#trapped and I want to get to experience joy like other parts

[xxangelwingsxx]

I'M TIRED OF BEING ANGRY ALL THE TIME

[honeydjarin]

BRING ME THE SUN

OPLA SANJI X READER

You often find yourself in the galley, seeking the company of your favorite chef. Even when your half asleep, Sanji can’t bring himself to turn you away.

genre: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 1,500

a/n: how often can I write about sleeping? It’s what I long for most of all. I wasn’t expecting to fall in love with opla!sanji, but now I can't stop thinking about him!

PART II: (I’LL GIVE YOU THE MOON)

Your feet carry you over salt-soaked wood, up creaking stairs bordered by sun-warmed railings, before settling in front of the closed door to the galley. You hesitate for only a moment. The evening sun glares off the porthole window and prevents you from peeking into the room beyond, but you know the man you seek is in there. Sanji is almost always in the kitchen now that he has the freedom to experiment with new recipes as he pleases. 

When you first enter the galley, it’s with the intention of keeping the Going Merry’s chef company. Sanji’s easy going nature is addicting. Friendly and flirtatious conversations with him always leave you glowing golden—brighter than the sun. His comfort as he works in the kitchen, his joy for what he does, is contagious. Oftentimes, you find yourself at the door to the galley, having had no plan to walk there. You seek out his company whenever you’re given the chance, consciously or not. 

You hadn’t meant to develop such a large crush on the chef. He wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a crewmate. A friend. You had been wary of the flirt when he joined the Straw Hats. His first impression left you with his self confidence and charm but no glimpse of his care for friends and strangers alike. You never could have expected how easily the newest member would wiggle his way into your heart. 

You take a breath, then step into the room hidden behind the door. 

Sanji is exactly where you expect him to be, flitting around the kitchen as he begins preparations for dinner. When he hears the door open, he turns your way, a smile pulling at his lips as soon as he sees it’s you.

“Hello, darling. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but he slows, keeping his gaze on you. “Are you hungry?”  

“Not yet. I just wanted to keep you company,” you say, making your way farther into the kitchen. A part of you can’t help but think Sanji must get lonely in the galley after having spent so much time surrounded by others at the Baratie, but he never complains. 

The other part of you worries that Sanji actually prefers the time alone, and that your presence in the kitchen is unwelcomed. The Going Merry isn’t a particularly large ship, and finding a moment to be alone can be difficult. 

“Then today I am a lucky man,” he replies. His smile never falters, eyes gleaming as though he truly does feel lucky to spend time with you. It’s enough to dispel any lingering worries, at least for the time being. 

You warm beneath the weight of his gaze, heartbeat fluttering from the sudden attention. For a moment you forget yourself, too lost in the twin seas trapped in Sanji’s eyes. Your own lips pull into a matching smile and you feel like you’re glowing, just like you always do when he gives you his attention. Sanji’s gaze seems to soften, as if, somehow, he can see the light burning in your chest. 

If you don’t move now, you’ll sink too deeply into this feeling, you’ll get too wrapped up in your not so little crush. 

You take a step forward, then another. Your feet carry you to one of the seats at the counter, keeping the island between you. Sanji’s gaze still washes over you, but at least this way, no matter how tempting it may be, you won’t find yourself reaching out to him. You won’t tangle your fingers between his own, won’t run your spare hand through his hair or cradle the soft curve of his cheek, won’t lean in to kiss his still grinning lips. 

The evening sun filters through the galley windows, gleaming off cookware and pooling on the countertops. Your seat is strategically situated in the center of one of those pools, the hazy light casting a warm beam across your skin. You sink into its embrace, growing more relaxed with each slow breath you take. The warmth is like a hug, and you can’t help but to settle into it. 

You fold your arms on the countertop and rest your chin on them, easing into a comfortable position. You could fall asleep like this. 

Oftentimes, you offer to help Sanji cook, not wanting to be in the galley without at least being useful, but today you seem to be slipping—too relaxed, too tired, content just to watch the chef in his element. You’re only half aware of what he is doing as he works. 

“Here,” Sanji says, setting a glass down in front of you. “Try this.”

Small bubbles rise from the liquid inside, popping as they reach the surface. When you take a sip, it’s cool and saccharine, flavors mixing to create the perfect balance.  

“Oh! It’s good,” you praise before taking another sip. You have to set the glass down, wanting to savor the drink Sanji made just for you. “Everything you make is good.” 

“You’re too sweet to me, darling.” 

His words make you smile, but you keep your attention on the glass in front of you, too afraid that if you look at him he will see in your eyes just how deep your affections lie.

Beads of condensation have already formed on the outside of the glass, making the fizzy liquid inside look almost cloudy. You trail your finger through the moisture on the smooth surface, the cool liquid dripping down your fingertip leaving a clear path behind your touch, a curve into a point. Reflect and repeat. When you pull your hand away, a little heart remains. 

The blonde chef leaves you feeling like a lovesick fool—as sticky sweet as the drink he made you. 

This moment is too easy, too safe. You hardly notice the way your eyelids weigh heavy, each blink lasting longer than the one before it. The sounds of chopping vegetables and boiling water begin to fade, barely noticeable as sleep creeps ever closer.  

“As flattered as I am that you want to keep me company even when you’re so tired, I must insist that you find a more comfortable place to nap. I’ve heard that pain is beauty, but beauty sleep should never cause someone as sweet as you to wake up in pain.” 

If you weren’t already so close to sleep, Sanji’s words might have sent your heart racing. He thinks you’re sweet too. 

“I’ll be fine, Sanji. It’s just a little cat nap,” you offer, only half aware of what you’re saying.  

You don’t hear if he responds. 

—♡—

It’s a chill seeping into your skin that starts to wake you up. The ocean air isn’t really that cold, but the absence of the sun on your skin creates a change in temperature stark enough to make you sigh in disappointment. What once felt like a soft embrace now feels like a missing piece. 

There’s the sound of something being whisked, or stirred, the only evidence you have that you aren’t alone in the galley.  

You stretch your arms out to your sides, groaning slightly at the stiffness in your shoulders. Sanji was right, your body does hurt. You keep your eyes closed as you stretch, desperately clinging to those last moments of sleep as you work out the aches in your muscles.  

“Hmm. It’s cold now,” you mumble. The stirring sound stops. 

The creeping sense of cold doesn’t have long to settle over you. Before you can continue to complain about the movement of the sun, something heavy and warm is draped over your shoulders. The heat of your skin sinks into the fabric before it is reflected back at you, just like the sun. It feels like a blanket. At the very least, it offers the comfort of one. 

You pull the fabric closer around you, feel the curl of a collar around your neck and the holes for sleeves catch on your shoulders—definitely not a blanket. The fabric of Sanji’s jacket is smooth and well made, the quality much better than most of the crew’s clothing.  

What is this made of? You want to ask. Boyfriend material? 

But where flirtation spills naturally from Sanji’s lips, it only ever sounds awkward and stilted from yours. You leave the words unsaid, choosing instead to offer a simple “thank you.” 

“You seemed quite content. It would be a shame for you to grow cold simply because the sun doesn’t understand how much you appreciate it.” 

Finally, you open your eyes. 

Sanji leans on the counter beside you, offering you a soft smile. It’s subdued, as if he himself isn’t even aware he’s doing it. He looks good like this—he always looks good. He looks at ease right now, like he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Or with anyone else.   

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but for just a little while, you can almost let yourself believe that he feels the same way about you. Why else would he look at you like that, with such fondness?  

“So you decided to keep me warm instead?” you prod. 

“Of course,” he responds without hesitation. “I can’t bring you the sun, but I can offer you this.”  

Of course. He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. As if he couldn’t ever bring himself to consider an alternative. 

You feel warm again, glowing. 

a/n: I’m planning on writing a second part to this. Hopefully it won’t take too long ^_^

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Bonus Part — Fin x Reader.

Summary: A reimagining of how things would have gone if Reader had decided she wanted Fin — despite him being her friend’s father.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Heavy on the smut. 18+, minors dni. Some jealous and possessiveness. Mentions of forbidden relationships/affairs. If the choices Reader makes in this are something you’re against, I urge you not to read! 🫶🏻

Rita’s is like no other place you’ve been — or seen — before.

Is this what you’ve missed out on, trapped within the frozen maw of Windhaven? There is no place like this there, of such vibrancy and euphoria. The music, the coloured faelights, the energy — it all makes you feel…on top of the world.

Like there’s life outside the misery you’ve known.

Mor knocks a shot back, grimacing as she slams the empty glass onto the bar. A sudden burst of giggles leaves her as she says, “My father would have my head if he could see me right now. Literally.”

You don’t doubt that for a second, because Mor looks resplendent, not just in her natural beauty, but her joy. She has danced and drank and kissed and danced some more. And seeing her like this…it makes you glad that she convinced you to come out with her tonight.

“My father would have my head, too,” you tell her over the music. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

At that, she rolls her eyes, and she reaches for two more shots. “Here’s to saying fuck the males,” she knocks her glass against yours. “May they all perish.”

You’ll happily drink to that. With the alcohol that has you in its grip, you’re buzzed on thoughts of storming back to Windhaven and confronting all your demons. Confronting anyone and everyone who has ever hurt you and made you feel less than you are. Your father. Lord Devlon. Azriel—

You banish that thought as the liquid slides down your throat with a satisfying burn. You are in Velaris, not Windhaven. A new place with new people, where anything feels possible. The thought is heady and dizzying.

Someone calls Mor’s name, and she glances over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes lighting up again. You truly don’t know how often she’s able to escape the Hewn City and get away to Velaris, but judging by the amount of friends she’s introduced you to tonight, she’s certainly made her mark here.

“Let’s go dance with them!” Mor yells over the music, grabbing your hand.

You think that dancing might be the answer to everything you’ve never known, and so you gladly follow; gladly throw yourself into the thrall of the busy floor.

But that’s when you see him.

Something…some deep power…compels you to look up. Coaxes your eyes to that area a level above, where the city’s VIP guests spend copious amounts of money on copious amounts of alcohol and drink it from their cushy velvet booths. They’re reserved for associates of the High Lord, a not-so-formal place to meet to discuss not-so-casual things.

But none of that matters. There could be an entire circus up there right now, and still all you would notice is — him.

He notices you, too.

The High Lord’s eyes zero in on you from up above. You watch, rooted to the spot, as he takes in the sight of you, from your braided back hair, to your painted face, your dress and the legs exposed by them. He looks like…like he’s finally setting his sights upon an image that was merely fantasy up until now.

He braces his arms on the balustrade. And he just stares.

You want to know what he’s doing here. Whether he’s at Rita’s for business or…or for pleasure. You’ve heard that there are rooms upstairs for people willing to pay the price. Perhaps there’s a lover up there with him somewhere, waiting to explore every last inch of that glorious, sculpted body—

The bleating jealousy that makes your heart twist is…unexpected. And not ideal; not one bit.

He is Rhysand’s father. Things may have been fucked up royally with Azriel, and you may have been burned by the experience — but Fin is Rhysand’s father.

Your friend’s father.

Your friend’s father who has just so happened to help keep you feeling alive these past weeks. With his layers-deep allure, the sweet, sweet words that roll off his tongue. His hospitality, his generosity. His kindness. All of it, you’d attributed to him being a natural charmer, a High Lord who knows precisely what to say, what to do.

It strikes you in that moment — just how much it’s all sunk its way into your bones and made you feel…dangerous.

He watches you like a cat with a mouse. Watches as somebody grabs your hand and yanks you into the tightly knit dancing bodies. The music pulses through you from head to toe, a frenzied tune of strings and keys that somehow come together to create the feeling of being borne aloft. Being on top of the world.

As you become lost to the sensation of dance, you’re glad to forget all your thoughts about Fin. You don’t want to wonder what he’s doing here. You don’t want to imagine what those strong, rough hands might get up to, where they might venture.

You become sandwiched between two males who dance with you in a way that makes you forget your wings were ever stolen. They touch you and touch each other, and you welcome it all, happy to be someone, somewhere, else. At least for a while.

But there’s suddenly a foreign touch to your shoulder. That of a cold, meaty hand that stills your movements and draws your attention. The two males happily slink away and begin grinding on each other, and you spin on the spot to find a tall, stocky male who looks like he punches people in the face for the hell of it.

“Y/N?” He checks, and you nod. “The High Lord wishes to speak with you. Upstairs.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes searching for Mor and finding her just as she’s following a male and female to a cloaked-off area at the back. That’ll be her occupied for the remainder of the night. You’re officially going solo.

But not for long. Not as the bouncer juts his chin in the direction of the staircase and begins to lead you there. Perhaps it makes you a fool, but you follow without a word.

He pulls back a rope and gestures for you to go on up, and then he’s refastening it behind you and turning back to train a keen eye on the dance floor. It’s purely the alcohol that hits you with enough of an ego to climb those stairs like you belong amongst the chandeliers and velvet booths.

But you look good — amazing, even. You know you do. And looking like this, things like scars and other insecurities seem so trivial. You’ve taken back the right to feel as beautiful as you are. You wear your Illyrian features proudly, and you’re pretty and lithe and graceful—

And your heel catches on the top step of the staircase, almost sending you sprawling to the floor — if not for the warm hand that catches your elbow.

“Easy.” Fin rasps into your ear, setting you steady on your feet.

Your numbed, inebriated senses are not immune to the effect of his voice, it would seem. The deep baritone, rough as jagged rock, pushes its way into your skin, your veins, and spreads far faster than any alcohol could.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” you answer, and you’re unable to shove down the hysterical giggle that claws up your throat. “Fuck, you’re the High Lord.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “And you are drunk.”

“The whiskey they serve here is immense.”

“I’ll be sure to extend your compliments to Rita herself.”

Is that, you wonder, who he’s up here meeting? Perhaps the elusive Rita is a close associate of his. Perhaps they do deals in both business and pleasure.

And taking in your fill of the High Lord right now, in a dark button-up shirt and fitted breeches of a slate grey, you would not blame Rita one little bit.

Gods, he’s exquisite. Rhysand may resemble Roza more than he does Fin, but…with two parents of such stunning beauty, it’s no wonder your friend is as handsome as he is.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you make no secret of the way your eyes linger on him. Tonight is dangerous, and you’re enjoying it.

“Nor I, you,” he narrows his gaze down at you. “Imagine my surprise, considering that when I left the palace earlier this evening, you were curled up in the library with a book. And yet, here you are. Wearing…” mahogany eyes take in the short cut of your dress, “…that.”

“Mor surprised me with a visit.”

“My niece ought to be more careful not to press her father’s buttons too much,” a muscle in his chiselled jaw ticks. “And I think you ought to be more careful not to push mine.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Bold. So foolishly bold of you. You’ll regret it once sober, you’re sure. “Was there a particular reason you summoned me up here, my Lord? I was rather enjoying dancing.”

“I noticed. And I’m taking you home.”

“What—”

Before you can even finish the word, Fin’s gripping your elbow again, and darkness sweeps you away.

Being winnowed while drunk is not a fun experience.

You feel the cosmic, air-light step from one place to another. Your stomach lurches, your head spinning. You can barely get a hold of yourself as you cling to Fin and prepare your feet to touch solid ground.

And then the darkness is gone, and you’re back in the toasty, warm glow of the palace’s library. Your knees buckle, trying to drag you to the floor, but Fin keeps you upright.

“What the…” you gawp up at him. “Why did you bring me home?”

He ensures you’re able to stand on your feet before pushing away from you. Doesn’t even look at you as he commands, “Get to bed.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Just as those males were enjoying you, too. You’re drunk and you need to sleep it off. Get to bed.”

He strides towards the door, his knuckles white from how hard he grips the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. But sword or no, you refuse to give up so easily.

“No,” you say simply. “I will not.”

Fin stops. Goes still. And then he turns back to you.

His temper is clear on his face, but he doesn’t storm back over like you’re half expecting him to. Instead, his eyes shutter, and he seems to take a deep, soothing breath. When he’s looking at you once more, he flicks his wrist in your direction.

And immediately, gone is the haze of the alcohol.

Immediately, you’re completely lucid, completely steady on your feet. Not a lick of inebriation remains, as if you had, indeed, slept it off.

“Did you just sober me up?” you’re outraged by the mere idea.

“Yes.” Fin admits shamelessly. “Now you won’t fall victim to a hangover in the morning — a favour from me, to you, and I ask you in return to get to bed. And don’t even think about trying to venture back out. I’ll know.”

Your blood boils. And the anger isn’t simply because of your ruined fun, but because…because it stings, the way Fin is treating you with such contempt. Scolding you like you’re little more than a petulant child. He’s been nothing but wonderful since you came to Velaris, and yet now, he speaks to you like…like most of the males back in Windhaven do.

It makes you see red.

“What right have you to dictate how I spend my evening?” you snap. “I was under the impression that my free time is my own, and if I wish to go and get drunk and dance like a fool, that is up to me.”

Cold, beautiful anger hardens Fin’s face. He stalks closer, squeezing the hilt of that sword so, so tightly. “What right have I? This is my home. My city. My court. I am your High Lord, and you choose to behave in such a way when I’ve opened my home to you and offered you refuge? When I’ve given you a place to run to and left my resources at your disposal?”

You rock back on the heels of your feet, staring at him. Every word lands a hit — as good as if he’d nocked them in a bow and fired them right at your heart. It stings. Gods, it stings. You want the careless oblivion of the alcohol back.

Because you grapple daily with the pain, the anxiety, of feeling unwanted. And you…you had begun to think that Fin actually cared for you. Actually enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.

You’d begun to care about his thoughts and feelings where you were concerned. And begun to believe that it wasn’t just the hospitality and courtesy that he would dole out to any runt on the street.

His eyes seem to track the way your expression changes, your shoulders slump. You swallow. The anger is replaced, simply, by hurt.

“If I am a burden, my Lord, I apologise,” you rasp. “I don’t intend to be one. I appreciate your generosity, and I…I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

You hope you can keep your tears at bay long enough to escape to your room. You’re pelted with shame, embarrassment, hurt. You step forward and hurry past the High Lord, desperate to book it out of there, to get to bed.

But his hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to a stop. And he says, quietly, “wait.”

That hand on your wrist holds the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

You pin your gaze to the ground, unable to look at Fin. You hear him swallow.

“That isn’t—” his voice is gravelly. “I didn’t mean that.”

You don’t think you can speak. You remain a statue beneath his touch.

But so gently — such a contrast to the whirlwind of his actions before — he’s walking you backwards. Slow and careful. You feel your back hit the wall, and he lets go of your wrist and seems to curl his fists at his sides. There’s a desperation to the action that only then coaxes you to look up at him.

His expression is…pleading. For what, you’re not sure.

“You are the furthest thing from a burden,” he says, quietly, on an exhale. “Your presence here is very much welcomed, I assure you.”

You don’t dare breathe a word. Every last bit of your very sober courage is being thrown into maintaining eye contact. There’s none to spare for speaking.

But your lack of response seems to trouble Fin. His eyes rake over your face, searching for something. He swallows again.

And then his eyes shutter, and he whispers, “Mother above, what are you doing to me?”

You don’t know how to answer him — whether he’s even talking to you at all. He takes in a very slow, very deep breath, as though it’s the only thing that’s stopping him from…doing something. What, you’re not sure.

But you can feel it, sense it — the ferocity with which he’s swallowing down words and holding himself back. Like he wants so badly to say something, but can’t.

His eyes open, clearer than they were seconds before, and he says in a far gentler tone, “Get to bed, Y/N,” he inclines his head. “Sleep well.”

With tense, squared shoulders, he turns — and it’s you, this time, that stops him. You halt him with a hand on his arm, and you could swear you feel the muscles flex under his touch.

“Wait,” you say, not ready to let him go, not prepared to leave things between you like this. “Stay and talk with me for a while.”

His jaw clenches like he’s gritting his teeth. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why? We talk all the time, you and I. And there are clearly things you’re holding back from saying—”

Your words are cut short as he suddenly meets your gaze with the intensity of a blazing fire. You think it might burn you. You hope it will.

“It’s a bad idea,” he grounds out, gutturally, “not because of what I want to say. But because of what I want to do.”

“What—”

“You are my son’s close friend. You are Roza’s guest,” he tugs his arm out from under your hand. “You are far younger than I am. I am trying my hardest — I have been trying my hardest — to be a good male. And right now, a good male would take his leave and go to bed, so I bid you goodnight, Y/N.”

“Fin—”

“I hope you sleep well.”

“Fin,” you grab for him again. “What if I don’t want you to be a good male?”

Beneath your touch, he stops. Goes preternaturally still.

Words punch out of you with terrifying gall — and truth. “What if I want you to do those things—”

Quick as a flash, he’s pivoting, and he has the upper hand. Has you pressed so tightly up against the wall, his body boxing you in.

And gods, the feel of it might set you on fire. A brush of your hands, a kiss on the backs of your fingers — they’re nothing compared to the weight and press of his muscles against your body. You want your clothes to melt away, and his, too. You want your hands on his bare, hot skin.

“I don’t think you realise what you’re saying,” he growls.

“I do,” you breathe. “I am completely sober. Completely clear of mind. And I am telling you, Fin, I want you—”

A strangled noise is the only warning you get before the High Lord’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is pure power. It passes from him, into you, roils through your veins and makes you feel like somebody remarkable. It’s the cloak of darkness and the kiss of sin. Of somebody capable of very, very bad things.

And it’s immediately addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to get enough.

You claw at his shirt, tugging him closer, closer, and his broad hands cup your face as his mouth devours yours.

This kiss…it’s been building. The need for it has been working its way beneath your skin for a while. All the heated glances, the late-night conversations. All the thoughts, in the dead of night, of what Fin might be doing in his own bed. Wondering whether he was thinking of you.

It’s so, so forbidden. So wrong. But it feels so godsdamn right.

And the way Fin’s tongue slides between your lips and strokes into your mouth — it tells you that he feels it, too.

Your hands glide from his waist, round to his back, and you yank him harder against you. So desperate are you to feel him. Feel what you think you do to him.

He makes another low noise. And then he’s tearing his mouth from yours. But he lingers close, your foreheads touching.

“Better than I’ve been imagining,” he pants, his hands still clutching your face. “Much better.”

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” You know he has.

“I have imagined,” his thumbs sweep your cheeks, “doing all sorts of things with you, Y/N. Things that would make even the most salacious of a person blush.”

Such a relief — to know that it’s not all just some wild fantasy you’ve cooked up in your mind. That you’re not just some wayward, longing young female who craves the affections of an older male to patch her deep wounds.

No, it’s not that. It’s desire. It’s need. And it burns inside your veins until you think you might erupt into flames.

“I’ve imagined them, too,” you say, without a lick of shame.

Once again, his eyes are shuttering. Once again, he takes that slow, steadying breath. And as you watch him do so, you can’t bear the thought of him still grappling with right and wrong. You can’t bear the thought of him squaring his shoulders and walking out of here, leaving your lips bruised, your body aching, your heart hurting. You can’t bear it—

“I want you to do those things,” you lift your chin, gaze unflinching. “I want you to touch me.”

Fin’s eyes reopen.

He stares at you.

His throat bobs.

You have never seen somebody look so wild, so ravenous. There is heat everywhere, in his stare and in his taut body. His eyes flick down to your lips.

That mere glance at them is the deciding factor, it would seem.

He growls, the sound not at all one you’ve ever heard from a person, and he yanks you up into his arms and kisses you again.

So naturally, your arms twine around his neck, your legs locking around his waist. You can feel the strength of him against you, in the way he holds you. You can taste his crackling power.

He doesn’t falter in the kiss nor his steps as he carries you away from the wall, and you’re suddenly being placed down on the library’s desk, sending books and parchment and pens and ink pots flying. They all clatter loudly to the floor, and neither of you care.

But Fin does pull away to look at you, and there’s wicked, boyish charm in his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitch up. He merely says, “Oops.”

You surge up and kiss him again.

He sighs into it, like your mouth is the answer to all his questions. And when heated hands land on your thighs, you part them, allow him to slot his body in between. The mere feel of it has you pushing up against him, finding him hard—

But again, he pulls away. He scans your face and rasps, “Tell me you’re sure.”

You do not balk from his intensity. From the fact that this is the fucking High Lord of your court, who was changing this world and building a reputation long before you were a mere thought in your parents’ minds. You do not balk from the fact that there are a million different reasons that this is wrong.

You think only about the fact that it feels right.

And that translates into your voice as you say, firmly, “I’m sure.”

You think you see the words course through his body. They change something — forever.

“This isn’t about Roza,” he breathes — breathes heavily, like it’s taking everything to tamp down on the desire to devour you then and there. To say what needs to be said.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Nor is it about Rhysand.”

“No.”

“It’s about me and you.” He destroys what little gap exists between your bodies, his hardness pushing through his breeches, right up against your centre. His hands brace on the desk, either side of you. “And gods, I want you, Y/N. I want you so much, I can scarcely bear it.”

“Have me,” is all you manage — before he strikes.

You think, hope, that his mouth might find yours again — but he’s barely brushing it before his lips settle on your jaw. His hands travel up your legs, fingers biting into the flesh. They find your hips, thumbs delivering explorative sweeps. They tug your dress up as they climb, exposing more of you to the warmth of the room. Exposing more skin that you know he wants to lay claim to.

And when the hem of your dress is ruched around your waist, you smile — at your little wildcard exposed. That he finds no underwear hiding what sits between your legs.

Your choice to forgo a pair seems almost foretelling, now — like some part of you knew the night would end like this, and you wanted to be ready.

Fin’s eyes dip to your slick, exposed cunt. The hunger in them is almost intimidating. You open your legs just a little wider—

But his rough hand is gripping your chin, almost hard enough to hurt. And he snarls deeply, “It drove me to madness — seeing those two males dancing with you. Touching you.”

Pleasure bolts down your spine, and from the way his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your arousal is consuming him.

“Did it?” you stare back at him, welcoming the discomfort of his brutal grip.

“I wanted them dead. I wanted to draw my sword and gut them for even looking your way. For touching what I want to be mine.”

That pleasure again — skittering over your skin. His words do something to you. You bite down on a moan.

“It is yours,” you tilt your chin up to him, smiling when he immediately glances to your lips. “Take it.”

“I warn you,” he lowers his face to yours, “I don’t like to share.”

“And I warn you, High Lord,” you watch as your words land, drawing a deep, raw scent from him. “Neither do I.”

With a growl, he snaps. The kiss he gives you is not slow or sweet. His hand continues to grip your face, and his mouth attacks yours, his tongue sliding between your lips. You can’t help your moan, this time, as his taste overpowers you — a taste that you can only describe as pure thunder.

But it ends too soon, as he begins to leave a trail of heated kisses and bites and sucks along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbones. Your head falls back, and the touches are like little zips of lightning — lightning cleaving through the night sky.

“Pretty dress,” he hums against your skin — and that’s all the warning you get before that dress is ripped apart. Torn to ribbons.

No part of you is left to Fin’s imagination.

He tears his mouth from you and steps back to drink you in.

Instinct roars at you to curl in on yourself and hide. To remember that you are scarred, and flawed, and not to the liking of many — including yourself, a lot of the time.

But something about Fin’s weighty, scorching stare stops you from moving a muscle.

You lift your chin and hide nothing as he takes his fill. His eyes travel a journey from the top of your head and down — down your face, your neck, your breasts. Down your stomach, your waist, your hips. Down to that fine dusting of hair on your pelvis that tracks a thin path to—

Fin drops to his knees with a low noise. His hands wrap around your legs and prise them further apart.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he levels his face with the very centre of you, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight.

The sight of the High Lord on his knees before you — on his knees for you.

As though he senses the direction of your thoughts, his eyes flick up, and he smiles.

And then he dives in.

His tongue wastes no time in sinking between your folds, licking a broad stripe right up the centre of you. At the first stroke, your head falls back, your arms wobbling where they’re braced on the desk.

“Look at me,” Fin growls. “Only me.”

His voice of pure High Lord power drags your eyes back to him. And thank the fucking Mother it does.

You see everything in the way he feasts on you. His tongue laps at your wetness, and it coats his lips, his chin, coats him in you. The damp heat of his tongue is liquid fire. It promises to scorch you, end you, and rise you anew like a phoenix from the ashes.

Your fingers sink into the strands of Fin’s hair and tug. Judging by the noise he makes, the way his pace picks up, you think he likes it.

He utterly fucking devours you, like he’s fought a centuries-long wait to do so. And whatever magic commands his mouth — you know you cannot possibly last against it.

“Oh, gods,” your moan breaks from you, hips bucking up. You think your voice might be loud, but you don’t care. “Fuck—Fin.”

It all happens at once — his name falling from your lips, the growl rumbling in his throat, the flicking of his tongue against your clit and the finger he plunges into you, curls inside you. Every part of it is lightning strikes to your veins, and you come apart, utterly break.

Your climax slams into you and steals your breath. You’re nothing but a gasping, panting, trembling shell. Your mind is somewhere else entirely.

With your head falling back, eyes pinned to the ceiling, chest heaving, you don’t catch the swiftness with which Fin stands, licking your wetness from his lips. With which his clothes are gone in a blink of an eye.

But then he commands, “Look at me.”

It’s the second time he’s said it. Your head lolls forward once more.

You swallow the breaths you’re still trying to get down. Try to stop your body fucking shaking.

But it’s no wonder it does, as you look at him.

Your High Lord is nothing short of exquisite. He is art. Your fantasies have done him no justice.

That golden skin of his seems to attract the glowing light of the room. It bathes him, but it does not steal the attention. It outlines every fine plane of his body, the sculpted muscles on show, the nicks of injuries that have scarred and silvered over time.

There is not a single part of him that isn’t pure, refined power. And when your gaze drops to below his waist…a shudder wracks through you.

His cock stands hard and leaking at the head. You watch, your mouth watering, as he wraps a hand around its length and gives a long stroke.

“Fin—”

“When you look at me like that,” he prowls closer, “there is no way I can consider this forbidden.”

He’s within reach. Your fingers inch towards him. You want to touch him, taste him—

But he curls a hand around yours and stops you in your tracks.

“Not tonight,” he says. Pure promise is laced within the words. “No playing tonight.”

As if he hadn’t just played with you. You want to protest, to get your fucking mouth around that considerable length, but his hand tightens around yours.

And then he’s flipping you over, so fast that you don’t have time to even register it. You land on your front, your belly and breasts pressed against the desk. Fin lays his palm against your back and drags it slowly down. And in the wake of his touch, he leaves kisses. Kisses to your shoulder, your back. They’re…soft. Tender.

“Have I disappointed you?” he murmurs against your shoulder, folding his body over yours. You don’t think it’s an accident that the head of his cock nudges that sweet area between your legs.

It’s all you can do to breathe, “I wanted to taste you.”

“And you will,” he drops the brush of a kiss to your skin. “But now is not time for that.”

You don’t need him to tell you what now is the time for. Not as his hands find the flesh of your hips, and he yanks you to the very edge of the desk, moving with you. The feel of him so close to where you want him is downright cruel.

“Have you thought about me fucking you?” he asks, those hands travelling to rove your ass.

Your nails bite into the desk as you answer, “Yes.”

“Did I make you scream?”

You bite down on your lip at the feeling of him spreading you apart, opening you up to him. “Yes.”

You feel it — his cock sliding between your folds. Not pushing in, but dragging torturously against your sex. From your entrance, up to your clit. The head of his cock pushes against it.

And the moan that rips from you is downright filth, as he rolls his hips and allows your wetness to slicken his length. It feels so fucking good. To you, and to him.

A breath shudders out of him, and he purrs, “Are you going to scream for me now?”

“Fuck yes,” the words tumble from your lips. “I want you, Fin.”

Just like that, his restraint snaps. The High Lord strikes.

He drags his length through your folds and enters you with a single, powerful thrust.

A shout leaves you, and you’re clawing at the desk, trying to keep your grip against the pleasure that courses through you. Fin fills you and stretches you. He pulls out and slams back in to the hilt.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he growls, his hands sinking back into your hips. He begins a steady thrusting, sliding in and out of you with a drag that makes you feel every glorious inch of him. “Gods.”

“So good,” you pant. “Want you harder.”

The plea seems to make him groan, and he wastes no time in picking up the pace. His hands bite into your skin as he fucks you faster, harder, your moans and pleas and curses falling from your lips without any nudging from you. The pleasure is all-consuming. In seconds, it’s buried within your veins.

“You like that?” The grit in his voice has you clenching around him. He’s so fucking filthy, so fucking sultry, as he snarls, “you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

Gods, yes, you are. Already, release is coiling tightly within you, and it’s a force entirely of its own right, inching closer and cresting the hill, ready to sink its claws into you. Fin’s cock hits deep, and out of nowhere, his palm is flying through the air and making contact with your ass cheek. That is all it takes.

The pleasure of it all is too much — the sting of the slap, the depth and thrall of his thrusts, the way he growls and grunts as he lays claim to your body, your pleasure.

You cry out, your orgasm blasting through you with unstoppable force. The long strokes of Fin’s cock fuck you through it, through earth-shattering pleasure, through what feels like a mind-altering experience.

“My filthy girl,” he pulls out of you suddenly, and though your cunt still clenches and twitches, desperate for more, more, more, he flips your trembling body onto its back once more and tugs you up, slipping back between your legs. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how relentlessly I’ve thought about making you scream for me like that.”

Past words, you can only reach up and pull his head down to yours to capture him in a kiss. Your taste still coats the tongue that he slides between your lips. It spurs you on to deepen it, luxuriate in the feel of it. And you become so lost in it that you tug hard at the strands of his hair when he enters you again in one great, sweeping thrust.

His arm folds around your back, hand grasping at your shoulder, and it seems to afford him perfect purchase to pound into you. Sounds fill the air of his skin slapping against yours, of the breaths and moans you huff into each other’s mouths. You think the two of you, together, might be loud enough, forceful enough, to bring the City of Starlight to rubble around you.

Fin’s lips tear away from yours, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts are growing quicker, sloppier, reaching a feverous pinnacle that will surely break.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come, Y/N,” his sweat-slick brow presses against your neck. “Taking me so well like this. Squeezing me like this. You’re going to make me fucking blow.”

You want that — more than anything. To feel the power of him spilling into you.

You squeeze your thighs against his, dragging your free hand — the one not sunken in his hair — down the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his waist — to his ass, where you dig your nails into the tight, toned flesh and encourage him to pump into you harder, faster. The feel of it makes Fin shout.

“Come for me,” you choke around your pleasure. “Please, Fin…want you to come.”

An animalistic growl rips from him, and he slams into you one, two, three more times, and then stills, throwing his head back with a roar that shakes the library. Hot, thick ropes of his seed seem endless as they’re unleashed inside you.

The force of it shatters you both, you think. With his trembling as thorough as yours, your nails are still raking over his skin as his brow presses to the crook of your neck. Strands of hair stick to the back of his. Your fingertips smooth over them tenderly.

It feels like eons that you stay there like that, holding each other up from collapsing under the weight of your mutual release. You want to hold him like this, always. You don’t care what others may have to say about it, what they may deem to be wrong about it. You want him.

He pulls back, as though sensing the thought. Meets your eyes. For a beat or two, he simply studies your face, something like clarity on his own.

And then he dips down and drops a kiss to your brow. Such a tender act, in the wake of such passion.

 No words are needed. Not as he scoops you up into his arms, leaving behind the mess the two of you have created. There’s a flash, and he’s winnowed you to your bedroom. A fire roars to life immediately. Fin places you down on the bed.

You watch through hooded eyes as he makes his way into the bathroom. Moments later, he’s returning with a warm, damp washcloth, and he perches beside you.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispers, and you do.

The High Lord of the Night Court is gentle as air as he takes care of you, wiping between your thighs and delivering soft, soothing strokes to your skin. A pleasant soreness sits in your lower belly. He leans down and presses a kiss there like he knows just that.

And then he’s sitting up, and it frightens you — the thought of him walking away, of this ending here and now.

So you lay a hand on his arm, breathing, “Stay with me.”

He pauses, eyes roaming your face like he’s assuring himself you mean it. And then he dips his chin.

“I would be honoured,” he rasps.

And thus, the affair begins.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The need you and Fin have for each other is…insatiable.

Every moment he’s away, you’re thinking of him, longing for the moment he’ll appear in your room and rip your clothes off. If anyone else in the palace — staff, servants, associates — are aware of what’s going on, they don’t give it away. And that suits you just fine.

You can’t get enough. You’re giddy with it. Giddy from the multiple, interesting circumstances you’ve landed yourself in.

Like when you lured him out of a meeting and dropped to your knees in a fucking broom closet, taking his cock into your mouth until he was canting his hips forward and spilling down your throat. Or when he fucked you on the balcony of his personal quarters, your body pressed up against the balustrade, the two of you open to the elements and your moans loud enough to reach the stars above you and the city below you. Or when he took you to watch the ballet, and up in the cushy surrounds of your private viewing box, you watched the performance with him deep inside you, his fingers indolently playing with your clit, his low voice in your ear reminding you to keep quiet.

It’s…exciting. Enthralling. It changes everything.

And as he pulls out of you now, sweaty and panting, and collapses beside you in his bed, you’re not sure you could ever tire of this feeling.

He wants you. He wants you so ferociously, like nobody has ever wanted you before.

As you catch your breaths, he props his head up with his hand and stares at you through hooded eyes, glazed with lust. He leans down and grazes a kiss to your mouth.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he ponders as he pulls back, moving a hand to brush his fingers over your breast. “All this need — wanting you constantly.”

You lean up on your elbows, tilting your head, “Do you want it to stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never.”

Never. Never is a very long time. It makes your stomach flip — the enormity of it.

Fin circles the tip of his forefinger around your pebbled nipple, watching with predatory fascination as he adds, “But this will, inevitably, blow up in our faces at some point. We haven’t exactly been secretive — not that I want to be. But people will talk.”

You lean up to brush your mouth over his. “Let them talk,” you say, and kiss him.

Immediately, he melts into the kiss. Your mouth seems to have an effect on him that you never thought yourself capable of. Always draws a long, pleasured sigh from him as he sinks into it, welcomes it.

He kisses you and kisses you, so greedily, so desperately. His hand snakes up to cup your cheek. He’s already hardening against your leg.

But he pulls away, dropping his forehead against yours. And he breathes, “Make a bargain with me.”

You trace a thumb over his bottom lip. You’ve never made a Night Court bargain before; never had reason to. “What bargain?”

“When this blows up in our faces,” he grips your hand, folding his own over it, “we face it together. You and I.”

“You and I?”

“You and I” he kisses your hand. “I don’t claim to be perfect. I don’t try to be. I can be brutal and callous, and I can lie and play games,” another kiss. “But not with you. Never with you. I will look after you. Take care of you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

Words that you’ve always longed for someone to say to you. Words that should not be taken lightly, should not be said without meaning.

But you know he means them. You can tell he does.

You watch closely as your fingers interlace with his. And you whisper, “Together?”

Fin’s thumb sweeps over yours. “Together. We’ll face it together.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

A flash of splintering pain zips around your midriff. You glance down to find the tattoo now inked there. The black line that draws a perfect circle around your waist, like a trail of night-kissed lightning.

You look up at Fin to find a roguish smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I like that,” he hums.

And then he’s leaning down and pressing kisses to that circlet signifying your promise to one another. Kisses the entirety of it, flipping you on your front in the process.

And kisses lower, until you’re screaming for him again.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

[10yrsyart]

Luke 15:7, "There is more joy in heaven over one lost sinner who repents and returns to God than over ninety-nine others who were righteous and haven't strayed away!"

i was thinking about this verse recently and wondering.. how different it would be if people could see just how important they are to God. so important in fact that the Creator of the universe, an everlasting Being, came down Himself to experience death to set us free from Death. if you were the only human needing redemption, He would have gone through it all just for you.

it's up to you to accept or reject this payment on your behalf. there's no way to pay it yourself, you can never be "good enough" to make it to Heaven. He took on your punishment for you and only His sacrifice absolves you from it. if you reject Him, He will honor that decision, and you'll spend eternity separated from Him and all joy, light, and happiness. not because He's cruel, but because all good things stem from the Lord. there is no life without Jesus Christ.

the experience of the man in this comic is actually based on many testimonies i've listened to. people cried out to Jesus, and either saw or felt His love and were changed. don't wait! you have the entirety of Heaven cheering you on, longing for you to join our family. the hole in your heart can only be filled by the Holy Spirit's Presence. don't reject your opportunity to experience God's wonders forever, in a reality far greater than Earth could ever hope to be.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, so that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life." (John 3:16)

transcript:

Saint 1: Quick! It's happening!

Man: (sighs)

Demon 1: Things aren't gonna get better, y'know? At least you're not believing in a fairy tale like them.

Demon 2: Reality, not delusion!

Demon 3: Only you can change your life. You're the master of your own destiny!

Man: I've tried everything, but I still feel empty...

Demon 1: Better than being trapped under a bunch of religious rules forever. Is that what you want?

Demon 2: You're worth nothing. You don't deserve any help.

Demon 3: Worthless, worthless~

Man: I'm so sick of this. It's all pointless.. I just want it to stop...

Demon 1: Yes, it's pointless!

Demon 2: Even if you call, no one will answer!

Demon 3: You might as well end it now. There's nothing in your future-

Man: Jesus!

Saint 2: HAH!

Saint 3: Yes!!

Demons (all): NO! No No No No No No No

Man: If you're real, prove it to me! I can't do this. Help me, I need you!

Saint 4: Yeaaaah!

Saint 5: That's right!

Saint 6: I love this part!

Saint 7: WOOOH! YESHUA!

Man: ..Forgive me.

Jesus: (smiles) Welcome home, My son.

Saint 8: He did it!!

Saint 9: Yes!

Saint 10: JESUS!!

Saint 11: Atta boy!

Angel 1: HAH! GOT'M!

Saint 12: Did you see that?!

Saint 13: A new family member!

Angel 2: Hallelujah!

Angel 3: Praise Yah!

Saint 14: Thank You.

Saint 15: I can't wait until he gets here!

Heavenly voices: Our Lord Jehovah! Hallelujah! Praise Yahweh forever! Holy Holy Holy. Yeshua our Savior! Is the Lord God Almighty.

Saint 7: WOOOH! YESHUA!!

God the Father: (smiles)

Man: ...I don't feel empty.

[gallusrostromegalus]

So how much are you willing to talk about Ulquiorra?

I will talk so much about him. There are so many things wrong with that man, but to make a brief list of his most notable features:

He's dumb as hell.

I say that with tremendous sympathetic affection. Ulquiorra barely thinks. It's easy for him to do nothing and go nowhere. He eats chocolate in the middle of the night in the dark. When he gets access to a garden, he often just stands around in it. He's often waiting for things to happen.

He just LOOKS smart compared to nearly everyone else in the fic because he doesn't have much to say, so he's not constantly opening his mouth to jam his foot down it.

Consequently, Ulquiorra starts off having little to no initiative of his own. Stuff just happens to him. Some of that is because he is colossally depressed, but he's depressed because the idea that he has control over his circumstances has straight up not occured to him.

The first person he meets that shows him that "You can just do whatever you want, forever" and the boundless joy it is to be a creature of free will is, unfortunately, Aizen. And Aizen left off the key corollary "-EVERYONE is allowed to do whatever they want, forever. We are all equal in God's dead, empty eye sockets."

So Ulquiorra wanders around trying out this "doing stuff" thing without any concept of ethics.

I realize I am infantilizing this character, but I am doing so in a twilight zone "hey, wouldn't it be fucked up to watch a fully anatomically functional person who is able to speak and blow stuff up with his mind go through the emotional development steps of a toddler?", because I think that's a fun high-concept premise to explore with him. Yeah, what if a toddler could speak articulately and also destroy you? How would he act? How does he feel, learning to have feelings?

It'd probably suck for him and everyone around him, and make him very easy to manipulate, for one thing.

So I don't think Ulquiorra is evil, because evil takes intent. He is dangerous to be in the general proximity of, though

Like a horse

lose

in a hospital!

I love that sketch as much as the next person but if an IRL horse got loose in a hospital it would be bedlam, but the horse would be mostly confused and probably willing to follow around the first person who looked like they knew what they were doing.

You know, like how Ulquiorra follows Aizen around because that's the first guy he's met who THINKS he knows what he's doing, and is good at convincing others he knows what he's doing!

So Ulquiorra's entire first character arc is being exposed to more and more people and realizing he does have control over his life, and that he can take actions, and that those actions have consequences.

Like being emotionally devastated by a teenage girl because he was an asshole to her and she's willing to scream at him about it.

Hm.

Consequences hurt.

He lives through the Las Noches arc, and decides to follow his own star!

He follows it right through a portal that was not meant for him and now he's sort of trapped in somewhere he's really, really, really, really, REALLY not supposed to be.

But it's a beautiful place

And nobody is forcing him to do anything.

And for a long time, he just stands out in the garden, waiting for something.

But then

Ulquiorra experiences a novel pair of emotions that he's recently learned from his new...

Orihime is too mad at him for him to call her a friend.

-but he did learn the names and therefore the experience of two new emotions from her: boredom, and it's natural remedy: curiosity.

So Ulquiorra's second character arc is him learning how to be himself without anyone telling him who he is and what he ought to be.

He's travelling up Maslow's hierarchy with the inscrutable but unstoppable instinctual drive of a salmon returning to its spawning ground.

This has lead to an important discovery on my part: Ulquiorra is terrific for comedy because he is the ULTIMATE straight man to everyone else's nonsense, because he's immune to nearly all nonsense.

He doesn't have societal taboos to be hung up on, nor any sense of what is "normal", so the sole thing he geta hung up on is a lack of internal consistency in others, meaning he can slip between straight man to the absurdist at the drop of a single scathing observation. Yet, he retains a sort of understated dignity that compels people to try to earn his respect.

Hence, I'm having fun turning him loose on the most absurd, internally inconsistent and frankly, insane batch of characters in the series:

The Royal Guard.

:)

[faux-ecrivain]

Will there be a second part of Yan Bully Victim? I really liked Thomas

(Yes, there will be. Right now!) (Name’s Thomas Road) (Enjoy this long post!) (Trigger Warning; Mentions of violence, negligence, masochism, and other triggering topics.)

(Thirtieth Official Post)

(I Hope You like this Anon and I’m happy to hear that you favor Thomas! Though, I’d say that Thomas is far happier than me.) ———————————————————— Yan Bully Victim that follows you everywhere, so often that it’s beginning to annoy you.

At first, it was so pathetic, it was cute, but now you just want to change schools, and you almost succeeded, but you thought there was too much paperwork and you’re an impatient person. So, you decided to just deal with it in the same way you deal with everything. Violence! Yan Bully Victim that has no idea why you’re suddenly so much more aggressive and confrontational towards him, it almost scares him. But, his twisted mind thought about the alternative (You ignoring him) and decided that all that pain was worth it. Yan Bully Victim that did not leave you alone, much to your chagrin, and instead latched onto you like there’s no tomorrow. Yan Bully Victim that now spends every single minute next to you, despite the continuous beatings you give him. Eventually, you realize that your anger is doing absolutely nothing to deter him, and he’s getting in your way (he’s already cost you a dumb test, you don’t need him messing up your chance at winning that championship trophy) Yan bully Victim that notices you pulling away from him, pulling your punches and avoiding him. He’s quick to try to alleviate the situation. Thomas decides that getting closer to you will definitely salvage your relationship. (It won’t) Yan bully victim that becomes way more annoying the more you ignore him, seriously, it’s like he has nothing better to do than bother you. Yan bully Victim that begins to panic when his plan isn’t working, you aren’t returning to his side, and instead you’re ignoring him. It’s so similar to his family, he’s scared that his life will go back to the way it as before. That’ll you’ll ignore him, and he’ll just fade into the background. (something he experiences too often at home) He can’t have that, he won’t have that.

Thomas doesn’t like being ignored, so he does whatever he can to get your attention. He shouts your name, calls you endlessly (when did he get your number?), causing you to break your phone, and he’s even started to bother your friends. Eventually, you get tired of him and his meddling ways and you corner him. (Much to Thomas’s joy, he can’t help the creepy smile that crawls onto his face the moment you start paying attention to him.) Yan bully victim that isn’t even listening to whatever you’re saying and keeps interrupting you, going on about how awesome you are and how much he loves you.

You don’t have any interest in dating this creep, so you violently reaffirm that with a few punches to the gut. He doubles over, and you force him on the ground with your foot. Thomas is so happy that you’re paying attention to him again, now he has to think of a way to keep you with him. Yan bully victim who decides the best way to keep you with him is to play hot and cold, when you start to pull away, so will he. When you’ve been gone too long, he starts to bug you and your friends again. Unfortunately, you aren’t bright enough to see through it, but you know he’s playing a one sort of game with you, and you’re intent on winning whatever game he’s trapped you in. But, you’re probably going to be stuck with him for a long time.

[yuri-is-online]

And Your Name Is? (Sebek, Silver, Idia)

Synopsis- After successfully resolving whatever was causing NRC to be trapped in an endless time loop of overblotting and disaster, one last reset should give him a chance to experience a normal school year with you. But instead you find yourself trapped in the here and there, appearing as a vague shadow around the school that vanishes as soon as he catches up to you. The kind thing to do would be to allow you to be forgotten in the chance it lets you return to your world.

But this is Twisted Wonderland where the kind thing is seldom done, and he wants you back as much as you want to find him again.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, thanks to the lovely annon who requested this, they suggested Silver and Sebek in celebration of Book 7 Chapter 5 and I decided to add Idia because I expect he'll be doing something soon-ish. Please look to my masterlist for the other parts if you liked this.

Sebek

This is madness, it has to be. What other explanation could he have for these memories torturing him every time he finds himself alone. Lilia had reassured them they were real, even if Lord Malleus's memory was fuzzy and Silver's as unreliable as ever what he saw, what he felt, were all painfully real. There was a missing student from his first year class, an incompetent irrevocably out of place, magicless human who seemed determined to get into the worst situations possible. He can't decide who he is angrier at, the other students for forgetting you, you for once again getting yourself into a situation someone would need to rescue you from, or himself for... for... for...

He'd asked his mother once, angrily and painfully disrespectfully, why she would marry someone so weak. The perspective of time, looped or otherwise, made him realize he was really blaming her for the way his grandfather saw him. As if he could have somehow earned his total respect and love if he erased everything about his father from his being, as if the answer his mother ultimately gave him was a sin somehow.

"Because my love is not weak, true love never is. You can let it change you for the better, or you can let it make you worse. When you see the person you love you will know what they'll do, your soul becomes theirs in a way. Your strengths and weaknesses become shared."

Sebek thinks he must be letting love make him worse. He isn't loud when he approaches your silhouette, he makes no announcement, no demand you be grateful he is paying you attention despite your humanity. He just sits under the apple tree, and quietly into the the empty night air reads a novel. There's a vague memory he has of a much louder conversation you had here about the exact same book. The knight saves his love at the cost of his own life, and he had gone on at much louder length about how noble that was.

You though, you had hated it. "What's the point of living if the person you want to share your life with had to die for it?"

"Do you remember?" His voice is still woefully in line with a normal volume, and you are still just out of reach. "That is what you said, and I am sure I said something very stupid about knightly honor. I probably told you that a mere human would never understand, but whatever I might have meant you were right in the end. It's an empty world when your life is paid for with the life of someone you love." You flicker as if to disappear, but Sebek is faster, snapping up from his seat to grasp you in a death roll and tumbling down to the grass. Yes, love is absolutely making him worse, how else is he supposed to explain to anyone the sheer joy he feels to find you, heavy and warm in the flesh successfully pinned under him and trembling. He can atone for his improprieties later, the sheer worry you inflicted demands immediate penance. There is no running from your fate, not that the arms that encircle his shoulders and pull him further down seem at risk of fleeing anywhere. Sebek's eyes close in relief, allowing himself finally to release his weakness into the strength of your embrace.

Silver

He used to dream what it would be like to live without his curse. Granted Silver didn't have much of an imagination, most of those thoughts consisted of him doing simple things like training with his father or cooking without fear of hurting himself, not that those were bad things to want. Now though, he almost missed his lapses into sleep. He was certain, based off of what little Malleus and Lilia had been able to tell him about the here and there, that he could find you in his dreams. When he went to bed at night he knew he slept, knew he dreamed, but for some reason he just couldn't find you. There were traces, locations he remembers from past timelines, places he's sure must be a twisted echo from your world, all showing traces he could follow but never once showing him you.

It was enough to make him cry, he swears he's cried more in the past month than he has in how ever many years he's been alive. He knows it's scaring his father, he thinks it's scaring Sebek. Malleus is still under the impression there is a way to save you so he has yet to give into fear, but if the way he dismisses Silver, teasingly telling him to get some rest, is any reassurance he's worried about him too.

"I really hope you aren't missing because you think we don't care." He seldom speaks aloud to you outside of dreams, Silver isn't sure if you can hear him when he does. But there's a painful strength to his desire tonight, maybe fueled by the silhouette he saw flickering just beyond the Ramshackle Gate earlier in the evening. He knows Malleus told him to rest, but he finds himself walking back there "just in case" before he returns to his dorm. It's quiet here, inviting himself to close his eyes and begin tracing the steps he saw earlier. You were dancing, he tried to reach for your hand to give you the partner the waltz so clearly demanded but only found air. They're still only holding air when when he pauses, eyes blurring as he tries to examine a still tingling palm, confused to find tears pooling in its center as words continue to flow. "That's not to say if you do I don't understand. If I was in your place, I would feel lonely too. It has to be painful, feeling so alone when you are surrounded by so many people..." His eyes close. A gentle breeze picks up the autumn leaves and tickle his nose with a familiar scent as he chokes out an earnest plea: "Is it too much to ask for you to be lonely in my hands? I promise I'll hold on so tight you never float away again." A comforting weight settles itself onto his hand, his fingers thread through theirs and his other arm pulls them into his embrace through sheer muscle memory before his eyes even open.

"Why are you crying?" A voice he's been chasing after for hundreds of years now, cracked from a months worth of silence asks him so earnestly and sweetly the only response he can find is laughter.

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter!" His arm finds it's way under your legs to sweep you up into a protective cradle as he spins you around and around to reassure himself that this is not a dream, no matter the familiar gleam shining up at him from your eyes.

Idia

This is so not worth it. Idia is not built for this, this, this cliche bullshit plot line. He will not own up to his past self's decisions, he will stay resolute in nihilistic pride and continue to refer to himself as a looser NEET who has never gotten any in his entire life. And technically, as he has argued to Ortho for the past five hours now, that is still true.

"New timeline new me, I am not in love with a student who doesn't technically exist that was my much cooler alter ego." He says that, but Ortho knows that's not a video game's code he has pulled up on his monitor. And despite checking the school's security cams being his thing, his older brother has several open on his other monitor. They've been changing through this entire argument, clearly monitoring wherever you appear and logging it as data in a massive spreadsheet Ortho has maybe taken one or two looks at when he managed to convince Idia to take a nap.

"Um big brother, not to be rude-" Ortho really wants to be. Idia isn't the only one who loves you, just the only one insistent on denying his feelings. "but isn't it sort of... childish to deny yourself at this point? The prefect-"

"They can't be a prefect if they aren't in school." Idia snaps.

"Just Yuu then." Ortho chooses to take the weird cackle Idia lets out as a sign he is making progress with his code and not a sign of a mental break. Yet. "They never showed interest in anyone else, they always picked you. That's got to be enough data to prove that when you save them," because there really is no point in pretending Idia is trying to do anything else at this point, even he gave up denying that just fifteen minutes into this conversation "they won't abandon you for anyone else."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Idia doesn't think he meant to say that, the words sort of just fall out of his mind onto his lap. He risks a look at the security footage, your ghost seldom comes into Ignihyde. That had bothered him at first, angered him even. What, you'll tell him you love him, steal his first kiss every time you can, and watch all his favorite shows just to get him to talk to you more but then when you're trapped in a liminal space you won't bother knocking on his door? Did all those things you said you would do only apply to the good times?

Not that it changed what he was going to do, part of him saw saving you as a challenge but mostly it was just out of gratitude for saving Ortho. That would have earned you his help even without the whole "lovers doomed by the narrative" thing you had going on. But recently, the more he worked on saving you really, he had started to wonder if his self doubt was what was pushing you away. Idia hated how much magic could rely on something as unpredictable and unreliable as human emotion, but it did. And whatever was happening to you was absolutely magical, he had the data to prove it. Reluctantly, ignoring Ortho's protests despite the guilt that gnaws at him he leaves his room. The harsh nighttime light of Ignihyde's LED displays bounce off his skin as he shuffles himself through the empty dormitory, no real destination in mind. He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud in front of Ortho, he couldn't bring himself to say it in front of you either, if his spotty memory is serving him correctly. He finds himself stood in front of a vending machine in one of the school's hallways, two distorted shadows flickering with equal uncertainty in the glass.

"Hungry?" Idia doesn't know why he asks, but he knows why he puts enough money into the machine for two bags of chips. "I keep forgetting I'm just getting shit for myself now." You don't respond, but Idia isn't too surprised or upset. It has to be weird hearing him address you directly after he's spent so much time ignoring you. "Just because Ignihyde's meant to respect the King of the Underworld doesn't mean you'll get snatched away if you pay me a visit. You shouldn't be afraid of him, he isn't dangerous to you." But I am. He doesn't say that, but the words hang heavy in the air anyway. Your shadow tries to reach for the vending machine, but pause almost confused when Idia beats you to punch in the familiar number of your favorite drink.

I love you. He doesn't say it out loud, but the thunk of the can makes the point just the same Idia realizes when he brings the can up to a very confused, very familiar looking face. You are confused, and a bit scared when he drops the drink to tackle you but you hold onto him anyway.

I love you too. You don't say it either but the steady, comforting beat of your heart screams it just the same. I will find you in ever lifetime.

[echo-lover]

Why are you watching this, it's for kids. Focus on life, find yourself a partner, have your own family. You are an adult. Grow up.

You don't understand it. This is not just a series...

This series gives me a chance to feel like a kid again. I find comfort, safety and care in the arms of characters who mean the world to me. I experience each of their moments of sadness, each of their smallest joys, as if they were my own. This is my home, my safe space. I love them with all my heart. Thank you Star-Wars for my beautiful family.

I love Wrecker because he always managed to put a smile back on my face, even when I was having the worst day ever. His cheerful personality makes it impossible not to like him. Sometimes he is just a child, trapped in a large man's body. Behind all this muscles and enormous strength that can easily hurt you, there is a soft heart made of gold. He can be gentle, soft, even quiet if he has to. He would do absolutely everything for his family. He is also way more intelligent than he might think. The way he takes care of Omega melts my heart every time. Kids love him and he loves kids.

I love Tech because he can quickly adapt to situations. His voice is so special... I could listen to him for hours and never get tired of his facts about everything he saw and heard on his missions. He showed me that being smart is not something I should be ashamed of. His voice is calming, gives me comfort... I love his little jokes and moments where he was just a little savage in conversations. Even though he processes moments and thoughts differently, he is still able to share his own feelings with Omega. She helped him open up and show the part of himself that he kept closed from the world, even from himself. He loved his family so much that he sacrificed himself for their safety, paying the biggest price. He is worth every tear I shed for him (and there were so many).

I love Echo because I see a part of myself in him. He has been with me from the very beginning of my journey with Clones, and is one of the most important characters for me. I relate to him for many personal reasons. Even though he has experienced so much evil in his life, he is still able to be gentle, caring and show love to those who were closest to him. I especially love his bond with Omega, they both understand each other through their traumas, and way more. Omega quickly became the most important to Echo, but he couldn't give up on fighting, even for her. He felt that he has to somehow compensate for all the lost years when he was a prisoner on SkakoMinor. His honor, loyalty and courage inspire me every day. And his tenderness and softness touch my soul deeply. I could talk about him for hours and never get bored. I wish I'd be able to give him the biggest and warmest hug, and tell him how important he is to me.

I love Crosshair because he's the type of character I could easily hate, but I don't. In fact Cross is very close to my heart, I feel sorry for him and I want to help him get back to his old self. He is so much more than what the Empire has done to him. This sniper who never misses, who doesn't have to use his muscles to hurt - words are enough for him - silent, yet sharp. Precise, accurate, always on point. Confident, knowing his skills. Painfully honest, but needing to prove his worth to others at the same time. I know there is this soft side of him, hidden, but it is there for sure. The side that loves his brothers and little sister more than his own life. He need some time to understand that he is worth all the love in the Galaxy and I hope that Omega will help him to realize, that his brothers never really left him. They would take him back, if he just wanted...

I love Hunter because he makes me feel safe. I can't put it into words, but he's a character that reminds me of home... a loved one that I lost some time ago. He is so much like my dad at some point and his bond with Omega is so special for me. I know he's not perfect, he makes mistakes just like everyone else, but he always wants to do the right thing. He is a leader, not the one that only gives orders, but he is more like the head of the family who protect them - a father. He always puts his family first and is willing to do anything for them. For any of them, including Crosshair. He often doesn't give direct orders, just suggestions. His squad is not just soldiers, but they are his brothers, his closest family. His priorities changed when Omega appeared in his life - a child in need of a family, who trusted him and gave him love that he had never received before. From a soldier, he became a father, who would give everything for his daughter's safety and joy. His relationship with Omega is the most important to me. I loved him from the first moment and I could talk about him for hours, just like about Echo. I will always defend him. No matter what.

I love Omega because she took the best parts of each of her brothers. She is fearless, brave, strong and ready to defend her family until the very end. She's just a sweet little girl who can't have a normal childhood. She's different, just like her brothers, and she's so proud of it. She is not afraid to show her individuality. But even though she is strong and brave, she is still just a child. She needs love, protection... family... and Bad Batch gave it to her... a home, a safe place, loving brothers... Words cannot describe how important she is to me. Now she has changed so much, she is no longer this little Omega from first season... I think she becomes so much like Hunter.

[melfinawins]

My partner started watching the new season so I joined in. Oops?

The spoiler tag is at the top. I recommend not reading this until you've watched the entire season.

Well. That season was all over the place. Big lack of cohesion.

I wound up watching it because my partner did. And I just marathoned it.

I like all the long conversations, but it got taxing and too meandering by around episode 6. I kinda hit my limit with Mikey and Tina. I loved their interaction completely, but instead of it being a unique/special moment, they applied it to every fucking character on the show.

I liked that Claire told the Faks to fuck off. That was nice!

I loved Ted Fak and Sweeps/Gary's conversation. Got teary-eyed.

Loved everything to do with Marcus. I've said it before and I'm going to say it again: he's getting a star before all these other jokers. He's the only one who has balance. He has climbed the mountain of self-actualization and reached its peak.

Loved in the finale where the camera just recorded real life world famous chefs talking and being happy about food. I was so starved for a sense of joy, I rewatched that part over again because I just wanted to see happy smiling faces. But they kept showing Carmy's dumb ass.

Things I hated: nothing was resolved, only secondary storylines (Marcus, Nat). Literally EVERYTHING ELSE IS OPEN. We didn't even get Syd telling Carmy she wanted out (didn't have to resolve that shit, just fucking START THE PROCESS OF RESOLVING IT WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE), or Cicero being straight with Carmy. We didn't get Nat showing off the baby to her brother, we didn't even get Carmy meeting the baby. WE DIDN'T GET RICHIE FINDING HIS JOY AFTER LOSING IT-- HE DIDN'T EVEN GO TO THE WEDDING OR NOT GO--NOTHING. Like, the fuck? This show goes on and on about the heart, but we barely got any moments with the characters reminding us what we watched for.

I hate that Carmy passed down his abusive behavior and trauma he got from the EMP chef to Syd, so now her ass is panicking in a hallway when THE FORMER EC OF EVER IS DOING JAEGER BOMBS IN HER LIVING ROOM. Carmy ruined that for her. They didn't get trapped by a star, Carmy ruined that opportunity the moment he got out of that freezer. They were never going to get the star. It was always a shot in hell in the first place, but with Carmy at the helm, it was fucked from jump. HE SHOULDN'T BE EXEC CHEF OF JACK SHIT.

I'm mad that Carmy doesn't even realize how hard he's fucked literally everything. I know that's a part of the point, as EMP chef didn't give two fucks either, but I'm mad that Carmy let the trauma get the best of him and then fucking PASSES IT ON.

WHY DIDN'T CARMY APOLOGIZE TO CLAIRE. I feel like even with his traumas, it was overblown. Like, a lot. As a person who was raised by two Donna's, who fucked off and left the state like this fictional character did with like, 24 hrs notice, a person who would have also skipped their parents funerals had not they had to pay for it, ect, where are his motherfucking balls? CLAIRE FUCKING DESERVES BETTER. THIS MAN IS IN HIS THIRTIES.

This review isn't even about SydCarmy, because I'm just mad about the season in general lmao

Like, I hate Carmy right now. There are sooo many people depending on him to support their families and their way of life. He was so self absorbed this season that he imploded his restaurant over fucking menu choices. The damage may be too great. And he may have fucked it beyond repair. I kinda don't care about his head space, because Donna is/was shit, but she didn't fucking implode a restaurant full of people depending on her.

He's turning into his parents.

I said previously that his ass was on thin ice. I meant that shit. Like, I'm not rooting for him as of right now. He's done too much damage. It's like Syd said in the 2nd episode or whatever: this is a him problem, not a them problem.

And Donna can fuck right off lmao And no, being women who can experience and bond over childbirth doesn't heal fucking wounds, actually. As a person who has been in that exact situation, I skipped half the episode once Donna showed up. Because I also thought my mother with severe mental health issues could relate to her daughter giving birth. But then that shit didn't happen and once the baby has arrived, the story gets rewritten. Donna, in her current state, is incapable of change. Sorry not sorry.

And when has Nat ever been that fucking dense? Anyone with eyes could see Syd and the rest of the staff are miserable. And she saw the numbers-- that place won't last a year if they don't fucking bring in the budget. What good is a star if the place is closed a week later? CICERO HAS PUT DOWN ALMOST A MILLION DOLLARS. If the storyline is to be believed, they would be making a nice dent in the loan if not for the daily changing menu. And for what? Recycled, uninspired food that Carmy is just regurgitating from his former bosses who actually put in the creative energy to accomplish it? Very 2014 of him indeed.

I usually really love dark seasons of shows, or the mid point of a movie franchise (think Two Towers of LotR). I was going in expecting it to be fucking really dark. But something that's really important when you're doing the midpoint of a story is giving the audience something to hold onto. You have to show the audience that though it's dark, the dawn will come. There needs to be hope, even if it's just a flicker.

Not the case here.

In this 3rd season, every time the story would show some positive moments in a tiny storyline, they'd reiterate how shit is fucked and possibly permanently. And the characters are unlikeable, but not in a Succession kind of way!

My hopes for the characters of The Bear is that they get the fuck out and find other spots at other places where they can self-actualize and be happy.

I hope Syd gets every one of her dreams and spending time with Carmey will seem like a drug induced psychosis from the stale waffles she ate in her freezer. I hope she and Luca fuck. I hope she, Luca and Marcus fuck. I hope she opens her dream spot with those two and they get everything that Carmy inadvertently sabotaged at The Bear.

I hope Tina goes if she wants to go around the world, even if it's just at Syd's new place. I hope the staff walks and goes with her. Honestly, I hope they all just go to a spot Syd creates. Syd has the potential to be Terry when she "grows up". All she did this season was babysit Carmy and put out fires that Carmy himself lit. Even if Carmy promises to fix himself, like, HE CAN'T BE TRUSTED. Because his "relapses" are fucked and terrible and severe. Even though we see him kind of get a catharsis from telling EMP chef off, Syd and the crew didn't see that shit and there's not much left of his word to them.

That's it for now. I got progressively more angry as I started writing.

I think that episode 1 of this season was one of, if not the best, hour of television I've watched in a long time.

I'm surprised that the season as a whole left me so disappointed.

Also, it's really funny that they got Thomas Keller to do a cameo, since Joel McHale is based off him lmao

[whakkicat]

i am leaving

i made a post on my twt about this, but i should make it here as well.

this is my last text post before i archive this account and start elsewhere. video about what’s been happening at some point.

this post will be a personal note to friends, mutuals, communities, etc, and what will happen from here.

brief warning for mentions of abuse

1. i want to start with a word towards the rain world community. first off, i want to thank rain world for giving me a home. for starting me off as an artist. i had never actively participated in a fandom before this, and it was a wonderful experience.

the game brought me and so many of my friends together, i met a lot of amazing artists, some of which i’m still shocked they’re my mutuals, and rain world itself changed my life for the better, i believe. it gave me hope and something to live for when nothing else did.

i’ve always been quite afraid of voicing myself, as i had never participated actively in a fandom before, therefore had never gotten used to talking in one. but to those who’ve stuck around, who have enjoyed my content, thank you.

2. to the people who have been there for me during the worst, who have let me know i am not alone in my suffering, it means so much to me. i really hope that i can still keep contact with many of the people i have met on here.

there have been so many kind people on this platform and it’s been a joy talking to you all. if this is goodbye, to some, i wish you all the best. it’s only what you deserve.

3. i will be reaching out to the main people who i owe art to, regardless of cmms or not. it is unprofessional of me not to keep track of myself and keep everyone waiting. my ADHD has not made it very easy for me. i apologize.

4. this point will mention abuse, so cw dealing and getting out of abuse this year was extremely hard for me, and is still taking its toll on me. it’s part of the reason i can’t stay, because i feel they still have power over me, even if they’re not actively in my life anymore.

as i move on, i don’t want to completely abandon my past, and everything that came out of that abuse in the first place. i am not abandoning myself, or forgetting what i went through. i want to grieve my younger, naive self as i go forward as an artist.

this doesn’t mean i’ve let them win and break me down. i won’t give up on myself. i need to be kinder to myself and heal, so being away from this will help. this also goes out to anyone else trapped in their friendships, relationships. you will be okay. talk to

please do not silence yourself for the sake of other people. your own feelings are just as valid and important as anyone else’s. don’t let people make you feel bad for feeling your own feelings.

5. to mutuals who’d like to stay in contact, i have a priv account on twitter i will mainly be using from now on. it won’t be used as much as it used to, considering this is a hiatus, but it will be where i will reside. you’re free to ask me in dms.

6. i’ve already begun starting over, i won’t be gone completely. if you happen to recognize me in the near future, please do not pester me about it. simply accept that i have restarted, as a brand, as an artist, and i’d like to start over from square one.

7. this account will also be public for the remainder of its existence, however i may clean it up for archival purposes. i don’t want to simply vanish, i am proud of some of the work i have published, and i don’t want it to be forgotten.

it’s a bit odd, considering most of my art is composed of doodles, non-serious jokes, and mostly fanart. hopefully i can make self indulgent art in the future. i’ve always wanted people to know my characters, but was always too afraid to actually talk to people.

closing point i’m sorry if my absence upsets anyone, if you are disappointed in me. i can’t stress enough that this year has been hard enough on me, and being here is hard enough. i want a fresh start. i want to be okay.

i love my fellow artists, my friends, everyone. there’s so many talented people i’ve met and i don’t ever want to forget them. my last post will be my video talking about my experiences this year, previous years, because i feel it’s important for me to come out about it.

this is a goodbye. i will miss many of you. here’s to hoping the rest of the year will be good for everyone! until our paths meet again. good luck out there

[punkitt-is-here]

Honestly talking about that other post I reblogged it reminds me of how much Yakuza 7 meant to me. I still haven't finished it, put it on hiatus when I went back to college, but I think it speaks to how refreshing it is to have stories that feature older, mature protagonists. Ichiban is, like, 43 when the game properly starts up, and I think the youngest party member you can get is in their thirties? And you get a guy in his sixties as one of your primary party members. And it fucking OWNS.

During the very beginning of lockdown, I was deathly afraid I was losing some of the best years of my life to being trapped inside my home. I was worried that I'd only get to experience the world after I had left behind the prime parts of my life where I could explore and make mistakes and when I'd finally return to being a person I'd be too old for any of that. An irrational fear? Absolutely, but fear doesn't need to be rational to be scary.

Getting Yakuza 7 and seeing Ichiban, a guy who lost basically two decades of his life to prison, still get up and run around town and find new things in life to enjoy and discover and pick up right where he left off was incredibly therapeutic. I think a lot of twenty-somethings worry their life basically ends at 30, but obviously it doesn't. But it's hard to see! And HAVING a story go "no, you can absolutely do all of these things no matter what age you're at, and you can pick up the pieces of yourself and become a new person at any point in life" is just so so so reassuring to see. It's fictional, but it calmed me. It sucked I wasn't doing what I wanted to do with my life, but I really had all the time in the world to still do what I wanted and it's never too late to explore and find new joy.

[thoughtfulchaos773]

I wanted to link three other posts I read that touched on this subject. I was going to write a part 2 to Emotional Chaos but I think there's a discussion to be had about this.

Credits:

The menu by @unlikelyjapan

Carmy & his trauma with Claire by @vacationship

An Ask by @november-rising

I want to hear from others- but how would you interpret this moment?

Because you're the bear and I remember you.

If we think about the sequence of events-

1. Syd & Carmy getting to know each other, building emotional intimacy at his apartment.

2. You have Natalie on the phone saying ---

But as adults, we never try new things. Because it just becomes so easy to keep doing the same exact thing. Same exact people. Who doesn't want easy? Who doesn't just want to fucking be okay?

3. Emmanuel and Syd are discussing the bear and Syd reassures her father she's in a different place and she trusts Carmy.

4, Then this scene- she remembers the bear and Carmy looks anything but pleased. Because you're the bear and I remember you

There's almost a look like he's been gutted. almost a realization of yes I'm the bear and I create all these bad things. I'm a Berzatto.

Another thing: It's like pulling teeth to get Carmy engaged in this conversation with Claire in the grocery aisle, he's asking questions but he seems, out of it?

My interpretation: He associates himself(bear) with chaos- a being made up of his anger, sadness, fears, love, and joy- it’s his emotions wrapped up and creating a monster. That is if he can’t tame it. Because being the bear- really being it, understanding it like Claire says about the broken arm. It's understanding his emotions which he can only do by looking within.

Season 2 ends with Carmy trapped in that feeling of being the bear- being inside his mind and stuck there. The emotional chaos, the uneven tape. He is scared to experience change. Will he be trapped there forever? Or will he take the time to explore his suppressed emotions for himself, his past, and for Sydney?

[crazycoke-addict]

In Poppy Playtime, the first we get is a VHS tape of a vintage poppy commercial with a hidden message and a letter that tells the player to go back to their old job Playtime Co to investigate what happened there.

If you read the letter, you'll notice that there are a few grammar errors. Many fans believe that a child or a toy possessed by a child wrote this letter. I think I remember somebody saying it was Poppy, but it can't be the Poppy that we know because she was locked in the case and appears to be in a deep sleep.

However, one thing that I do wanna bring up is how we know that this was a child or a toy being possessed by a child. How are we 100% sure that this isn't an adult or a teen. Just because there are grammar errors.

There is subtle evidence that the kids may have survived the hour of joy and are hiding underground. The first evidence we see is when the hour of joy was happening, it's heavily implied that the toys were influenced by 1006, aka the prototype to attack and kill any employee they come across. Doesn't matter whether or not they knew. In the surveillance camera, we see a bunch of Miss Delights chasing a man in a room.

During the school area, the player collects a bunch of papers that tell them how somebody locked the door and they were trapped in there. The Miss Delight that we encountered was one who survived because she ate the other Miss Delight. It's revealed that it was catnap who locked her in.

The reasoning was that she and the other Miss Delights wouldn't attack and kill the children. According to Ollie, Catnap treats the prototype like a good and even one VHS tape when Leith Pierre checks up on Catnap/Theo Gamble. Catnap says the prototype will save them. If anyone is going to obey the prototype, it's going to be Catnap.

There's a poster where it appears to mommy long legs hugging huggy wuggy and 3 children. In the corner, there appears to be a message. It says, "Everyone must do their part. Any child between the ages of 2 months and 16 years is eligible for entry into the playtime Co foster and adoptive care initiative."

This is likely this is the age that the kids/babies/teens are suitable to be adopted. However, since we know that the game station was used to see which kid is suitable for their compatible bigger body toys. The game musical memory appears to be testing the children based on their ability to remember. Musical memory is suitable for kids at the age of 7 to adulthood. We can also see the same with the other games. So, when a kid turns 7, they start the testing.

The reason why this is important is because Mommy Long Legs is located in the game station. In the transfer forms, it says that Mommy Long Legs is hostile towards the staff but is motherly and protective towards the experiments. Many believe the experiments are toys themselves. However, if you win a game and find the exit. You hear noises. It's mommy long legs killing Bunzo Bunny and the little wuggies. If she's so protective of the experiments, then why is she hostile towards them? Because the experiments are actually what I believe they call the children. In the transfer form, it's revealed that Mommy Long Legs is possessed by a little girl named Marie Payne. Marie and one of the caretakers Patty Hall have a mother/daughter relationship. While the toys appeared to not remember when they were human. It's appears they at least remember the lessons. Marie Payne, aka mommy long legs, is motherly towards the other experiments, aka the children, because she would've had remembering of motherly love.

The reason why is important is because it shows that the toys never wanted to harm the children since the children did nothing to them. You see, in one video, we hear that a long-time employee, Thomas Clarke, volunteers to have his subconscious be moved into a toy. After it was finished and he was put in the storage unit where he is attacked by the other toys because they sense something off.

The prototype may have influenced them to do these awful things, but when it comes to their knowledge about who should be trusted, that's all on them. It appears that there are subtle evidence of them not murdering the children and maybe hiding somewhere deeper underground. It is like that one of the kids, which is probably teens or adults, wrote the letter to the player. They may have done copies just in case. How they manage to get it to the outside world is up to be debate, but it's likely a toy is helping them.

[fictionadventurer]

the animation style isn't for everyone, but my family typically watches the 2009 Christmas Carol with Jim Carrey - if you're up to try another adaptation I wonder what you'd think of it! It does include both the scene of the ghosts and of Ignorance and Want, and iirc a pretty big percentage of the dialogue is straight out of the original book.

I'm actually watching it right now, and I've been checking patches of the dialogue against Gutenberg. Aside from cutting out some lines from conversations, the dialogue is pretty much word-for-word from the book. In the scene with Marley, Scrooge even says, "Thank'ee," where it would have been easy to substitute, "Thank you." Unfortunately, some of the lines they've cut are the religious ones, but I guess we can't have everything.

I was going to wait to give thoughts until I could give a full review, but I'm actually watching this version because I was so impressed by the patches of it I caught on TV, and this gives me a chance to talk about some of the things I've liked.

Jim Carrey as Scrooge works shockingly well. He really throws himself into the part. All the weird little gremliny body language makes him this loathsome creature, but in a comic way that feels very Dickens.

Starting with Scrooge signing Marley's death certificate was such a smart choice. They managed to work in the "dead as a doornail" line without narration!

I had been hoping for Scrooge to steal something from Marley's body during his death scene in the Sim version, and was disappointed they didn't go that route. But this version does! It's such a good choice.

This might be the first Bob Crachit I haven't loved--he looks too ratlike and henchman-y. But he's growing on me a bit, and I love that they include the scene of him sliding on the ice with the boys.

This version seems to overexaggerate the horror and nightmare elements of the story. Not a huge fan of that, but it could be worse.

I adore how they capture Scrooge's joy in the Christmas Past scenes. I was disappointed we didn't get him going into raptures over his childhood reading, but I've liked everything else I've seen so far of that portion.

Seeing young Jim Carrey in Victorian garb as young Scrooge was...an odd experience.

This version's Belle absolutely blew me away. Every other version of her I've seen makes her just Scrooge's girlfriend. She's there to be a sweet and sentimental lost love. But this Belle is a mature, responsible woman, who knows her own mind and heart and can make good choices for her life. This is a woman who could have captured Scrooge's heart and would have made an excellent wife. Astounding performance on every level.

Want and Ignorance were the only parts of the Christmas Present scene I've caught so far. Loved that they were included, didn't like the expansion into much weirder nightmare imagery.

I'm obsessed with how Carrey keeps Scrooge's gremliny body language even after he reforms. So it plays as "Mwahaha, I've trapped you in my evil plan to...give your family a comfortable life!" Not how I would have envisioned his post-reform behavior, but a believable and very fun choice.

[theeccentricraven]

Favorite OC Poll

Thank you @willtheweaver for the tag here 😊

Rules: List all your main OCs and give a brief description of them. Then create a poll with their names and allow your followers to vote on who their favorite character is.

I provided thumbnails about the 2-3 main characters of four of my WIPs.

The Blood Cleaners

Justin: A sixteen-year-old orphaned boy from the dystopian city of Corpa who spent his whole childhood working as a street cleaner to support his adopted mother and sister. He can be sarcastic, humorous, and motivational, but has a hot temper. He dreams of being a blood cleaner to better support his family and earn respect. He has a mysterious telepathic and telekinetic connection with objects that he tries to keep secret. Selfless as he is, he can be insensitive. He is determined to risk his life for a better future. 

Joselyn: Sixteen-year-old farmer girl who has been abused by her parents her whole life. She wants to be a blood cleaner to escape her parents and earn enough to help her sisters get out, too. She starts out with a lack of confidence, but still determined, brave, independent, and strong willed. She's outspoken on the problems with Corpa's totalitarian government even at the risk of her life. She is sensitive to how others suffer. Love, family, and freedom matter most to her.

Clarice: Sixteen year old girl who has grown up in the Steel Castle, where her parents are part of the Fists - the ruling and governing class of Corpa. Because of her dyslexia, her parents treated her as a failure. She still maintains a positive attitude by finding joy in painting and making paper airplanes. She's insensitive to the feelings of others, though she wants to be kind. She wants to make friends even though her parents bar her away from them out of belief that her incompetence will be a “bad influence”. Her two dreams are to design and build airplanes and to find love. 

Sanctuary Calling

Nari: A fourteen year old girl of Korean descent who grew up in a biodome on Mars in a future where the world government forced humanity to move to space. She's known for being a prodigy, intelligent and talented at handcrafted airplanes. She’s a neat-freak, atheist, impatient, yet respectful to everyone she encounters. She is fed up with her parents who aren’t satisfied with her aerodynamics dreams as they try to sway her to be a doctor. She’s always wanted to experience the real earth, not just by VR simulations. She dreams of going to a prestigious school on a station near Luna, until she sacrifices her dreams to join the rebels who want to allow humanity to return to earth. The only problem is she doesn’t do well without electricity.  

Abraham: A fifteen year old Amish boy who lives in what used to be Ohio. When the World Council ordered humanity to leave earth and live in space, societies consider “primitive” were allowed to stay on earth to be the “caretakers”, including cultures like the Inuits, the Sami, Australian aborigines, African Bushmen, the Bedouin, and the Old Order of the Amish. Abe’s only exposure to the “English” has been whenever representatives of the World Council have visited the Amish for annual inspections. Abe is shy and quiet, but a hard worker. He enjoys time with family and friends along with his hobbies of hunting and softball. He dreams of seeing space and the worlds of the English. 

The Keeper of Maralla

Juva: A fourteen year old farmgirl who lives in the town of Sarika in the nation of Lurisika, where people adore the fairies and respect the sacredness of the Enchanted Lands. Juva is part of a collection of clans who have sworn oaths to protect their country. She enjoys life on the farm, though she’s gone through depression after the death of her mother. She is shy, quiet, socially awkward, and trapped in her shell, yet she has a fervent heart

Maralla: A girl estimated to be about fourteen years old, though she has no memory of her former life. She was found standing in a fairy ring after supposedly spending centuries in the Faeryland. She is bubbly, chirpy, kind, and positive, though frail and passive. She sings beautifully, often sharing secret messages in lyrics. She tells funny jokes. She tries to be a healer and protector, though she doesn’t quite know her limits. She has some self-righteous tendencies. 

Jorem: A sixteen year old boy well skilled in necromancy. He grew up in Lendona, a war torn nation who see Lurisika as an enemy ready to be conquered. Because of the loss of his family, he can be bitter and abrasive, though he’s highly intelligent, sarcastic, and full of integrity (believe it or not!). He loves everything black and related to the dark arts. He hates the Lendonian government, inspiring him to join with the rebels trying to lead a coup. Nothing matters more to him than his garden of flora used for his potions. He makes it clear that you don’t want to mess with him. 

Columbus Day

Julie: The fifteen-year-old daughter of a senator of Oregon, she’s close to her Latina roots. She watches her world panic when alien technology is discovered on earth. She tries to keep a positive outlook as she plans for a future working at an aquarium. She loves to goof off with her high school friends and older brothers. She loves the Beatles and Chuck Berry. She’s laid back and down to earth, though she has a tendency to believe she is always right. She’s a fighter for justice and civil rights. She dreams of world peace.

Tsicatam: An extraterrestrial male, his age would be the equivalent of fifteen human years. He is a Proserim, a four-limbed race with a pair of wings. He’s playful, energetic, and curious. He has pride issues and insensitivity to the feelings of others, not to mention a little spoiled by his parents. He wants nothing more than to find adventure and a new life. In his homeworld, he had few friends because many considered his father to be a foolish dreamer. He wants to find a friend among the natives of earth, one he can trust to be a playmate and confidant.    

Tagging (not required): @buffythevampirelover @rickie-the-storyteller @winterandwords @poethill @rivenantiqnerd @unrepentantcheeseaddict @authorcoledipalo @jay-avian

[sakustars]

LAKE

kiyoomi sakusa x male!reader

sfw; fluff; magic au; witch omi; wizard reader; nonsexual nudity; first kisses

there was some sort of mundane innocence that came with being naked together like this. just existing.

if the other witches in his coven saw him now, stripped down past his socks, wallowing in the lake in peaceful coexistence with a wizard boy, they’d damn near have a collective heart attack.

the coven didn’t like wizards. any of them. which was odd, since none of them between kiyoomi and six generations back had ever interacted with one, so for all they knew, their long held prejudices were completely unfounded.

“wizards are dangerous!” “wizards hurt and experiment on plants and animals!” “wizards are all full of themselves!”

but these beliefs did not match up with reality one bit, especially not when considering you.

you. a wizard. and the most perfect boy kiyoomi had ever met.

he’d been scared at first, wandering too far away from the coven’s grove and managing to get himself caught in an animal trap. he’d been stuck there for thirty minutes before you came. he’d recognised you immediately as a wizard, from your hat and robes, and started pelting you with whatever pebbles he could reach as you approached him.

but you persisted, mind set and unwavering from your goal of freeing him. you had deftly managed to sever the ropes binding his legs with a spell as he yelled and thrashed, and tried healing the skin they had chaffed once he had calmed down and realised you had no intention of hurting him.

that day, as you furrowed your brows and muttered a messy incantation, the tips of your fingers barely skating over his rough skin, he swore you were the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on. he had to see you again.

the spell was shoddy work: healing was never wizards’ forte. they were scientists, not doctors, after all. he knew that any one witch at his coven could fully heal the burns on his legs in half a second, but he was desperate for an excuse to meet with you more.

“meet me here tonight at dusk, to do this again and heal me properly,” he had whispered urgently, conscious of how long it had been since he had left the grove.

you had frowned at this, confused. “aren’t you witches meant to be good at healing—”

“i want you to do it,” he said, offering you no explanation before scampering off.

you had met him there that night. and the night after. and some after the that. you had spent hours upon hours exploring the woods in which you both lived, sharing in your magic and growing closer. and now, two years down the line, his coven still had no clue, and you had decided to share your greatest treasure with him.

the lake.

oh, the lake. it almost felt like a whole other reality, with huge weeping willows creating a cavern ceiling, fireflies lighting the place up and skating over the glowing blue water, containing all sorts of magical plants and creatures.

he laid in the shallows now, propped up on his elbows and bobbing slightly with the ebb of the water, watching you. you had waded out further into the lake, water lapping around your hips. he eyes traced lazily over what of you was visible. the line of your back, how your hands and shoulders moved as you talked; tracking a water droplet as it slowly slid its way down from your clavicle, past your chest, before pooling in your navel.

kiyoomi wanted to touch you. he wanted to use his index finger to trace the same path as that droplet; partake in the joy of being a part of you. you were distracted from him by the small frog-looking thing you were holding, talking fast about anything and everything you knew about the species, so enamoured you weren’t even checking if he was still listening.

so you didn’t notice as he stood up and waded up to meet you. he stood behind you, hovering. he had a good view of the nape of your neck with your hair pushed away, and god he wanted to touch it.

he needed to touch you.

he’d done it before, hands held tight as you trekked through uneven forest, tight hugs before parting, heads leant on shoulders sat by a fire.

but nothing like this. where you were so bare. so intimate

his body moved before his brain did, hands reaching forward and holding onto your hips. you yelped quietly in surprise, jumping and turning around to look at him.

it was at this point that kiyoomi realised what his hands had done without permission, and flushed a dark red. he didn’t retract his hands though — it was too late for that.

you turned fully to face him, dropping the creature back into the water. you looked at him expectantly, inching closer.

then stopped, your nose brushing his. waiting.

kiyoomi sucked in a breath and steeled his nerves, before closing the gap.

the kiss was warm, tasting of salt and love, and you reciprocated with enthusiasm, wrapping you arms around his neck. he rewarded you with a hum and a squeeze of your hips and you buried your hands in his dripping curls.

he didn’t care what his coven would think, as long as he had you.

🪐 a/n: reblogs, likes and comments are very appreciated <3