybe there was no reason. Maybe he didn’t come here for the inspiration at all, but for the quiet, the darkness, the nothingness. 
Maybe he came here for the scratching. For the noise that might not even exist. 
Maybe he should stop trying to make this something profound and just open the door. 
He reached his hand to the wood and pushed it open. It made a creaking sound as it swung on its hinges and there was the sound of silence immediately afterwards. 
There was darkness. Darkness lit only by two pinpricks of red light, coming from the face of the man made of nothing. His figure stood motionless and silent as he turned to look around the hallway and at the space outside the door, his frame lit only by a single, lonely light.
And he smiled. Eerie and silent, alone in an abandoned house, hours away from any civilization. 
Remus turned off the light, in his little lonely room, and he left. 
A knife stayed embedded in a thick wooden door.
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ideal scenario is that i like thinking about this like, essential short story adventure where winston and tuk hook up w/a couple [that bachelorette party] members, and as a foursome/quartet because they have these parallel stories of two pairs of friends who are like "sure i'd have sex with you if things aligned for that" and now are living that short story about expanding a dynamic & becoming closer friends for the end of it (of course billions only wrote winston as standing next to tuk next episode, instead of rian as he's often written to be standing with incl in a previous finale, to shove him out of the path of getting material and let taylor have confusing nonresolution w/rian based on this proximity and coincidence instead. but who can't say that that, And winston next not even trying to sit with tmc in the last finale appearance which at this point is probably for the best and instead again hanging out with tuk and then ben, isn't about having been closer for whatever all happened there in obtaining casual sex together)
and they can have perpendicular stories of also just having some nice chats and enjoying other interactions together such that maybe it's just fun for this one night of crossing paths, maybe anyone stays in touch at all, who even knows, if winston or tuk are dating anyone it's probably only going to come up again in how they were last dumped for being too much effort for how unepic they are, so godspeed to offscreen unmentioned dating. but just friendly acquaintanceship, or again this one-time spontaneously crossed paths night's acquaintanceship, is also a lot of fun. and why not imagine that winston "he's not allowed to not feel self-loathing or, by doing basic things like talking or initiating Or oppositng anything, Not operating as though he's too low in a social hierarchy here to be allowed thusly" type of material where his spontaneity, vivacity to bon vivantocity, self-assurance that is apparently arrogance/aggression to every who thinks he ought to be self-effacing instead, etc, is actually just a social success in other less wretched non-work situations, and his personality is taken as a contribution to the proceedings even before anyone takes up his proffered contribution of himself as a potential sexual partner. and lending confidence to tuk as like one person who won't, at any given time, go into hostile mode with him or even like take up the position of issuing this criticism, which is an inherently elevated (over tuk) one when it's a unilateral thing. such that tuk's personality can be a potential contribution as well. and winston and tuk's Friendship Developing Moments can be happening then, too, b/c Maybe they've hung out outside work on their own aleady, but also maybe they've never really been interacting with a larger group outside work, such that that group is less likely to include some people, or entirely people, who will suddenly go sicko mode on either or both of them. and then meanwhile, who knows anything abt this bachelorette party, could be already a cohesive friend group who all see each other all the time, or people who see each other more infrequently meeting up on this trip, or a mix; could be fun and chill or something so scheduled/demanding it's kind of like a work trip, or fluctuate....and of course zero info abt the individuals such that imagining anything abt them is entire OC territory, and i'm bad at that, or at coming up with stories, so not exactly a lot of details here from me but godspeed if two of them unlock another tier of friendship here b/c like parallel to winston and tuk, they're like hmm okay so we're mutually down re: potentially having a foursome here, and spending some time away from the larger group
(or of course the scenario that tuk and winston can also have that moment but just as putting "and/or: a threesome?" as an option, and that tips the scales for someone who might've otherwise felt more indecisive like "hmmmm casual convenient hookup, or spending more time out & about like this / whatever other activity...." but then is like oho Well, if it's a threesome, i'll seize that opportunity, sure....such that then maybe afterwards [winston and tuk hanging out together] happens sooner, if the third member feels more third wheel about things lol, since now they'd be the only two who already know each other. like ooh who knows, round n+1 in the aftermath just one on one (and/or i mean, maybe another thing the third party's still around for, re: further casual sex opportunities that don't just fall into your lap every day), and/or talk, watch tron together, go back out on the town even. where the conclusion of this truly is the essence of "it Is easy to imagine that winston and tuk are real Genuine Friends for the implicit further offscreen time spent together outside work / interactions between them here. and fun" and with that flair of "and give that a juxtaposed parallel in it being the same for a couple bachelorette attendees, why not, good for them"
#winston billions#not even overt winstuk ideas. at least not in the sense that this or other ideas i have in that realm would necessarily be distinct from#the realm of ideas abt their being actual regular friends. even when it's like ''ooh & what if they kissed'' ideas.#it's [aroace] it's [relationship anarchy] it's [for the most part if i use ''romance/romantic'' as a term it's a shorthand for convenience]#not the most interesting dynamic i'm working towards here. like even w/the world of [many Tayston ideas that involve their both extensively#navigating this world of What Are We] most fun ideas aren't that they Just want to say ''i love you(tm)'' especially not wherein that in#turn is supposed to be a shorthand for Romance; Huh? that itself elides everything else w/more Meaning that can be discussed or organically#figured out by further navigation when what's more honestly going on is that they want more options in how they interact w/each other#which is included in fun ideas that they do enjoy & go ''jk unless??'' when ppl assume they Are dating / together romantically(tm) lol....#all that to really take a long tangential way around to ''and i don't even think much abt what billions canon could offer re tuk & winston#being friends beyond further very occasional very isolated very peripheral glances outside of knowing a) it'll be a joke on both of them#and/or b) it'll be a joke on just winston; in that tuk is the one who must Transcend this genuine friendship'' and i certainly don't expect#much in general given that i'm not even presuming winston's not written out early in season 7 or anything#to even write some nebulous Positive Enough / Genuine Enough riawin dynamic material for my tayriawin wip sure is essentially equivalent w/#writing this What If Their Friendship Was Positive/Genuine Enough. and tbh taking it back to pre 5x08 rian of the short hair & busy desk#when there was still that potential re being a character b/c whoops weren't yet cast into being taylor's mirror & only plot Device vs Drive#great times out here. could get actual character material if she's actually criticized vs w/e taylor says abt her is [their mood ring]#evidently hypocritical in how she treats winston; which is to say: uses him; most often by bullying him; & seems to have interacted w/his#ever indeed having a crush on her by consciously taking advantage of that for....only more bullying. so based on That canon precedence it's#like....considerations of how they could interact now that might be more romance(tm) proximate are. certainly not Good lol.#the one true This Could Be Good And Enjoyable billions canon has proven to yield: Put It All On Taylip Baby. As Personal All/Anythings 🙏🙏#hilariously similar Seeming premise w/riawin like wow they're rivals when feeling petty but can & want to work together. they're peers.#they're foily. they're offbeat enough. they're a duo of somethings. they're Aware of the language & the rules & the behaviors. they're#crucially unusually cooperative in general but esp. with each other....and yet. apparently At All Costs winston must be a joke and rian mus#be correct; other characters insisting on thusly so much that there's no indication the writers are even aware of any other possibilities#when perhaps core themes of analyzing perceived intrinsic vs extrinsic incongruity fails to apply this to Autistic Ppl Are Real....shrugh!#i have no idea if the fact rian has no clue she also ever uses people to her benefit & will keep at it b/c she can get away with it is also#aligned thusly like. writers think pwning winston is A Neutral; Unquestionably Correct simple fact of human interactions/relations.#still nonzero suspicion that [no; rian isn't meant to simply be correct] but if you write him off / nobody's said shit to her except for#winston himself (ignored by characters & potentially viewers) or even blinked; as has been the case so far....then where are we exactly.
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farceargon · 1 year
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The Harbinger’s Slaughter
Yeah I love my Namekian Oc (Harper :]), so what! Here’s a 1-shot I wrote for him a while ago that I’ve actually decided to share. Hiiiii followers! Set from the perspective of a Namekian warrior, part of a hunting party, who wrote this like a diary entry.
(Warning: There’s violence, hence the name. Quite brutal murder. Read at your own risk if you don’t like the gritty.)
~ It was like a whirlwind of fire, of stones and flame... That unlike any of us had ever seen before. Such a rage and anguish... I feel a shiver run down my back when I remember seeing those eyes glaring into my very being. Just a simple mission. Find the omen, the Harbinger, destroy him. For years we had suffered from his ill will, stagnant water and dying plant-life. Finally after all of the failed former attempts this would be it, the strongest of our village left to find it and remove the source for good. All that we found was death. The Harbinger was standing before us, on a cliff face raised up so that he could look down upon what would be our feeble hunting party. We thought we stood a chance, the first of us launched the attack. They were supposed to be fast, some of the quickest and able to land impressive amounts of blows with little to no difficulty whatsoever... But as they drew closer it was then that we realized something was off. After all this time, years and years and years... He had grown stronger than we could have ever imagined. Just like that the attack stopped, the four who'd launched towards him froze in place as if time itself had cut off. I knew it hadn't, I could feel my heartbeat. Somehow, in some terrible way, the Harbinger had taken hold of my people's very bodies and held them in the open. Raising hands on either side of him, he removed four of the orbs from around his neck and let them hover over his hands. It was then that we discovered it was nothing but simple telekinesis and that those... Those were dragonballs. We were all capable of telekinesis to some degree, Namekians are adept at manipulating objects in this way if we train hard enough. However, none of us had ever seen it as strong as this. Before our very eyes he raised his weapons up, then threw his arms down. We all listened, screamed, recoiled, as the sickened, purple dragonballs slammed into our family’s heads with such force that their skulls caved in with little effort at all... As if removing a life were as simple as that, barely batting an eye. - From there I don't remember much. My friends, my family, were slaughtered. We fought as best we could but we were no match for the enemy's relentless, merciless ferocity. The Harbinger was truly his namesake, nothing but death followed in his wake across the battlefield. It didn't matter how many of us there were, within minutes half of the forces were diminished, then another third... Until it was nothing but me and a brother. I am, unfortunately, the only survivor. Staring me dead in the eyes, with those horrible demonic ones of his own. Gripping the last of my family around the neck with enough strength that his sharpened claws drew blood. The Harbinger felt like he should’ve been smirking as he suddenly tore his hand away, ripping his claws across green skin. A scream, a rush of red. Just like that it was over. Surely, I thought, I would be next. But as if to mock me, to make his point, the black Namekian turned around and let the body fall lifeless to the ground. A single huff, as his shoulders jerked in his pent up loathing, a jet of pure red flame was forced from his nose, like a strange, alien bull with flamethrowers for breath. "He begged for mercy, did you hear?" He said to me in a voice deeper than anything I’d ever heard, his pitch like the dying embers scattered across the battlefield. There was an even calmness to his voice that felt like it should have been comforting, but at the back of his throat he almost seemed to growl like the very monster the elders made him out to be. He sounded… Amused. Amused by the idea that he’d been begged to spare a life. "That you would beg for mercy after casting me out and hunting me down like a rabid beast..." The Harbinger seemed to resist scoffing. "W-We are taught that we can only be better than the people that surround us-" I stammered, a pathetic attempt at snapping sense into this monstrosity, but I was cut off. "Then it's a good thing that I am no better than the rest of you.” I said nothing. The Namekian ahead of me waited in silence for a response. When nothing left my mouth he snorted, entertained, then despite all odds… Turned and left. I was in shock, expectedly traumatized, surrounded by the bodies of my formerly living family. I returned home, alone. The village mourned for weeks. Now, I can recall nothing but the horror from that very moment. The pain of losing my family… Of hearing their cries echoing in my ears… Yet despite it all... I swore, somewhere behind those demonic, crimson eyes of the Harbinger I saw a loss greater than my own. ~ CONGRATS IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR! I hope that it was worth the read at least... Can you tell I love him?
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emeraldcreeper · 2 years
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I forgot how much joy writing can fit in it, I’ve written 4000 words about pirates catching up after betrayal/abandonment issues and I’m still not done writing it yet
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whysamwhy123 · 1 month
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Fic word search - "wish"!
Thank you, Katy!! Unfortunately, this word has unlocked snippets from some of my messiest, most problematic WIPs! (Along with one not-so-problematic one, at least) Abandon all hope ye who enter!
1)
Weirdly, Hook’s the one to break the silence. ‘’I wish I was there.’’
‘’I thought you didn’t like England?’’ Orange asks.
Hook makes a face. ‘’Got nothing against the place. I just hate the food.’’ He squints. ‘’It’s like everybody there has a personal vendetta against seasoning. And they all swore a vow to just boil everything, and that’s it.’’
Orange gives a little huff of laughter. ‘’It’s not all bad. Had me some fish and chips today. Classic.’’
Hook’s squinting intensifies. ‘’You mean fries? They don’t know what real chips are over there.’’
(As a Brit, that last line was physically painful to write)
2)
As he lies here, trapped underneath a two-hundred pound, high-as-a-kite, drunk-as-a-skunk manchild, Orange wishes he could tell those guys the truth and completely shatter that illusion. He never would, of course - their relationship is private and he’s sure Hook would be mortified if he told anyone about this - but he really feels like they should know the truth. The reality of dating someone that much younger than you isn’t anything like the pornographic image in their heads.
He’s snapped out of his thoughts when he realises that the soundtrack to his misery - Hook’s incessant giggling - has suddenly stopped. That feels like a bad sign.
(Yeah, Hook is high as heaven for most of this fic and it amplifies his Little Shit tendencies to staggering levels)
3)
He tuned her out after that. He felt sick. Part of him wanted to scream at her and kick her out, but he didn’t want to seem like an asshole. God forbid.
He spent the next several minutes desperately wishing he could come up with a polite way to ask her to stop touching him.
Orange opens his eyes once again, but the grimace is still there. He cautiously looks Hook in the eye. ‘’Are…the two of you…together?’’
(Uh oh, I sure hope Hook didn't do something baaaaaaaad in this fic... 🙂🙂🙂)
4)
Daniel gave a half-hearted little shrug. ‘’If you wanted to read, you could have stayed in your hotel room. But you’re out here, in the middle of the night, all alone. Kinda seems like you’re waiting for someone.’’ Like me, for instance, Daniel thought. He pictured Julia, lovesick as a teenager, planning this whole scenario out specifically so he’d find her like this and approach her. Wishful thinking? Maybe. But it’s possible, right? He’s had girls go to some pretty crazy lengths to get with him in the past. Julia’s doesn’t seem the type, but you never know.
(Hmmm, I wonder what this could be leading to? I'm sure nothing bad will happen to Daniel in this fic. Nope, nothing bad at all, nothing but good times and posi vibes for all! 🙂🙂🙂)
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slttygeto · 5 months
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SO, YOU GOT A BOYFRIEND? | GETO S.
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synopsis: when watching a certain scary movie gives your husband, suguru, the perfect idea on how to ruin you.
c.w: p0rn with plot, fem!reader, reader is referred to as “good girl” “pretty girl”, mask kink (hehe<3), slight fear play, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, suguru talks you through it, praise kink, strength kink if you squint, im obsessed with suguru's arms, clit smack, multiple orgasms.
word count: 2,1k
note: i am BRICKED after writing this. happy halloween hehe.
ghostface suguru! ( @aurelianamu )
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In a dimly lit room, at around 10PM—it was a bit cold outside, the perfect weather to snuggle up and watch some movies. Romance movies? No, you did that last week. Action movie? Eh, you were not in the mood for that—oh, Scream. Your thumb presses on the movie before you put the remote control down and walk towards the kitchen to grab some snacks.
“Sugu, I picked a movie!” you announce as you make your way out of the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn and two drinks. Your husband marches down the stairs in a lazy manner, his long strands messily sticking out of his ponytail that he has to stop and tie it up again. He sees what movie you picked and he stands behind you on the couch.
“Scream?” he questions, hands resting on your shoulders.
“First movie, pretty iconic.”
“I don’t think it’s that scary though,” he doesn’t really say that he would rather watch something else, simply joins you on the couch and pulls you towards him with the bowl of popcorn resting on your lap.
The movie is indeed not that scary, you kept quoting some of the lines here and there, which earned you a chuckle from Suguru every time.
“No, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface I wanna be in the sequel,” you say in the same voice and attitude and your husband runs a hand through your hair.
“I think you’d easily outsmart him,” your husband is very supportive of you, but instead of making fun of his statement, your heart thrums in your chest when you picture Suguru in the ghostface mask.
“Really?” you look up at him through your eyelashes but Suguru is staring ahead and doesn’t notice the eyes you’re giving him.
“Yeah, they’re all pretty stupid—minus Sidney, I mean the fact that—“ your husband goes on a three minute ramble about the plot, how he appreciates the intelligence of the main character all while saying that the choice of the ghostface killers was nice. Unbeknownst to him, you were thinking of something else. Something far dirtier than intended.
“Baby,” you cut him off from his ramble and he hums in response.
“You’d be pretty hot as ghostface.” Suguru looks down on you when you say that and raises both eyebrows knowingly.
“Are you insinuating something?” To which you shrug your shoulders before staring back at the big screen in your living room, playing innocent.
“Just saying.”
You weren’t just saying, you knew exactly what you were doing. The next day, you’re sat on your bed folding laundry while watching the newest episode to your favorite podcast. You liked keeping your brain stimulated, and it distracted you from the fact that your husband was always gone for long hours during the day. But when you hear the keys rustling and the front door opening, you raise an eyebrow but don’t question it. Today’s mission must’ve been quick, you think to yourself.
“Welcome home!” you call out from your bedroom but don’t bother to get up, you knew he would come to your bedroom immediately so you keep your eyes on your computer and go back to folding the laundry.
A couple of minutes pass and Suguru doesn’t walk inside the bedroom, so you start getting a little suspicious and decide to go check on him.
“Sugu?” you walk out of the bedroom and notice how the lights downstairs are turned off. You remember leaving them on for him, so he must’ve turned them off on his way upstairs—but where was he?
“Baby, are you in the shower?” the lights in the bathroom were on but the door was closed. Suguru never walked to the bathroom first without greeting you—unless something was wrong. You put your hand on the door handle, but before you could twist the knob, a warm and rough hand covers your mouth and your blood runs cold when you’re being pulled into a different room.
You don’t have time to scream or panic, because when you’re being pinned to the wall by a rather familiar set of hands, your eyes almost bulge out of your skull when you notice the ghostface mask. You’re breathing heavily, cheeks flushed but there’s no sign of panic because you know who this is—the dragon tattoo peeking out of his shirt and the wedding band on his ring finger are enough evidence.
“Do you like scary movies?” Suguru’s voice sounds silky smooth, but the flirting connotation to it has your heart leaping out of your chest.
“Sugu—“
“Wrong,” he pins both hands above your head and his body is so close to yours that you feel the heat radiating off of it. “Let’s try again, I know my girl is smart.”
Your breath is caught in your throat, but you play along and nod sheepishly.
“Do you like scary movies?”
“Mhm,”
“What’s your favorite scary movie?” He traces a finger over your cheek, and the arousal slowly starts pooling between your legs.
“Hm, I don’t know,” you reply in a similar flirtatious tone, nervousness long gone. The realization that you didn’t have to explicitly tell your husband about the ghostface mask and him buying it for your pleasure made all of this very thrilling.
“You have to have a favorite, what comes to mind?”
“Hm, Halloween,” you stick to the same script of the movie, you buck your hips towards him but he pushes a knee between your legs and pins you again to the wall. “Y’know, the one with the guy with the white mask that walks around and stalks baby sitters?”
“Yeah,” Suguru breathes out and takes in how gorgeous you look like this—how he should’ve thought of doing this a long time ago. Your eyes were blown out with lust, chest heaving in excitement all while allowing him to play with you like this. He could feel his pants tighten and his cock was slowly getting hard from knowing exactly what was coming.
“What’s yours?” you bring him out of his thoughts and although you can’t see his face, you know that he was giving you that signature charming smile that always won over your heart.
“Guess.” He purrs out and you subconsciously start grinding against his knee before giving him a reply.
“Nightmare on Elm Street,”
“Wrong,” Suguru goes off script and your lips part for a moment. You’re about to complain, tell him that this wasn’t in the movie—he lets go of your wrists and throws you over his shoulder, delivering a harsh smack to your ass, his rough hand kneads the skin as he makes his way towards your bedroom.
“Better luck next time,” he throws you on the bed and you let out a gasp when your back hits the mattress. You try to sit up, but your husband grabs your ankles and pulls you down towards the end of the bed. “Now let’s see just how fucking filthy you are,”
He parts your legs with his big hands covering the plush skin of your thighs, and you whine out when he removes your shorts to reveal your panties that had an obvious wet patch on them.
“Fuuuck,” he breathes out and lifts up the mask enough for his mouth and nose to be visible. He presses his nose against your panties and takes a whiff of your arousal, the sight is obscene and your face turns red at how pussy drunk he sounds. “Fuck, fuck—should’ve done this sooner baby, you smell so fucking good,” he gives your pussy a kiss through the fabric of your panties before his fingers remove them so messily that you let out a startled noise.
Suguru dives in between your legs and the wet sounds are dirty and make you feel even more turned on. His tongue laps at your clit, fingers pulling the hood back before spitting on it and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he sucks. Two of his thick fingers prod at your entrance, gathering some of the slick that’s pooled there before pushing a single finger inside.
“Thaaaat’s it, good girl,” he breathes out against your clit before giving it a kiss as he pushes the second finger inside. “Yeah, this pussy loves being stuffed by me—fuck, you’re so wet for me. All because of this mask baby girl?” his tone is playful but you’re far too gone to complain and just mindlessly nod.
“So drunk off of me and I haven’t even given you my cock,” he pumps his fingers in and out of you all while curling them to find that one spot inside you. He licks, sucks and spits on your clit with so much passion and when he finds that one spot, you let him know pretty quickly.
“Oh!” you gasp and your thighs shake. “S-Suguru, oh fuck--!” his wrist is burning as he keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you, and the veins in his forearm are bulging out from the sheer strength he is using to finger fuck you until you see white. His free hand comes down and presses against your stomach to apply pressure and keep you pinned down.
You make the mistake of opening your eyes to stare at him. His hand is covered in your arousal, but what truly pushes you over the edge is the fact that his mask had come down and was covering his face entirely. So when he decides to talk you through it, give you that one final push—the ghostface mask seems to intensify the orgasm tenfold.
“I know you’re a good girl, but I’m gonna need you to get dirty for me baby—there it is, theeere it is,” he sounds proud when you finally cum, and you’re loud. You whine and let out soft cries, your hands weakly push at his arm when he keeps fingering you through your orgasm.
“Suguru—too much!” you cry out and gasp when he pulls his fingers out of your soaking pussy to slap your clit.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he quickly starts to unbuckle his belt and pushes his pants enough to free his cock. The tip nudges at your folds and your husband hovers over you with his lean stature. Big broad shoulders cover your entire frame and you’re fucked out from your previous orgasm.
“I’m going in baby, let me in,” your legs spread instinctively to welcome him inside of you and you groan when you feel the sheer size of him inside you. Your hands grip at the back of his shirt, but Suguru holds himself up on his forearms so that you look at his mask.
“Yeah, that’s right—look at me baby, filthy fucking girl,” his strokes were slow but hard. His hands grab at the back of your thighs and push them before fucking into you harder. “You like it, huh?” you couldn’t even give a proper response, only mindlessly nodding when you could feel him even deeper inside you.
He pushes your knees to your chest before setting a dizzying pace. You feel so full of him, so full of his thick cock and Suguru’s eyes roll to the back of his head behind his mask every time he felt your pussy squeeze around him. His finger rubs at your clit the same way that you’ve shown him you like it, and the tip of his cock repeatedly nudges against that one spot that has you falling apart underneath him with a loud cry.
Your orgasm hits you hard and Suguru can’t hold it in any longer—he fucks into you for another minute, head buried in your neck as he groans out your name. Your pussy milks him dry, and he fills you up to the brim—to the point where you could feel him leak out of you.
You lay there breathing heavily, and you weakly reach for the ghostface mask and remove it off of your husband to reveal his sweaty forehead and flushed cheeks. He looks gorgeous like that, and you lock eyes for the first time since the entire night and you’re immediately pulled in towards one another.
Suguru kisses you with so much passion, dick still buried deep inside you and your legs stay wrapped around him as you two make out heavily under your sheets that stuck to your sweaty bodies. You pull away for a moment to kiss his forehead and Suguru closes his eyes as he melts at your touch.
“Thank you for that,” you say, so love struck that the man can’t help but chuckle at how breathless you sound.
“Let’s do it again, yeah?”
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homunculus-argument · 9 months
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One of the most fun character concepts that I've had that I've never been able to fit into anything is The Most Appropriate Socialite Lady. Nobody dislikes her, but she is, indeed, very Appropriate, always seeming to do everything precisely to social etiquette, even according to social rules that nobody else knew were a thing. If there is a protocol to how to behave or respond in any given situation, no matter how obscure or how long ago it was that this was written down in some Refined Society Etiquette Book, she'll know it. So she is a bit old-fashioned sometimes, but not in a regressive way.
Every time there's a situation where nobody actually knows what the right way to respond would be, they quietly glance at her, because either she knows exactly how to handle this, or if the situation truly is without precedent, her educated guess of what should be done must be the right one. Someone might even write it down for a future etiquette book, of how This Most Polite Well-Mannered Lady responded to this awkward situation.
She doesn't judge people, and is never rude about people breaking Good Manner Rules on purpose (as pointing out someone doing so would be impolite), but the way she seems genuinely surprised and confused whenever someone breaks the protocol that nobody else might even been aware of makes people feel self-conscious or awkward sometimes. And she politely pretends to not notice that. She is very kind, very sweet, but also extremely Appropriate.
So even if this isn't a Victorian style gentlemanly "fine ladies are fragile and must be sheltered from the world"-style society by default, people still feel the need to behave well and be on their best formal behaviour around her, not out of fear of judgement but because she genuinely is that way and nobody wants to upset her. And if someone who doesn't give a shit about protocols upsets her on purpose by deliberately doing something that's fucking rude, they'll be discreetly moved to a different location before getting the shit beat out of them because fuck you for upsetting her.
The thing is, she's actually just autistic as hell. She originally started reading up on social etiquette as a way of masking, but it became a special interest for her, and she isn't just thrilled to teach you how to properly fold a napkin to help you better fit in to the Refined Society, but because she fucking loves infodumping. She's not trying to set herself apart, gatekeep, judge others or show off how she's better than you (like many others of her background would), she just genuinely enjoys having explicitly and clearly written rules and instructions on how to behave in society.
Also the tactful and graceful way in which she doesn't pay notice to veiled insults, or people accidentally saying something insulting to her, isn't always an act. A lot of the time she genuinely just does not notice.
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