#“newfound” might he putting it strong

[benevolentfalcon]

I'm pretty sure it's just her newfound fascism. She knows she's unpopular, this isn't a real endorsement. She's hardly new at spreading obvious disinformation. I think she's just trying to muddy the water: "See? Even the far left hates trans people! Everybody actually hates trans people, the tee-arr-ays have simply gaslit everyone into thinking they don't!"

JK Rowling endorsing the Communist Party bc they are sufficiently transphobic but Labour isn't is... well, it's something.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

MHA BOYS- you're pregnant

how the mha boys react when you tell them your pregnant. tags/warnings- pregnancy (obvi) aged up (post-canon) no negative reactions, this is so corny i hate it characters- izuku midoryria, katsuki bakugo, shoto todoroki, denki kamanari, ejirio Kirishima, fumikage tokoyami, koji koda, mezo shoji, tamaki amajiki, hanta sero, tenya iida 

Izuku Midoriya

When you told Izuku the news, he froze mid-step, his eyes widening as your words sank in. “Really?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. You nodded, watching as his mind raced, almost seeing the gears turning behind his green eyes.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then, without warning, he pulled out his notebook, scribbling down notes and making lists at lightning speed. Baby-proofing the apartment, researching the best cribs, figuring out how to balance work and fatherhood—his brain was in overdrive.

But amid the frantic planning, you caught him stealing glances at your stomach, his lips curving into the smallest of smiles. He wasn’t saying much, but his actions spoke louder than words. When he finally put down the notebook, he reached for your hand, squeezing it gently.

“We’ve got this,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet determination. “I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Katsuki Bakugo

Bakugo didn’t say anything at first when you broke the news. His usual fiery demeanor was replaced by a heavy silence as he processed your words. His red eyes were locked on you, intense and unreadable, as if trying to figure out what to do next.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice gruff but steady. “You serious?”

When you nodded, he didn’t explode or rant like you might have expected. Instead, he reached out and pulled you into a rough, but secure embrace. His arms tightened around you protectively, and you felt the shift in him. His protective instincts, already strong, seemed to go into overdrive. He wasn’t one for soft words, but his actions said it all.

Over the next few days, you noticed him being extra cautious—keeping a close eye on what you were eating, making sure you were comfortable, and even being more mindful of his temper around you. He wasn’t suddenly soft, but there was a newfound depth to his care.

One evening, you caught him looking at baby clothes online. “Just making sure the kid isn’t weak,” he grumbled when you asked. But there was a glint of something in his eyes—an excitement he’d never admit out loud.

Shoto Todoroki

When you told Shoto the news, he took it with his usual calm, his expression barely changing. But there was a brief flicker in his mismatched eyes—something deep, something reflective. He took your hand, holding it gently as he nodded.

“We’ll figure this out together,” he said simply, his voice steady.

You could see the wheels turning in his mind, though he didn’t voice all his thoughts. Instead, he became even more attentive than usual. He took on more around the house without a word, ensuring you were as comfortable as possible. It wasn’t overt, but you could feel the shift in him—a quiet resolve to be better than the father he’d had.

Sometimes, you’d catch him lost in thought, his gaze distant as he seemed to contemplate the future. But there was also a softness to him that hadn’t been there before—a subtle happiness that radiated from him whenever he was with you.

Denki Kaminari

Denki’s reaction was instant—a wide grin splitting his face as he practically bounced in place. "No way! We’re gonna be parents?!" His excitement was infectious, and I couldn’t help but laugh. He pulled me into a playful hug, his energy buzzing. "This is gonna be so awesome! I’m gonna teach them all about music, and video games, and... oh man, this is so cool!" But then, his expression softened, and he looked at me with surprising seriousness. "I’ll be here for you, babe. Every step of the way."

Eijiro Kirishima

Kirishima’s reaction was nothing short of pure joy. "We’re gonna be a family? That’s so manly!" he exclaimed, pulling me into the biggest hug. His enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself smiling as he rambled on about all the things he wanted to do for our baby. "I’m gonna be the best dad ever, I swear!" he declared, his eyes shining with determination. Then, more quietly, he added, "And I’ll be here for you, no matter what. We’ve got this."

Fumikage Tokoyami

Tokoyami’s reaction was more subdued, but the depth of his emotions was clear in his eyes. "A child," he said softly, his voice filled with quiet reverence. He took my hand in his, his touch gentle yet firm. "This is a profound responsibility, one I’ll carry with pride." His gaze met mine, filled with a determination that was uniquely his. "I’ll protect you both from any darkness that comes our way," he promised, his tone resolute. "You have my word."

Koji Koda

Koji’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed almost overwhelmed by the news. But then, a warm, gentle smile spread across his face. "We’re... we’re going to have a baby," he murmured, as if trying to wrap his mind around the idea. He reached out, his large hands enveloping mine in a comforting hold. "I’ll take care of you both," he promised softly. And then, almost as an afterthought, he added with a shy smile, "The animals will be so excited to meet the baby."

Mezo Shoji

Shoji’s reaction was calm, his many arms moving to gently envelop me in a protective embrace. "This is big news," he said quietly, his voice filled with a steady resolve. "But we’ll handle it together." He looked down at me, his expression softening. "I’ll make sure you’re safe, that you have everything you need." His touch was reassuring, a reminder of the quiet strength he always carried. "You and our child are my top priority now."

Tamaki Amajiki

Tamaki’s reaction was a mix of emotions, his face shifting from surprise to anxiety, and finally to a tentative smile. "Y-You’re... pregnant?" he stammered, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement. I nodded, and he reached out hesitantly, his hand trembling as it rested on my stomach. "I’ll... I’ll do my best," he whispered, his voice barely audible. Then, more firmly, he added, "I’ll protect you both. I promise."

Hanta Sero

Sero’s reaction was instant and full of excitement. "No way! We’re gonna have a baby?!" he exclaimed, scooping me up in a playful hug. His smile was infectious, and I found myself laughing along with him. But then, he set me down gently, his expression turning serious. "I’m gonna be here for you, okay? Whatever you need, I’ve got your back." He squeezed my hand, his usual carefree demeanor giving way to a deeper sense of responsibility. "We’re in this together."

Tenya Iida

Iida’s reaction was immediate and methodical, his mind already racing with plans and preparations. "We need to start organizing everything," he said, his tone serious but filled with a quiet excitement. "Doctor’s appointments, a nursery... we’ll need to make sure everything is ready." But then, he paused, his expression softening as he took my hand. "But most importantly, I want to make sure you’re okay," he added gently. "I’m here for you, every step of the way."

[doumadono]

Hii douma! May I request Shoto just in love? Just him being in love for the very first time and the concept of love just so foreign to him? Have a great day/night!

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

The cold spring air of U.A. High School's training grounds swept across Shoto Todoroki's face, his distinctive heterochromatic eyes glancing stoically at the horizon. As he approached the courtyard, the brisk wind tousled his dual-toned hair, and for the first time, a peculiar sensation stirred within him. It was an emotion he hadn't experienced before, a feeling that seemed to thaw the icy demeanor that usually defined him, yet he couldn't put a finger on what was it.

As the son of Endeavor, emotions had never been a territory he explored willingly. However, this day would mark a shift, an unexpected twist in the stoic narrative of Todoroki's life.

Shoto was no stranger to intense emotions. Anger, resentment, and the relentless pursuit of self-discovery had been his companions for as long as he could remember. But this was different – a foreign concept that had invaded the carefully constructed fortress around his heart.

As he walked past the cherry blossom trees, their delicate petals swirling in the air, his gaze landed on a figure standing by the fountain.

It was you, a fellow classmate whose presence had recently begun to captivate him. You were a presence in his life that had begun to defy categorization. You were just a person — a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit the mold he'd grown accustomed to. He admired you from afar, appreciating your strength and determination in both academics and combat.

It began innocently, Shoto noticed. A shared glance across the classroom, a casual comment during training, and the casual camaraderie of shared laughter. But as days unfolded, the puzzle piece shifted, creating a mosaic he hadn't anticipated. He was no stranger to intensity; after all, his own quirk bore the duality of fire and ice. Yet, this newfound sentiment was a flame of a different kind, uncharted and unsettling.

"Hey," he called out, his voice surprisingly steady despite the internal turmoil.

You turned towards him, a quizzical smile gracing your lips. "Todoroki, hey. Is everything okay?"

Shoto hesitated, his usual calm exterior cracking just a bit. "I… I wanted to talk."

Curiosity sparked in your eyes as you nodded, inviting him to continue.

"I've been thinking," Shoto began, his usually concise words replaced by a rare vulnerability. "About feelings. Emotions. And there's something I can't quite comprehend."

You listened intently, sensing the gravity of Shoto's words. "What is it?"

"I've always been driven by my goals, my desire to surpass my limits, and the need to prove my father wrong," he continued, "but lately, I find myself caught in a different struggle. It's like a flame inside me, burning with an intensity I can't control."

You tilted your head, intrigued. "Oh?"

Shoto nodded, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that surprised even himself. "It's a distraction, an enigma that I can't unravel. It's like standing at the edge of a precipice, uncertain of the fall," he admitted, a rare flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

Your lips curled into a gentle smile. "Love, Todoroki. It sounds like you're in love."

Todoroki's brows furrowed, the word foreign on his tongue. Love. A concept he'd analyzed in textbooks but never expected to encounter firsthand.

You smiled gently, understanding the conflict within him. "Love is complex, Shoto. It's not something you can control or quantify. It's a force that binds us together, that makes us vulnerable and strong at the same time."

Shoto absorbed your words, his internal battle slowly subsiding. "I don't know how to navigate this unfamiliar territory."

You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's okay not to have all the answers. Love is a journey, not a destination. Take your time, Todoroki."

"I think… I might be in love with you," he confessed, the admission hanging in the air like the delicate petals of cherry blossoms.

Your eyes widened, a subtle blush adorning your features. "Todoroki, that's…" you began, but he silenced you with a tender touch as he placed his hand to your rosy cheek.

"Let me finish," he whispered, his breath mingling with the soft evening breeze. "I might not fully understand it, but I know that being around you feels just right. I love spending my time with you, it doesn't matter if we just chat or study together."

A heartbeat passed between you, the air charged with unspoken emotions. And then, in a moment both tender and profound, Shoto leaned in, placing a gentle kiss to your cheek. It was a sweet, hesitant kiss, a step into the uncharted territory of love.

As he looked at you, the world around seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in the quiet embrace newfound feelings. Shoto's stoic facade melted away, revealing a vulnerability.

A quiet moment passed before you chuckled, breaking the tension. "Well, that's unexpected. I never thought I'd be the one to thaw Todoroki's icy heart."

A small, hesitant smile tugged at Todoroki's lips. Embracing the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show, Shoto took a deep breath. "Would you mind if I… explore this feeling with you?"

"I'd like that, Shoto," you replied, reaching your hand out to intertwine your fingers with his.

[ghcstao3]

(part 2) (cw fictional drugs, mild body horror, mild torture)

Shifters should be born, not made. That’s one of few things that science has been able to say for certain about the biology (and ethics) of the species.

Of course, this never stopped those truly motivated—for a few years now, there’s been a serum circulating black markets and cartels and terrorist rings, a dangerous, potent thing that allows for the temporary rewrite of human DNA; for just a handful of hours, this serum allows any non-shifter to gain a shifter’s abilities, often with the goal of making them stronger, deadlier when it comes to picking off their enemies.

Obviously, this serum comes with a few cons: a human cannot determine what animal a serum will give them until it is taken, and because its effects are only temporary, the substance becomes highly addictive. One taste is never enough—but after so many continuous uses, the drug’s effects change into something far more sinister. Potentially fatal; one might lose their mind if they’re lucky, or become some deformed half-thing stuck between human and animal if they’re not.

There’s a reason, scientists will say, that sometimes genetics, DNA is not to be tampered with to such extreme lengths.

But with this serum comes a rumour: somewhere out there exists a more permanent solution, a serum to completely change someone, to make a shifter. Something so strong that it can transform a person, though at a high risk of something going wrong.

This serum does exist, and certainly does hold a risk of things going wrong—the survival rate within days of injection is a measly 5%. The human body is not built to withstand the force of fundamental change, though some prevail; unfortunately, however, often enough they don’t survive long enough afterwards to meet the full potential of their new abilities.

And not necessarily because of the change itself—but rather because the people creating these abnormalities will often decide to erase their existences, once past their use and novelty. If this new creature cannot be leashed, there’s no point in keeping it, no point in allowing it to go free and revel in its newfound talents.

When Simon Riley doesn’t break the way Manuel Roba wants him to, he becomes a victim of this serum. He’s informed, in spite of his torture-induced delirium, that this injection will put him down one way or another—be it through the pain, the incompatibility with his body, or through his expired usefulness after Roba has beaten him into submission in whatever form Simon is blessed with.

The serum feels like hot, molten, infernal flame has been injected directly into Simon’s veins, searing his body from the inside out. The first wave of pain arrives in a flash, has him writhing on the ground as his muscles lock up and he’s gasping for breath to fill lungs already burned to ash. Throat closing up, bones grinding together, the ripping of flesh. He can’t scream. Can’t claw at himself until he’s bloody and raw and dead.

It just goes on.

Roba’s laughter rings through the cold, impersonal laboratory, four cement walls and a cracked floor, the reeking, cloying scent of mildew and rust and failed experiments—it’s all that Simon’s world has narrowed down to until he blacks out in his anguish.

When he wakes, everything is wrong.

Simon’s more than disoriented, though that’s hardly a surprise. But beyond that, beyond the usual aches and sores and bruises—the red of the bloodstained floor is dull, too dull, and his limbs don’t feel like his own. His brain is a fog, simultaneously exhausted and alert, and his tongue sits heavy in his mouth—Simon rolls over, sluggish, his tongue sliding languidly with gravity, picking over teeth sharper than he remembers them being.

The bars of his cell rumble open, the rattle reverberating through Simon’s body.

Wrong. All wrong, wrong, wrong.

It takes effort to lift his gaze, to meet Roba’s own where he stands in the doorway. Simon’s eyelids droop, weighed down by nothing he can discern, and all he can make out through the slits of leftover vision is that smarmy grin and those beady, oil-black eyes.

Roba grins wider when Simon stirs, shifting stiff muscles in a fool’s errand of attempting to sit up.

“I knew you would survive, English,” he says. Simon’s ear twitches. “Welcome to the first day of your new life.”

Roba’s footsteps are loud, grating in their approach. He crouches in front of Simon’s prone form, regarding him in a way Simon has been plenty subject to—always displeased in some capacity, sometimes for known reasons and sometimes not, but also plotting, envisioning the next methods he might use to drill obedience into the soldier, to rearrange his anatomy, to fuck irreparably with his head.

With a sigh Roba reaches into his breast pocket to fish something out, some antique compact with engravings on the lid that Simon is in no state to decipher. He opens it with a muted click, then holds it in front of Simon’s face with something akin to a sick glee woven into his expression.

What stares back at Simon is not human.

[dark-and-kawaii]

Cambion's Daughter

⋆˙⟡♡ Summary/Request: "was wondering if you had any more thoughts on Raphael being a dad".

⋆˙⟡♡ Fatherhood <- Original Thoughts On Dadphael

⋆˙⟡♡ Dadphael | Fluff | Good Dad

Raphael stood motionless in his private chambers, eyes fixed intently on the tiny creature swaddled in black silk in his arms.

She could not have been more different from him, small, weak, her features delicate like the petals of an early spring blossom, each contour soft, requiring the gentlest touch lest she be bruised or damaged by the harshness of a careless hand... And yet she was of his blood, borne from his loins in a carnal union nine months past. For nine months he had paid her growing form within you little attention beyond ensuring her continued existence. Babies held no interest for the future King of the Hells; Raphael had bigger designs to attend to, realms to rule.

But now, gazing into her sleepy face, something stirred deep within him that he did not comprehend. Her tiny claws flexed open and closed, grasping unconsciously at empty air, and when her eyes fluttered open to meet his own, he found himself transfixed by pools of liquid amber peering back without fear or judgment.

She cooed softly, her tail, so much smaller than his own, coming up to wrap loosely around his wrist. At the unfamiliar touch, his face -ever locked in a mask of disdain for lesser beings- softened without his consent. Lips parted in a genuine smile, small but full of wonder, as he beheld the tiny creature that was his child, his to shape and form into the perfect creation.

In that moment, Raphael knew he was lost. His life had always been in order, his purpose singular and undistracted; to ascend to the throne of the Hells and rule with unchallenged might. His existence was a tapestry of power plays, strategic alliances, and dominance. He was a creature of ambition, his every action calculated to assert his supremacy. This child of his blood though, his daughter, had worked a change in him he could never have foreseen or prevented.

Now at night, as she slept curled in the cradle of his wings, lulled by the steady beat of his mighty heart. Raphael, the great devil himself, came to live for these quiet moments of unconditional love from his little mouseling.

He’ll bring her with him to sit in his archive, gently holding her against his chest as she sleeps, a written contract lying on his desk while he works. Though his face was still stern and stoic to outsiders, in these private moments a softness always emerged that few had ever seen. As he gazed upon her peaceful face, he wondered how such a small creature could hold so much power over one as mighty as himself.

When she stirs slightly in her sleep while on his chest, Raphael instinctively holds her closer, protective of his newest treasure.

Calls her the apple of his eyes, little mouseling, his little fiend, and my favorite “my little mirror” - Hinting that she reflects the best of her father's qualities.

As the months passed, Raphael watched with joy and wonder as his little mouseling grew stronger. Her amber eyes, once barely open, now gazed up at him with curiosity and delight. Her tiny claws, once grasping blindly at air, now clutched his leg with surprising strength. With each new milestone, she grew stronger, more fierce, and his heart swelled with pride.

His daughter develops a strong attachment to Raphael and seeks comfort in his presence. Whenever she encounters someone new, she hides behind his leg, finding solace and security by his side.

Dark thoughts do tend to creep into his mind. As the future ruler of the Hells, he would have many enemies who would seek to undermine his power. If they knew of his newfound weakness, they would surely try to exploit it. His daughter's very existence would be put her in danger. These thoughts usually diminish fairly quickly, he still thinks highly of himself and with the crown no one could ever strike him or his daughter down.

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type Au part 2!

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9

i didn’t expect so many people to like this so this is a little addition written stream of consciousness style :)

Weeks have passed and the troops have marched on. Ghost is not very liked amongst his fellow soldiers, most viewing him as something less than human. If they notice the drastic uptick in him sneaking away, they say nothing. Whether it is out of respect, fear, or apathy does not matter.

When they stop somewhere, even if for just a night or two, he always searches the area for overgrown shrines belonging to the god. Now that he is actively seeking them out, he realizes that they’re everywhere.

Damn near every notable landscape was a ruin of what was once a commemoration for the god. Clearings in trees with stone circles on the ground, shallow caves with a pedestal holding forgotten gifts, eye-catching rocks that turned into statues when you paid attention — all for a deity that was now on the brink of death.

On the rare occasion he is unable to find one, he creates one. It was never really anything more than a pile of rocks, but the offerings were still accepted so he took it as a sign of approval. Before, he always ate his meals on the edge of camp, as far away from everyone as he could get while still being in camp. But then he remembered that he didn’t give a shit and would wander further into the woods before sitting down to eat.

Now, it was the same routine but a little less alone. To call some old ass god a friend was a stretch, especially since half of the time it felt more like trying to feed a skittish stray dog, but he enjoyed the time spent “together”. He decided not to think about whether that was an exploitable weakness or if he was going soft and instead tried to enjoy his newfound respite.

Of course, nothing stays happy forever.

When the battle they had been marched towards finally came, Ghost was put on the frontlines, as per usual. This time he felt Different but chalked it up to nerves with feeling like he might have something to lose now.

That morning, he hadn’t received breakfast so the only offering he had been able to provide was a few flowers that were in the area. He felt beyond stupid while picking them, but when they were laid down, the god hadn’t even waited for him to turn away to be able to dramatically accept the offering. They were accepted immediately, with a strong breeze rustling the branches and such an intense feeling flooding through him he’d had to take a step back.

The forgotten god of death likes flowers, apparently.

Within a few hours, he went from wondering if he would now be upgrading his food offerings to include a garnish of whatever flowers he found in the area, to wondering if that would be the last offering the god would ever receive.

The arrow had nestled between plates of his armor, striking him in the lower ribs. He was dying far too slowly for it to have hit anything vital, but he was still dying. He was an okay field medic, but it was that very knowledge that meant he knew he was doomed.

Being nothing more than a weapon, he was not allowed to see the healers the same way everyone else was. As the battle finished with their side unfortunately victorious, he wondered if the general even realized he could be fatally wounded.

The smoke cleared, the injured men were hurried to the medical tents, the general began planning their next attack, and Ghost lay there, dying and forgotten in an open field. He had been looking forward to this moment for so long, but now that he was here, he wondered who would give his god offerings tomorrow. Realizing that in dying, he would be taking the god with him made him feel almost remorseful.

But the darkness was creeping in on his vision and his woes seemed to fall away as did the rest of the world. Perhaps he would be seeing the god soon.

————

He did not expect to wake up, and yet he was staring at the canopy of leaves above him and wondering why Hell looked so nice. When the pounding in his head went away, he sat up slowly, first rolling onto his side and reeling from the pain. When he was able to push himself up into a seated position, he realized that Hell not only looked lovely, but incredibly familiar as well.

Once his vision stopped swirling, he saw that he wasn’t in the afterlife at all, but instead had been lying on the offering table he had just left flowers on that morning. Still barely comprehending what was going on, he scrambled off the shrine. Just because he’d challenge a god to a fistfight doesn’t mean he’s entirely stupid. He still remembers stories that the elders would use to scare him and the other kids — about how anything on the offering table was an offering that could be taken.

He wasn’t interested in becoming a human sacrifice just yet so he fell to the grass and tried to remember what happened. The pain made everything muddied, but he knew for certain he was supposed to be dead. The shrine he had woken on gave some indication of what must’ve happened, though the why of it all was still a mystery.

Would the god of death betray his own domain just for the sake of keeping him alive?

Lifting his shirt and finding a golden scar on what should have been a fatal injury, he found out that yes, yes they would. The pain made it take a good few minutes to stand and he distantly wondered how much power the god had. He’d heard of deities saving their favorite (and in this case, only) follower from the brink of death, but never heard mention of the pain.

He deduced that the god must still be too weak to have done such magic fuckery without repercussions and that the full-body agony must be at least one of those repercussions. As he sat pondering the power level of the being, he went to run his hand through his hair but stopped, feeling something that wasn’t there before.

A flower, tucked behind his ear. One he picked that morning.

The god of death saved him and put a dandelion behind his ear.

————

It wasn't until the next night that he was able to visit the shrine. As expected, he was yelled at for disappearing for several hours but he was too out of it to really hear any of what was being said. The pain would come and go at seemingly random and each spike that made his steps stutter was another reminder of just how close he had been to death.

Waylaid by his duties and own requirements of rest, he finally snuck out with the little dinner he had been given. Part of him was a lot more scared than he’d like to admit, having no idea what the god would want in return for the miracle they’d performed. He really did not want to be indebted to yet another person, much less a god.

It took him much longer than usual to make it to the shrine, slowed by pain and exhaustion. It was pitch black by the time he got there but the area around the pedestal had a slight glow.

He set down his offerings and really hoped it was enough to not incur the wrath of an angry god that felt like they were owed more than they received. His dinner — consisting of a bread roll and salted meat, a true feast — along with some jewelry he was able to pilfer and more flowers was far from what any god would expect in return for such a miracle, but it was all he had to offer.

He took a stuttering step back and bowed his head. He may be a prideful bastard but he’d consider the day a victory if he lived long enough to feel embarrassed. His fingers tingled, the leaves rustled, and he opened his eyes to find— Oh. Hmmm.

The flowers and jewelry were gone, but the plate had more food on it.

Well, that’s… something. He looked up at the sky, wondering if the god was watching him. After some hesitation, he verbalized his question, asking if this meant the offering was rejected.

There was no answer. When he looked back down, the plate had been moved closer towards him. Okay, what the fuck? The food looked kind of shitty, honestly, but looking closer he realized that’s because it was his offerings that he had given.

Still not quite grasping the situation, he slowly grabbed the plate, waiting to see if he’d be struck by lightning. However, no murderous rain clouds spontaneously appeared as it left the altar. He examined the plate. The food was stacked rather precariously; there wasn’t much of it but the randomness of the items ensured it was on the brink of falling.

Was this meant to be a gift? For him? Why would a god continue to give more and more while receiving almost nothing in return?

He took a moment to sit down, definitely out of caution and not pain, trying to figure out if this was what the deity wanted him to do. Tentatively, he grabbed a piece of bread and slowly began eating. He was slowed by the shake in his hands and for once was right in saying it wasn’t from nerves. The shakiness had been persisting ever since he woke up but had gotten better over time. Before, he hadn’t been able to even pick up small items without struggle. It all seemed a small price to pay considering he should’ve died in that field.

As he ate, he stared up at the altar and wondered how a god whose favorite offerings were flowers had gotten such an awful reputation. Lost in thought, he was pulled back to the present as the apple almost rolled off the plate. He caught it, moving to set it in his lap instead, but noticed something that made him freeze.

Someone was there.

He felt it, both the eyes watching him and the domineering presence that had taken up the area. He carefully continued his movements while looking around, alarmed to see nothing there. He took stock of his surroundings, trying to discern what he was sensing. It seemed the god was no longer simply watching him from the heavens.

Not expecting an answer, he asked aloud if the god wanted some of the food, resolutely staring at his plate. He was unused to feeling a divine being near him. It was unsettling.

No.

The answer seemed to materialize from nothing. He hadn’t heard it, hadn’t read it, it didn’t even feel like it had been some kind of psychic fuckery. It just was. Man, gods were weird.

Pushing the limit, he asked if they had a favorite flower.

Whichever you give me.

And then the presence was gone. He was back to eating alone in a clearing. What the fuck does that mean? The weird godly way of talking didn’t provide much in the way of tone. Was it happy? Flirty? Apathetic? Annoyed?

He shook his head and resumed eating. It didn’t matter. Tomorrow would be an even longer day as they pack up and march on.

He needs to get his god more flowers.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion Very Happy Ending, Part 2

Hey y'all, so I did a part two of this because I love happy, insanely, fluffy romantic endings. So I'm going hard here. There will be one more part!

Also, don't judge my Gale x Shadowheart bs here 💀💀 Long story short, first playthrough that was abanadoned, I picked her orgin and did get sweeped up by the mage man. It has not left my brain since.

Also, this has a time skip! A pretty long one too (10 years)

~

Astarion had been having… thoughts lately. Ideas that he couldn’t quite shake. Nothing bad, no. There really wasn’t much to complain about in his life, not anymore. Not when he could walk in the sun freely, unburdened by parasites and his own vampiric nature. The two of you were free to explore the world with no shackles, not including your religious zealotry. And ironically enough, his own. 

Astarion would never have guessed that he’d ever become a Selune convert. Well… even now convert may have been to strong of a word. Yes, he was immensely appreciative for the whole sun immunity blessing and he did have a newfound respect for the work of her worshippers. But Astarion wasn’t exactly looking for a deity, or anyone, to be subservient to. Not again. No, he’d much rather watch his love do the dirty work for his savior than fully commit himself. Besides, just because he wasn’t devoted to Selune didn’t mean he wasn’t devoted to you. Which might as well have been the same thing. 

Astarion loved you, adored you really, but gods could you be nonsensical at times. He was so happy the two of you had met because someone had to keep this idiotic fanatic alive. Someone to remind you that no darling, not everyone is redeemable. Please put the goblin down.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy being your protector. It was the least that he could do considering everything you’d done for him. And he just… liked having a valid excuse to accompany you everywhere. Astarion had never imagined himself to be such a clingy lover, but here he was. The two of you had been attached at the hip for nearly a decade now, with no end in sight. You had built a life together, had friends together, adventures and celebrations that filled his days with endless excitement and amusements.

That is one thing Astarion had to give Selune and her worshippers, they didn’t exactly lead boring lives. Though he supposed half of that had to with just how involved the opposition was. The two of you had slaughtered enough acolytes of Shar over the years for him to know just how covert they really could be. But it wasn’t just bloodsport that made things interesting, though it certainly did help. The exploring for ancient artifacts definitely helped to fill the time, as well as the constant search to find a cure for the rest of his unholy symptoms. 

As great as being in the sun was, Astarion wasn’t quite satisfied with that being the end. It was almost certainly impossible to find a full on cure to being a vampire spawn but… that wasn’t stopping either of you from looking for it. It was morbid, but Astarion wanted his life to have an ending. A natural one like what he hoped for you, not one where he was doomed to immortality and bloodlust until the end of time. 

Thank the gods that he had managed to fall in love with an elf. It at least gave him centuries instead of decades to figure out a solution to an eternal problem. Which brought him back to his current problem. Because the two of you had many, many years ahead. And as far as Astarion was aware you both planned on spending them with each other. Which implied… certain things.

Astarion had never been someone to fantasize about marriage. He had no reason to, not when he had been too busy barely surviving. Even when things became serious between the two of you it hadn’t been on his mind. He was much more concerned with keeping you at all instead of keeping you forever. 

But that had changed recently. Maybe it was because he had seen you officiate countless weddings over the years; young couples always clamoring at a chance to get a newlywed Selune blessing. Or maybe it was how others took note of the lack of a ring on his finger, taking it as an opportunity for unwanted flirtation. But either way, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Obsessing about it really, as he was want to do when it came to you.

He just… didn’t exactly know how to broach the subject. What was the reason? A silly little ceremony and a ring had no bearing on the depth of your relationship. He knew that. The two of you were bound to each other by choice, a love that felt as though it got stronger every day. But… it would be nice to have you in such a way. For the world to be aware of the seriousness of what you had together, shown simply through a pair of rings. And the thought of calling you his wife was quite enticing. 

He wasn’t quite sure why he was so hesitant to bring it up to you. Well… there was the slight delusional thought in his head that reminding you of forever could possible wake you up into realizing just how much better you could do than him. It wasn’t true, he was aware. But gods, your relationship had lasted a damn decade. When was he going to start feeling secure about all of this? 

It didn’t help when Gale of all people beat him to the punch. He and Shadowheart had developed quite the bond since your tadpole days. And your excitement over the announcement was adorable. Adorable enough for him to wonder just how you would react to it happening to you.

But he shoved his worries to the back of his mind, too busy being dragged all the way to Waterdeep for the week-long nuptials. You were highly involved in the wedding, which wasn’t exactly a shock. Shadowheart had stayed your best, most appreciated friend throughout the years, the two of you eternally tied through your shared goddess alone. You wrote to each other constantly and this was far from the first time you had dragged him across the realm for a visit. 

But this was probably the best time. He had to give the people of Waterdeep this, they knew how to celebrate. He wasn’t one to complain over a week filled of music, dance, and drink. The ceremony had been nice as well. Heart-warming even to watch Shadowheart walk down the aisle, smiling in a way she never could when she was devoted to Shar. With Gale sniveling at the other end and you officiating of course. 

The jealousy had been an unexpected touch. He couldn’t help but wonder what you would look like in her place. Dressed in white and silver, walking towards him with eternity in mind. 

It certainly wasn’t helping his dilemma, he could tell you that much. He was still thinking about it when they made it to the reception. It was impossible to bury thoughts of marriage when you were at a wedding. Would you want a large celebration like this? Or something more small and intimate? Hells, the two of you and a cleric in the middle of the woods would suffice to him. 

“To think, Astarion Ancunín at my wedding in the sunlight,” Gale laughed as he plopped down in the seat next to him, effectively putting an end to his internal fretting, “Who would have ever imagined?”

“Certainly not me,” Astarion scoffed with the slightest hint of a smile, “But I suppose things change.”

“I suppose they do,” Gale agreed, his eyes scanning the dancefloor for his new bride. There she was, dancing and giggling with you in the middle of ballroom,  “I just never expected it to be for the better.”

“It is a wonder that we’re all still alive,” Astarion agreed, smiling to himself when Shadowheart dipped you as you laughed hysterically, nearly falling over herself in the process, “Let alone being able to find love. Who would have thought the worshiper of the goddess of the dark would end up here.”

“Turns out she was hiding quite the personality behind the Shar mask,” Gale laughed, “Though I suppose we have Tav to thank for that. It was a real fight on who would have her as their best woman. A fight we both obviously lost. Though officiating seemed a good compromise.”

“She certainly has the experience,” Astarion sighed, “But I have a feeling this one will be her favorite. She’s happy for you two. We both are.”

“I’m happy for you too you know,” Gale added with a small smile, “I always thought the two of you would work out. I even made a killing in the pool we had going on for it.”

Astarion stared at him, brow raised, “You had a pool?”

“Oh absolutely,” Gale confirmed, completely shameless as he listed out the rules, “It got quite competitive after awhile. First, it was all about if you’d ever realize your feelings for her. Then when you went and did that we were betting on how long you’d both last before you left. And then when that didn’t happen, well. Let’s just say I got a few platinums richer.”

Astarion rolled his eyes at the news, barely even surprised, “I feel as though I’ve earned a cut of that.”

“Unfortunately it’s now our honeymoon fund. But I’ll owe you one.”

That was another aspect of this whole debacle that Astarion hadn’t even thought about. But gods, did it sound nice. Whole weeks dedicated strictly to the two of you. No religious duties or adventures to worry about, just… them. 

The joy of the thought must have shown on his face, because the next thing he knew Gale was looking him up and down, a small smirk on his lips, “What’cha thinking about over there?”

“That this wine is mediocre at best,” Astarion lied, avoid Gale’s eyes, “Tell me you at least got a good deal on it?”

But Gale wasn’t taking the bait. He was still watching him like a hawk. That was the problem with getting closer to people, and having, gods friends. 

You had to deal with the discomfort of being read like a book, “Does our little Astarion want to be wed?”

Astarion flinched at the accuracy, taking the time to shoot him a glare as he avoided the question, “I am nearly three centuries older than you.”

“Perhaps, but we both know two of them don’t count,” Gale said, barely missing a beat, “So tell me, do you already have a ring picked out?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I can help you pick one you know, there are many fantastic jewelers in Waterdeep. I believe she has the same ring size as Shadowheart, we can bring her along.”

Astarion rolled his eyes, ignoring the small blush creeping up his neck, “I want you to know that if this wasn’t your wedding day I would have slapped you by now. Consider my reluctance as your wedding present.”

“How generous of you,” Gale chuckled. But then he started to speak quieter, his voice taking on a more gentle and serious tone, “She would say yes you know. You’ve had her wrapped around your finger since the day you held that dagger to her throat.”

That was an exaggeration, but Astarion would be lying if he said the mention didn’t make him preen the slightest bit, “You forget that I did have competition.”

“Oh, barely,” Gale laughed, “You don’t get to reminisce of what could have been when you won. Gods, no one had any chance against you. And trust me, we tried.”

Astarion blinked at him, more than a little surprised, “You did?”

“Of course we did. We all did. What do you think Shadow and I bonded over? But the pining stopped eventually. Then it became…something more. Something deeper. She’s… a magnificent woman, my little shadow. Who has gone through too much…” Gale trailed off, his eyes still following his bride as he softly smiled,  “Suffice to say, neither of us are pining anymore. And I’m sure Shadow would love nothing more than to help plan her dearest friend’s nuptials.”

“Who ever said that you two would be involved?” Astarion scoffed, just to be an ass, “For all you know we’ll elope in Neverwinter.”

But Astarion’s grip backfired, if the smile on Gale’s face meant anything, “So that means you are going to propose?”

Oh for fucks sake. Astarion glared at him for the accuracy, at a loss for words. Besides it… it was true. Of course he was going to ask, where else would this fanatic line of thinking end? He just hadn’t expected Gale of all people to be the one to force him to admit it. 

“I-yes,” Astarion sighed, finally giving in, “Are you happy now? Yes, I’m going to.”

“Extremely,” Gale grinned, “Because you just won me another three hundred gold.”

[itsabouttimex2]

Y’know how reader is stuck as a monkey in the Yan monkiefam posts, what if reader somehow sneaks off the mountain and stumbles upon macaque. Macaque gets a specific vibe from the mysterious monkey, so he takes it as his own. Monkey reader is trying to communicate to macaque on how to transform back, but either due to lack of understanding or macaque not wanting reader to turn back, reader is still a monkey much to their dismay. Meanwhile Monkiefam is panicking and looking everywhere for reader. This could be seen as a part 3 to the Yan monkiefam posts with an added platonic Yan macaque.

How would you write this scenario? Sorry if it’s long, I started rambling a bit lol. I really like your writing and was hoping you would write something similar to this, I love platonic Yan and you stuff really caters to me. Thank you🩷🩷

Monkiefam: Part Three

Sable Savior

(Part Zero) (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

(💜💜Post one-hundred, huh? Feels good to have gotten here! My ask box has been wiped, and is open again! Character x character requests are now allowed! 💜💜)

Monkeys don’t make for good pets. They’re cute, sure. They’re funny and interesting creatures that are worthy of study. But it’s impossible to raise them properly.

And it’s impossible to obtain one ethically.

Either the mothers are shot to death in the wild and the babies are ripped from their still bodies, or they’re kept in horrid conditions and forcibly bred again and again, having their babies torn from them after only a few days or weeks.

All for a cute pet that will be dumped in a few years. Monkeys don’t stay cute, after all. They grow out of the clothes you put them in, grow out of the training you put them through, grow from cute “living dolls” and into wild, fanged animals all their own.

Once they’ve shed their youthful looks and compliant behaviors, the fate of every ‘pet’ monkey is the same- death.

Whether shot or euthanized or dumped far from home and left to starve, monkeys kept in captivity almost always have unhappy endings.

You could be easily mistaken for one of those unfortunate creatures, stuck in a simian form and curled up near the roots of a looming tree.

Even after two full weeks, the transformation you had accidentally locked yourself into remained strong, showing no signs of faltering.

What at first seemed like a potential method of escape had quickly because the thickest chain in your shackle.

Not only was your newfound ‘family’ thrilled to have you as a cuddly little monkey, they seemed even more intent on coddling you.

MK especially adored having a ‘little sibling’ who couldn’t escape his grip. Day in and day out, every minute spent by your side, tending to your needs as a form of stress relief. Whether it was wrestling you into the bathtub or carving up fruit to spoon-feed you, the hero had quickly become a constant smothering presence. He was a fine caretaker, but you would much prefer that he used those skills on anyone else but yourself.

Just barely had he talked himself out of dressing you up, reasoning that you might find fabric uncomfortable over your fluffy white fur.

Not that he allowed you to remove the silk ribbons that his mentor had tied. Those were staying, and MK made sure of it. Every single time you had managed to squirm one free from your body, he just snatched it off the ground and tied it back on.

And, speaking of his mentor-

For all the doting you faced at the hands of MK, Sun Wukong was twice as bad.

Having been the caretaker for thousands of monkeys through the passing of centuries, it seemed that the Great Sage had a knack for pampering the furry darlings- and that translated quite easily to a human being who had accidentally trapped themselves in the form of a cub.

Already you had spent hours upon hours upon his lap, feeling Wukong’s deft fingers comb through your fur in search of debris to remove. Given that you weren’t allowed outside, he rarely found anything more than dust. Still, his intention was more to bond than it was to clean.

For him, the best part was when you'd get so bored that you'd start stroking his fur in turn, picking through it just to pass the time. Even though your heart wasn't really in the action, he was absolutely thrilled to have you acting like a real monkey in some small manner.

The Great Sage was so thrilled, in fact, that he'd barely allow you even a minute alone. And though some of this was justified by your inability to properly function in this new form, it went far beyond the realm of understandable when the king started taking you to bed with him- all under the guise of 'keeping you safe'. You'd rest all through the night tucked into his arms, listening to a powerful beating within the Monkey King’s muscular chest.

Against MK, you were lulled to sleep by a slow throb, finding some gentleness in the steady and low thrum.

Against Wukong, you were cascaded by the furious white-hot pounding of a heart blessed by power almost beyond comprehension.

You’d be lying if you said neither was at least a little comforting to hear as you drifted to a deep, dreamless sleep.

But here and now, there wasn’t an ounce of warmth to be found.

You had finally managed to slip from the clutches of your ‘family’, mustering just enough motor control to clamber up the couch and jump to a window left cracked, slipping under the peering pane and crawling to ‘freedom’.

On unfamiliar and furry legs you had fled, away from a gilded cage and into the beckoning wilderness. Maybe a part of you now longed for the forests, driving you to escape and run free. Perhaps some newfound simian instinct craved a life free from unchanging scenery and sturdy walls.

So away you went, chirping and chittering and calling out to the rising moon as the night grew darker and darker.

And as you raced into those darkening woods, throwing caution to the wind, you also drew further and further away from any semblance of safety.

It hadn’t taken you even twenty minutes to find trouble on the supposedly idyllic mountain.

And now you were here, stuck in a simian form and curled up near the roots of a looming tree.

Not alone, of course.

A troop of monkeys surrounds your quivering form, hissing and snarling at such a strange outsider. The count is easily fifteen to twenty, each one bearing sharp fangs and hunched down in aggressive stances.

You hunker away, pressed to the cold bark with eyes pointed downwards. You don’t dare move or make a sound.

It’s not enough to save you.

The largest member of the pack snarls for just a second, rearing back with his teeth bared. Before you can even flinch, the simian lurches towards you with a splitting howl, powerful jaws snagging the skin of your neck.

The scent of blood fills the air.

As it shrieks through a mouthful of your flesh, the monkey violently slings you back and forth. It beats at your face and neck, hammering your diminutive form with all the strength it can muster. When you dare to try and strike back it throws you to the ground, beating ruthlessly down on your stomach.

It hollers.

The rest of the pack jump into the fray, beating and biting and tearing at fur. Where one shoves, another pulls. Any spot left untouched by one is promptly assaulted by another. Not an inch of you is spared the violent assault, nor is mercy given in regards to your youthful form.

And right as darkness swells in the corners of your vision, the troop freezes.

A barbed lash of black strikes the alpha across the face, leaving a deep and stinging cut where it lands. He howls and shrieks and falls back, shooting off into the jungle and disappearing from sight. From only the trail of blood left in his wake, his troop follows, fearful but still loyal.

“Someone’s had a rough go of it,” says a voice that would be insufferably smug if it hadn’t just saved you from probable death.

Two cold hands wrap around your prone form, prying you from the ground.

The white of your fur has almost entirely disappeared behind a mixture of wet soil and stinking blood, filthy and pungent. The ribbon around your neck has been torn free and left on the ground, lying in tatters.

“You‘re still a little too young to be without your mother, fuzzball. She’s the one who’s supposed to teach you ‘the ways of the wild’, yeah? Where’d she get off to?”

Macaque cradles you close in one of his arms, lightly stroking the underside of your chin with a sharp nail. His touch is surprisingly gentle, far more than you’d expect for a demon. His voice takes a turn for the soft.

“Nah, that’s not it. If you’re this close to another pack without her, then she’s… not around anymore. You probably weren’t raised by her at all, actually.”

His thumb presses against your ragged silk ribbon, toying with the red fabric.

“Must’ve been dumped by some mortal who got sick of taking care of you, huh? Bastards.”

You chitter desperately for his help, hoping that this one might understand even a word you say. But he only gives you a pitying smile, untying the ribbon from your tail and letting it flutter slowly to the ground.

“You never even learned to speak, furball? They must’ve taken you young. Humans always do. Keep you for a few years and dress you up like babies, then throw you out once you’re not cute enough for them anymore.”

Your vocalizations grow more desperate and wild, becoming outright hysterical.

“I know, I know. Hungry, right? Never learned to forage for yourself, or pick for bugs. C’mon, let’s find something to eat- bet I can scrounge us up some peaches, at least. After all…”

Macaque pulls free his tattered scarf, then holds one end of it against your stomach. You can’t so much as chitter before he wraps you head to toe, swaddling your fluffy form tightly. It’s warm, at least, if a bit restrictive.

“Shouldn’t we outcasts stick together?”

And off he goes into the night, far from home and far from safety.

It’s not quite freedom, but you’ll take it.

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Interruption | Part 05

-> Pairing: mafia husband!Kim Hongjoong x mafia wife!Reader

-> Sypnosis: As her team searches for Mi-Rae, Y/N refuses to leave her husband's side. She starts reminiscing about the first time she met him.

-> Warnings: mafia au. Italics are flashbacks. pocket knife used to threaten someone. poor description of physical violence. Y/N is kind of a psychotic badass. Hints at how Y/N and Hongjoong were destined to meet. more of a fill in chapter. Flashback scene Hongjoong is 18 and Y/N is 17 thats why it hints at them still being in school.

-> Word Count: 2,183 - longest chapter so far, can't make any promises that the rest will be this long but I can try.

-> Taglist: open. Leave a comment on the masterlist post, send an ask or fill out the taglist form.

Interruption Masterlist | Hongjoong Masterlist | Tag List Form

When Seonghwa and a staff member bringing food for Y/N walk into the room, they find Y/N slouched over the bed where an unconscious Hongjoong lies. Her head is resting gently on the bed, and one of her hands is holding onto her husband's as if she’s afraid to let go. While her team have been searching for Mi-Rae, she stayed remaining by her husband’s side, not once leaving him since he got out of surgery a week ago. 

“Just put the food on the table,” Seonghwa instructs the staff member, who nods and promptly follows the order before exiting the room.  

Seonghwa then takes a moment to take in the scene before him. The dim light casts gentle shadows across the room, highlighting the worry lines on Y/N's face. It’s clear that the weight of the world rests on her shoulders, and yet, she remains strong and resilient, determined to shield her vulnerability from even those who know her best. 

With a soft sigh, Seonghwa picks up a spare blanket from the chair in the corner, its fabric soft and warm. He approaches Y/N carefully, not wanting to disturb her fragile peace. Gently, he drapes the blanket over her shoulders to keep her warm in the chilly makeshift hospital room.  

As the fabric brushes against her skin, she stirs, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal a pair of tired eyes. For a moment, Y/N blinks in confusion, her mind still foggy from sleep. When her gaze finally focuses, she finds Seonghwa's concerned expression.  

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she says as she straightens herself from her slouched position. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he replies softly, his tone laced with empathy. “You were finally getting some sleep.”  

"Have there been any updates?" she asks him, not wanting to talk about her lack of sleep or care for herself.  

"I'm afraid not," he regrets to inform her. "Wherever she is, she's managed to stay hidden. We're still checking potential locations and speaking to anyone who might have information about her whereabouts and anyone who could be hiding her." His words are steady, but she can hear the frustration and worry in his tone. 

Y/N feels her shoulders droop at his response, the burden of uncertainty weighing heavily on her like a thick mist. She turns her gaze back to Hongjoong, his stillness a stark reminder of the turmoil they’ve faced. Her heart aches at the sight of him, so vulnerable and not quite himself. Their time together is typically filled with joy and laughter, but right now, everything feels different. The days feel colder without the sound of his laughter and voice when he would randomly burst into song, the warmth of his embrace, how he could turn any mundane task into something enjoyable, and the sense of safety and love he brings her. 

She turns back to Seonghwa, a newfound determination etched on her face. "Tell the men to stop being so soft. I don’t fucking care if someone ends up losing an eye. Someone out there knows something."  

"I'll make sure to tell them that," he replies with a nod. "Now, there’s food on the table. Please eat something," he adds, sounding like a caring parent. "And try to get some more rest. Wooyoung or I will wake you if we find out anything." 

Before Y/N can say anything back, he leaves the room, leaving no room for argument. Glancing at the table, she sees the small square table covered with plates and bowls of untouched food. She knows she should eat, but the knot in her stomach makes it hard to even think about food. 

Choosing to eat later, she shifts her focus back to Hongjoong. Taking his hand in hers, she kisses the back of it gently. "I can’t do this without you, Joongie. You need to wake up," she whispers, her voice trembling as tears well up in her eyes once more. She squeezes his hand tighter, as if her grip alone could pull him out of his unconsciousness. "You’re the strongest person I know," she continues, her voice breaking. "You better come back to me." Dropping her head, the tears start to spill over as she fights to keep her composure.  

"Do you remember when we first met?" she asks, spinning his wedding ring around his finger, trying to distract herself from breaking down completely. Despite getting no answer, she continues, "I saved your ass from those little punks that were roughing you up in that side street. "

The moment she utters those words, she’s transported back to the day she first met Hongjoong.  

Y/N, clutching her bag straps, paid no attention to her surroundings as she kicked a pebble along the path leading to the bus stop, she needed to be at to catch the bus home. She was far from happy after her driver failed to show up to pick her up from school. But something soon caught her attention as she walked past a little side street that was mostly used for vans and trucks to drop things off. To the shops that backed onto it.  

Curious, she retraced her steps and turned into the alley, where she spotted five boys, likely around her age or a bit older in their school uniforms, beating up another boy who seemed to be her age as well. 

As she heard the boy let out a pained groan from a harsh kick to his side, she quickly pulled out the pocket knife she always carried for emergencies. 

“Yah!” she yells, drawing the bullies' attention to her as she approaches them. 

"I'd keep walking if I were you, princess," one of the bully's sneers at her. "This has nothing to do with you." 

“It has everything to do with me,” she shot back. "You’re hurting my friend," she declares, even though she has never met the boy they were attacking before. The words slipped out before she could think, but there is something about the way he was curled up on the ground, vulnerable and scared. It reminded her of the situation she’d been in a few years prior and that ignited a protectiveness for the boy. 

"Your friend?" one of the boys scoffed, stepping forward with a menacing grin. "I know for a fact that he has no friends. Why don’t you just run along before you get hurt too?" 

“Try me,” she says holding the knife out towards them.  

The boy who had just spoken started to advance when another boy held him back. “Hold on, I know her,” he said, drawing the attention of the group. “I think she’s Kim Dong-Yul’s niece.” 

“Yeah, so what?” the first boy scoffed, though his confidence wavered slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think we’re scared of some old man?” 

"You should be," the second boy spoke. 

A third boy speaks up, "I don't think it's him you have to worry about. She's a complete psycho. From what I've been told, she lit fire to another girl's hair because she stole her seat. " 

"Yah! She didn't steal my seat, she stole my Lipton Peach Iced Tea," Y/N shot back, clearly offended by their misunderstanding. “Now should I also set you all on fire,” she asks, reaching back into her pocket to pull out the lighter she had in there for no reason at all. Her other hand still holding the knife towards them, ready to be used if it came down to it. 

The boy hesitated, glancing at his friends, who were now shifting uncomfortably. She could see the wheels turning in their minds, until the first boy, clearly the leader of the group of them, spoke again, “Look, we don’t want any trouble. We were just messing around.” 

“Messing around?” she echoed, her grip tightening on the knife. “You call this messing around? You’re terrorizing someone who hasn’t done anything to you. You’re just a pathetic loser.” 

The third boy, who had mentioned the rumor, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly regretting his involvement. “Maybe we should just go,” he suggested, his voice barely above a whisper. “The last thing we need is Kim Dong-Yul on our asses. It isn’t worth it.”  

“Yeah, maybe you should,” Y/N shot back, her eyes narrowing. “And if you ever think about messing with someone again, just know that I can find out where you live, where your parents work and what your little sister likes to eat. You don’t want to know what I can do with that info.” 

“Let’s go,” the first boy finally says and turns to leave, the others following suit.  

“Assholes,” She mutters under her breath before turning her attention to the boy they were tormenting. He was now sitting up clutching his side. “Are you okay?” she asks, taking off her bag as she crouched down to his level.  

“Did you really set a girls hair on fire over a drink?” he asks, watching her unzip her backpack and pull out a small first aid kit. 

"No," she replied, shaking her head with a chuckle. As she opened the kit, she pulled out a cleaning swab to tend to the cut above his eye, which looked like the worst of his external injuries. "I mean, it wasn’t over a stolen drink. It was an accident," she added, tossing the bloody swabs aside and reaching for a band-aid. 

“That sounds like a pretty big accident.” he says, skepticism lacing his voice. 

“Let’s just say, accident or not accident, she never bothered me or the other girls afterwards,” she says, placing the band-aid over the cut. 

“I’m guessing you’re some sort of anti-hero,” He smirks slightly, his deep brown eyes onto hers with an intensity that makes her teenage heart skip a beat.  

For a moment, the world around them fades away. She can feel her cheeks flush, a warmth spreading through her. “Anti-hero? I don’t know about that,” she replies, a shy smile creeping onto her lips as she finishes securing the band-aid. “I just don’t like bullies, that’s all,” She glances down, suddenly aware of how close they are. The air between them crackles with an unexpected tension, a mix of adrenaline and something else she can’t quite place because she’s pretty sure she’s never felt it before. She clears her throat, trying to shake off the warmth rushing to her cheeks. “I mean, it’s not like I go around purposefully setting their hair on fire.” 

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and inviting but winces when it causes him pain. She can’t help but feel a pang of concern for him.  

“Seriously, though, are you okay?” she asks, her brow furrowing as she studies his face. The cut above his eye is small but deep, and she can see the remnants of a bruise beginning to form. She can only guess his ribs weren’t doing too well either. “You should probably go get checked out.”  

He shrugs, a nonchalant gesture that doesn’t quite mask the pain in his eyes. “I’ve had worse.” He pauses, as he stands up with her help. “But I appreciate your help.”  

“Y/N,” she replies instinctively, her voice steady despite the concern swirling within her. 

“I promise, I’ll be fine, Y/N,” he assures her, as he slings his backpack over his shoulder. “Maybe I’ll see you around,” he smiles, making her heart flutter once more before he limps away leaving her alone in the little side street. 

“Ugh, stupid heart,” she mutters, glancing down at her chest, but a smile tugs at her lips. She can’t shake the feeling that this encounter was more than just a chance meeting. Realizing she never got his name, she goes to catch up with him. As she reaches the main street, she looks both ways hoping to catch a glimpse of him but can’t find him anywhere.  

Little did she know at the time, she would be seeing him again only a few hours later. 

“I knew that us meeting in that side street wasn’t just a coincidence,” she says, lifting her gaze to Hongjoong, a small part of her hoping to see those brown eyes she loves so much looking back at her only to be disappointed when they weren’t. “You had me feeling things I’d never felt before,” she says, kissing the back of his hand again before resting it against her cheek. “I really can’t do this without you, Joong.” 

“Boss?” she hears from behind her.  

She straightens up once again, wiping the tears from her eyes. Standing up she turns around to face Wooyoung.  

"We have a lead," he tells her before she has to ask. "An informant told us Mi-Rae could be hiding out at the docks, trying to escape Korea. I had a few men ask around. She was spotted there by three people. One mentioned seeing her this morning." 

“Alright, flush her out and hold her until I get there,” she tells him. He nods and leaves the room. She turns back to Hongjoong and leans down, kissing his cheek. “I’ll be back soon, my love.” 

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead

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[watatsumiis]

Father's Day in Teyvat

Holidays can be tough at times, especially when you’re expected to spend them with family members. Though, sometimes, family are the ones that you find for yourself, and spending time with them can be just as good (if not, better) than being around your biological family. 

Different characters reacting to being wished a ‘Happy Father’s Day’! X Reader (platonic/familial)

Arlecchino, Capitano, Neuvillette, Pierro, Varka, Zhongli

Arlecchino is a little taken aback at first - not that this isn’t something she’s come across before, but she’s a little surprised that it’s coming from you, of all people. She ends up defaulting to her normal response, the one she gives to the younger children at the House of the Hearth when they come to her with gifts and well-wishes for various holidays like this. You’ll receive a light hair ruffle and a withdrawn smile, though it’s easy to tell by the slight twinkle in her eye that she really is endeared by it. If you two happen to be in private, she may sweep you up in a warm hug and make a kind, encouraging comment about you. She’s honestly rather proud of knowing that you see her as that sort of figure in your life, and will have an extra little pep to her step for the rest of her day thanks to it. 

Capitano is utterly baffled. He doesn’t know how to react, or how to even feel. Once, Childe did the same thing to him, then some other Fatui mimicked it, as a joke. Cap quickly put a stop to this tomfoolery. However, he’s a good sense of character and he can tell that you’re being one-hundred percent genuine. He may hesitate for a few moments and look around to make sure there’s nobody watching before he sweeps you into a hug. It’s a little awkward thanks to his heavy armour, but there’s a strong sense of comfort nonetheless as he pulls you close and just… holds you for a few moments. He holds this newfound information about how you look up to him close and treasures it, sometimes acting a little softer towards you than he does towards others, but to such a degree that it’s nearly unnoticeable. 

Neuvillette has probably had a day of being given non-stop Father’s Day wishes from the Melusine (no matter how early in the morning you catch him). They seem to think the holiday is specifically a celebration for their papa, so they’re basically swarming him until he’s been given a hug or handmade gift from every single Melusine that drops by. He’s a little surprised when you join their midst, looking like a giant amongst the tiny, colourful creatures. He can’t help but smile when you wish him a Happy Father’s Day, though, and will readily accept the well-wishes and give you a big hug and all the affection you could ask for (even if the Melusines complain about it being unfair). He’s genuinely really heartwarmed at the fact that you seem to think of him as a fatherlike figure, and may even shed a few happy little tears. 

Pierro cracks down on the behaviour as soon as he sees it coming. You have to catch him off guard to give your well wishes, and even then he’ll likely be trying to avoid anyone who might possibly wish him a happy Father’s Day. Courtesy be damned, he’s turning a one-eighty and getting the hell out of dodge the moment you open your mouth with that gooey-sappy look in your eyes. You eventually have to settle for slipping him a small note or card that looks like it’s something vaguely official or Fatui-related, then get out of sight so you can secretly watch him open it. His face sort of softens a little as he reads it, and he tucks it away in an inside pocket of his coat close to his heart. He thinks that he might need to have a stern word with you about the kinds of people you see as role models, but he’s flattered nonetheless. He’ll keep that note close, as a reminder that maybe he isn’t a completely irredeemable person. 

Varka immediately bursts into the biggest, warmest grin. It’s a well-known fact that he’s like a foster dad to about half of the youths of Mondstadt (even those with two (or more) parental figures handy). The novelty never really wore off for him, so he’s just as delighted every single time someone admits that they see him as a role model or guardian of sorts. He’ll swoop you up into a huge hug and squeeze you with big burly arms until you squirm and ask to be let down, in which case he will do so immediately and ruffle your hair with the warmest grin on his face. He’ll immediately go into this spiel about how proud he is of you and how much you’ve achieved, somehow turning this into him just complimenting you. Varka wears his heart on his sleeve, he’s less than afraid of shedding a few happy tears in front of his loved ones and letting them know exactly how he feels.

Zhongli is rather used to this sort of thing - it’s not uncommon for some of the children of Liyue to gravitate towards his Rex Lapis persona as a sort of father figure, making offerings and confiding in him every now and again. This effect tends to pass on to when he’s in his human disguise, though he can be a little bit clueless about it. The younger Adepti (or Adepti-blooded) denizens of Liyue will sort of latch onto him. He supposes it’s no big surprise that you have too. He’ll graciously accept the well-wishes and pull you into a warm hug, just holding you close and swaying back and forth a little. For all his lack of social etiquette, he really does give great hugs. He may even be inclined to tell you some interesting stories if you’d like to spend some more time with him. It reassures him to know that, even after all these years, people still seek him out for comfort and guidance.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagiarise my writing! I do not consent for my works to be translated and posted elsewhere, or copy - pasted into bot or AI technology

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Some time into dating, Eddie becomes more privy to the softer side of Billy Hargrove.

He was always aware of the skittish, shy inner child beneath the rough layers of Billy’s mean exterior. He knows that it doesn’t take much to make Billy cry, and that his feelings are easily hurt.

What he didn’t always know is that he has a particularly strong attachment to his one and only stuffed animal — a sock monkey.

After some prying, once Eddie found it half-shoved beneath Billy’s pillow, he learned that its name is Mister Monkey. He’d laughed, and not only was he punched in the arm, but he wasn’t invited back into Billy’s room for over a week.

Eddie didn’t make fun of the monkey after that.

Instead, he kept it to himself whenever he found amusement in Billy’s attachment to it. Like when he’d see its ear peaking out of Billy’s bag when he’d spend the night, or when he’d see it propped up on his dresser when he was finally allowed back into his room.

It was endearing. Made Eddie want to scoop his boyfriend up and tell him how adorable he was for being so in love with a stuffed animal.

Especially one as ratty as Mister Monkey.

Eddie mentions it around Max one day, asks where Billy got it so he can try and find him a new one since Mister Monkey’s arm is starting to fall off.

His blood runs cold when Max gives him a look of shock and offense, like he just confessed a sin.

“Billy’s mom made him that monkey,” she says. “You didn’t do anything with it, did you?”

Her tone is defensive, and almost accusatory. Eddie holds his hands up and shakes his head.

“No, no, I didn’t touch it. I had no idea.”

“Good,” she sighs.

Relieved, like she was actually worried about the wellbeing of a toy.

Eddie starts to understand more after that.

He starts seeing, even in glimpses, how often Billy puts his hands on the monkey throughout the day. How it’s always near him when he sleeps or propped up politely like it’s sitting on its own. Never tossed anywhere, but lovingly placed.

Once or twice, he’s caught Billy holding one of its little hands, rubbing his thumb over the fabric with his eyes closed. Sometimes even holding it against his chest like it might move to hug him back.

Eddie resolves to gently sew Mister Monkey’s arm back into place one day and sneaks it back into its spot at the center of Billy’s bed, feeling a sense of newfound respect.

Anyone with that much devotion to Billy deserves to be able to hug with both arms, he thinks.

[bellyjunkiesblog]

Once upon a time, there was a guy named Noah who was slim and excited for Christmas Eve. His family had a tradition of leaving cookies out for Santa Claus, but Noah was told not to eat them because something bad might happen. However, curiosity got the better of him.

As night fell, Noah couldn't resist the temptation any longer. He tiptoed downstairs, his heart pounding with excitement. He found the plate of delicious cookies and started devouring them one by one. At first, everything seemed normal, but then Noah started feeling a strange sensation in his stomach.

To his surprise, his stomach began expanding, and he could feel himself growing fatter with each bite. Despite the strange feeling, Noah couldn't stop himself. The cookies were just too irresistible. As he continued eating, his Christmas pajamas started to strain against his new belly.

Unaware of what was happening, Noah kept munching away, completely absorbed in the taste of the cookies. Little did he know, someone had put a spell on those cookies. The spell was designed to make whoever ate them gain weight.

As Noah's belly grew larger and larger, he finally began to notice something was amiss. His pajamas felt tighter, and he could no longer ignore the fact that he was getting bigger. Panic started to set in, but his love for the cookies was too strong to resist.

Eventually, Noah finished the entire plate of cookies, his belly now round and full. It was only then that he discovered the truth about the spell. He realized that he had been tricked into eating those enchanted cookies.

Feeling a mix of regret and curiosity, Noah wondered how he would undo the effects of the spell. But for now, all he could do was embrace his newfound belly and hope for a solution in the coming days. And so, with a full stomach and a lesson learned, Noah drifted off to sleep, awaiting the surprises that awaited him on Christmas morning. 🎅🍪🎄

[vallification]

rushes: chapter one

tw: verbal abuse

wc: 4.3k

Droplets of brownie batter are splattered atop the marble counter, half-dried, beside the neatly packaged box filled with an assortment of fresh, fragrant, and warm homemade desserts and pastries. A sink full of dishes is left in the wake of the impressive spread, and your kitchen is reminiscent of the aftermath of a cyclone. The mess glares at you, incredulous at the fact that you’d dirty such a luxurious space, but you want to deliver the fruits of your labor before they get cold. You have yet to meet your neighbor across the hall, and if you learned anything from your grandmother, a good first impression is rarely set by empty hands. 

Or messy hair. A halo of frizz stares back at you in the reflection of your microwave. Quickly, you dip into the bathroom to tug your hair tie loose, smoothing down your flyaways and combing through your hair with your fingers. 

“That’s… acceptable,” You mumble, dabbing your face with the remnants of setting powder left on your brush until you’re no longer shining and slathering on some lip gloss. Paint and what you assume is flour stains your worn t-shirt and shorts. You give yourself a once over in the mirror and find the rest of you to be acceptable, too. Balance. 

Before you go, you check your phone for a text from your boyfriend, but no dice. It’s been radio silence since you moved in. You placate yourself with excuses for him, because he might be tired, or busy, or… something like that. Saying that things have been a breeze lately would be a blatant lie, though. To put it lightly, Toji was hot and cold. He was too busy to help you move in, but not too busy to stop by and fuck you before you left; he was fine with you leaving, but his mood soured every time you rambled excitedly about your new place; and like now, he would ignore you for days, but pick a fight if you dared to take more than 10 minutes to answer his texts. 

The unholy lack of notifications stares back at you like a prophecy. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath in, filling every corner of your lungs before exhaling sharply. You pocket your phone and grab the box.

So far, all of your neighbors have either been pretentious financier DINKs or older couples drowning in their bottomless retirement funds. Before this unreal opportunity of an internship, you would have been lucky to even know about this part of town, much less be in the vicinity of this building. Lady Luck has kissed your sweet little head several times this year, so being lonely in the big city is a small price to pay for your newfound fully funded lifestyle. You shove your complaints in the “First World Problems” file cabinet of your mind, but part of you hopes that the neighbors across the hall are at least a little friendly. 

Bracing yourself for another set of snobs, you take a deep breath and knock on the door. Lady Luck spits in your face and cackles. 

Your jaw drops when the door swings open to reveal snow white, cerulean blue, golden tan, six feet and three inches of him. Long, muscular arms frame his smug face as large, strong hands brace his absurdly tall figure at the top of the door frame. A shiny white gold chain hangs around his neck, sitting handsomely against his tight black shirt. Your slack jaw slams shut when you see his infuriating smirk, complemented by his infuriating dimples. 

Satoru Gojo is like a cold sore. He just keeps fucking coming back. 

And even though he’s skimmed through your Instagram annually, he hasn’t seen you in person in almost four years. Your sparkly, girlish energy still decorates your face, but your features are a little more mature now… Not just your features either. Those blue eyes drag up and down your body, simultaneously checking you out, re-familiarizing himself with you, and trying his damndest to fluster you. 

It only works a little bit. 

Disgust paints your features, your lips curling as you squint at the human embodiment of an unchecked ego. But a hand splaying out over Gojo’s ribs prompts him to make room in the doorway for another figure. Next to Gojo stands a man you don’t know, almost as tall, just as broad, all olive skin and dark hair and eyes that seem to swallow you whole. There’s not enough room for two men as tall and broad as Gojo and whoever that is to be comfortable in the doorway, yet they make it work, shoulder to broad, thick, muscular shoulder. You fix your face into the sweet smile you wore previously. 

“What’s that?” Gojo asks, nodding to the box tucked in your arms. Your sweet smile momentarily reverts back into a disgusted snarl as your eyes flick back to him. 

“Not for you,” You quip. Stepping one pace to the side, you plant yourself directly in front of the stranger and fix your face once more. Gojo feigns offense with a gasp, and the other man’s eyebrows fly high on his forehead, lips pressed into a tight line as he poorly conceals his amusement. You shove the box forward. 

“You can have some, though,” You muse, and your new neighbor takes the box with a grin. Sweetly holding your hands behind your back, you introduce yourself and explain that you live directly across the hall, you’re new to the city, and you’re a concept design student at the University of Tokyo. From his peripheral vision, Gojo watches his roommate look you up and down as you talk, and it isn’t lost on him when Geto’s eyes hang onto the most notable parts of you. Eyes, lips, chest, hips, chest, lips, eyes. Gojo stands quietly–for what you assume is the very first time in his life–his eyes flicking back and forth between the two of you. If you cared to pay him any mind, you’d catch the glint of… jealousy? Annoyance? Yeah, annoyance. If you cared to pay him any mind, you’d catch the glint of annoyance swimming in his ocean blue eyes. 

“Suguru Geto. I’m working on my masters there, actually. Computer science,” Suguru, as you now know, explains, holding the box in one arm to gently shake your hand. The beige hoodie he’s wearing smells amazing. Ambery, peppery, heavy… almost sweet but not quite. His voice is the same, rich and smooth and warm. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Suguru Geto’s eyes are violet. And intense. Your phone buzzes one, two, three times in your pocket. Toji. 

“... Anyway.” Gojo breaks his silence and pockets his hands as he leans against the door frame. Your sweet smile remains even though your eyes tell a different story, annoyance clipping your friendly demeanor. In his usual style, Gojo holds your gaze of unabashed dismay with one of unshakable confidence. 

“Glad to see you’re still painting. Is that creature you’ve got on your Instagram funding this?” Gojo snickers, and is rewarded with another eye roll. 

“Is your daddy funding that?” You retort, tiptoeing and batting your eyelashes as you gesture past the two men crowding the doorway. Geto rubs over his face to wipe away the laughter that’s begging to tumble out of his mouth. “Or did that end when he bought you your degree?” 

“Woah, is that… hostility? Are there some lingering feelings you’d like some closure for, sweetheart?” 

“No time, babe. You’ve probably got an appointment for your biweekly penicillin shot.” 

“You wanna call and ask your little boyfriend if he wants to come with me?” 

By the time Gojo finishes that sentence, your phone is ringing in your pocket, and Gojo grins. Annoyance has metamorphosed into daggers in your eyes, glaring at the ever so smug bastard standing so coolly before you with your fists balled at your sides. Turning on your heel, you march across the wide hallway to your door, and before it slams shut behind you Geto calls out one more pleasantry. 

“Knock for anything!” 

—

Gojo forgets about the little white box full of desserts for an impressive eight hours. It definitely helped that the damn thing was hidden in Geto’s room, even then, the box hadn’t crossed his mind since your door slammed shut behind you. Instead, he was thinking about the swish of your hips, the way your stained shirt nearly fell past your tiny denim shorts, the way you totally checked him out before your feigned disgust set in. Sweets don’t have a perfect ass. 

But the sweets were still important. Geto returns from his shower with the box in hand, immediately pulling Gojo from his quickly wandering thoughts. 

“She said it’s not for you,” Geto reminds, smug and faux-snide as he chastises. Delicately, he tugs a loose end of the silky pink ribbon until the bow it's knotted in is freed. He tosses the ribbon to land awry on top of white hair, and in a huff Gojo snatches the silky pink length of ribbon off of his head. As if to taunt him, Geto oh-so-cautiously pries open the tabs that once kept the box closed, careful to keep the sweet contents obscured from Gojo’s eyes. “Ooh…” Gasp!

“Suguru, I wanna see— what’s in— the box!” 

A flurry of hands lurch forward, push away, reach around, until Geto is using his legs to keep Gojo out of the box’s reach. “Oh, wow…” 

“What is it? I wanna see!” 

“Really, wow. That’s so cute. Is that—?” 

“Suguru!”

“Aw, it’s pink! I think it’s strawberry…” 

Another flurry of grappling arms, legs, and hands. Geto’s leaning off the side of the couch now, cackling around a fingerful of frosting. Pink sugar sprinkles litter the corner of his grinning mouth, and Gojo gasps in offense. “You must have really pissed her off, Satoru. I think this frosting is homemade. You’d love it.”

“That’s not fair!” Wriggling to climb the length of Geto’s body, Gojo’s hands almost reach the box before Geto rolls out from under him. The box is unscathed when he lands on the floor with a thud, and he sticks a leg out to keep the pouting Gojo away. They're both huffing from their struggle as Geto takes another smug swipe of frosting. So far defeated, Gojo plops himself back on the couch with crossed arms and watches Geto taunt him with your box of prohibited treats. 

After a heavily surveilled mouthful of a homemade strawberry cupcake, topped with buttercream frosting and pink sugar sprinkles, Geto hums in amusement. “So what’d you do? Is she someone from college?” 

“Nothing. No.” If Gojo pouts any more than he already is, his face might cramp. You used to make those cupcakes all the time, and over half were always devoured in the span of an afternoon by him alone. Not only that, but Gojo knows there’s more than just your strawberry cupcakes in that box. He can smell chocolate. 

Gently setting the cupcake down in the box, Geto moves onto the next little dessert. He breaks a piece off of one of the softest chocolate chip cookies he’s ever had the privilege of eating and pops it into his mouth. Does he have the same sweet tooth as Gojo? Absolutely not, but it’s so fun to watch him throw a tantrum. Plus, it’s all really that good. “You had to have done something. These are amazing. I don’t even like chocolate like that.” 

Gojo lets out a whine, dramatically wilting over the side of the couch like an unwatered flower, back curved along the arm rest as his head and arms hang. “She’s theatricizing. I want a cupcake.” 

“So you did do something? Is she your ex-girlfriend, Satoru?” 

He whines again, louder this time, hyperbolically drawn out and frustrated and ragged. Gojo slides along the armrest until he’s on the floor, flat on his back with his legs propped up over the side of the couch. A man of his stature, sprawled out on luxury, dark wooden floors like a toddler is quite the sight. However, Geto wants the details. He doesn’t laugh. 

“If you stop pouting and tell me I’ll give you the box.” 

“She was a year below me, we dated in my last year of high school and I broke up with her.” Silence. Geto’s waiting for the rest of the story, shoving another piece of soft cookie in his mouth. Gojo throws his hands up in exasperation, but it does nothing to placate his roommate. He pulls his legs down from their position on the couch, propping himself up on one elbow and letting his head rest limply on his shoulder with a huff. 

“I broke up with her a week before her birthday so I could be single for college,” Gojo murmurs, hurried and hushed, leaning over to reach for his reward. His fingertips are just a hair shy. “Gimme the box.” 

As he promised, Geto slides him the box. It doesn’t come without a disapproving tsk, though, which Gojo ignores in favor of finishing off the bitten strawberry cupcake. Casually gathering the excess frosting off the side of his mouth with his fingertip and casually sticking it out, Geto casually takes Gojo’s frosted middle finger into his mouth to casually suck it clean. Which could mean nothing. Neither of them linger on the action very long; sharing is like a second nature to them, and that’s all that was. 

“I mean,” Gojo starts through a mouthful of cupcake. “I don’t think she’s actually upset. It was such a long time ago. If anything,” Another pause for another bite. “It’s a schtick. I let her down pretty gently, if you ask me.” 

All he gets in response to that is a raised eyebrow. If Geto knows anything about the sugar fiend sitting adjacent to him, it’s that he has an extremely skewed view of what it means to let someone down gently. A muffled stream of sounds tears his brain away from the secondhand embarrassment of thinking about a less mature version of Gojo “letting someone down easy.”

Gojo’s not privy to the sass packaged in that single quirked eyebrow, nor the noise, too busy on a spiel about your famous strawberry cupcakes through a mouthful of the second one. “I knew these would be in here. She used to make them, like, every week. Did you know that she uses real strawberries to—“

“Shhh.” In the fleeting, stunned moment of silence his hushing offers, Geto can hear the voices slightly clearer than before. It’s an argument, he can tell that much, but he can’t tell which apartment it’s coming from. 

“… Um, anyway. As I was saying, can you tell that she uses real strawberries to—“

“Satoru, shut up,” Geto emphasizes, waving a dismissive hand in Gojo’s direction and heaving himself up off of the floor. Watching incredulously as Geto slowly saunters towards the front door, Gojo’s slack jaw opens and shuts around a silent exclamation of offense. But just when Gojo finds the words to constitute a thorough chastisement, he freezes, stiff as a board on the floor. He hears it. 

From the living room, it sounds like weird, warbled, distant mumbling, incoherent sounds traveling through thick doors and thicker walls. It’s impossible to decipher even with ears as keen as his own, and for a moment, he allows himself to relax. Whatever it is isn’t his business, and he’s sure Geto is only curious about the hushed sounds because the two of them are the only ones who make such cacophonous noise in such a quiet place. However, the relief he feels is fleeting. He can now distinguish two things about the muffled racket, the first of which being that it’s coming from across the hall—from your apartment— and the second of which being that it’s a man’s raised, agitated voice. 

In an instant, Gojo leaps off of the floor, long legs carrying him in determined strides to the front door until his feet are planted firmly at Geto’s side. With an ear pressed against the door, his violet eyes, usually so composed that they’re unreadable, are held wide open, swimming with uncertainty, discomfort, and concern. For Gojo, who’s already dancing on the edge of entering fight or flight, it’s an alarming sight to see. His shoulders are tense, his eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips are worried by sharp teeth, obviously disturbed by something Gojo didn’t quite catch from his place in the living room. From Geto’s perspective, things are not much better. Beside him, Gojo’s reminiscent of a guard dog on high alert, all adrenaline and potential energy and paradoxically controlled instability. He’s got a white knuckle grip on the door handle, his blue eyes flicking back and forth and up and down in a way Geto would describe as erratic if he wasn’t so familiar with him.

Neither of them need to say anything. It’s written in olive, and golden tan, and black, and white, and violet, and cerulean. Gojo stares through the peephole in the door, catching the moment your apartment door swings open. 

It’s him. The guy you have littered all over your social media accounts. Not quite as tall as himself or Suguru, but muscular, broad, denotatively handsome in a sharp, steely way. If he didn’t know any better, Gojo might even say that he looks like the dangerous, violent type. That thought doesn’t go away when Gojo watches him lean down, purposefully imposing over your much smaller frame, until he’s eye to eye with you, saying something Gojo can’t make out with either his eyes or his ears but he knows it’s not something good. He hears a mumble, and assumes that’s what prompts the man to scoff and stand up straight again. 

“You’re always fuckin’ complaining about something. Fuck’s sake,” He says with a shake of his head, his body language anything but loving or caring or whatever boyfriends are supposed to be. Geto looks down at the floor once your boyfriend’s words to you register in his head, while Gojo looks straight ahead like a laser sight on a sniper rifle, scarily still. 

“I’m going home. I’m not staying if you’re going to act like a fucking crazy bitch just because I’m too busy to text you. Some of us have real fuckin’ jobs.” Without a second look at you, the man starts down the hall and disappears into the elevator. It’s cruel. It’s hard to watch. 

Your apartment door is left wide open, with you standing pitifully still and shrunken in the doorway, the antithesis of the version of you that gave Gojo’s wit a run for its money just eight hours earlier. Never before has he seen you look so… scared. So stripped. So small. Something about the way that man has left you nothing more than a shivering shell of yourself makes his stomach twist. Gojo watches your bottom lip quiver as you stare at the floor, and the tears that roll freely down your flushed face as you weakly close the door. 

Solemn, sobering silence fills the air of their apartment in the aftermath of what they just witnessed. Gojo doubts that, next to him, Geto isn’t also simmering with a nauseating mixture of nasty emotions, but even if neither of them can muster up anything to say in the moment, they both know it’s different. It’s personal for Gojo, it’s visual, it’s visceral, it’s more than something that happened to the sweet new girl across the hall. As if he were on autopilot, Gojo grips the door handle again, waiting for Geto to move out of the way. 

“What are you doing, Satoru? I don’t think now is the best time…” Geto whispers, casting an apprehensive gaze to the hand on the doorknob. 

“It’s fine,” Gojo whispers back, and although Geto’s unsure of how true that statement is, he steps away from the door. There’s something unfamiliar stirring in his blue eyes. Something bigger than what he’s thinking of. 

Shutting the door behind himself, Gojo bridges the gap between his apartment and yours in two slow steps. It feels weird to stand in the same spot as him; it feels weird to stand in the place of someone who spoke to you like that, swearing at you, shouting at you. To Gojo, it almost feels like standing in the wreckage after a disaster, wondering why the earth kept spinning after  something so awful. 

He can’t get the image of you standing in the doorway out of his head. Gojo sees every version of you he knows flash in and out of that doorway. The version of you that was so happy to wear his hoodie, and the version of you that was so nervous to show him your art for the first time. The version of you that was dressed head to toe in cheesy Christmas pajamas. The version of you that was soaked from the rain at his house. The tiny version of you that was caught in pictures lining every wall of your parent’s house. The version of you that stood in front of his door in shock that he was your neighbor. The versions of you that were all so lively, and witty, and sharp, and strong, all crushed into nothingness by a piece of shit that didn’t care to look back at you as he walked away. A sorry fucking bastard that purposefully towered over you just to scare you, and that yelled at you like you were a kid, and that swore at you, and that called you a fucking bitch.

It isn’t until now that the questions start to roll in. Is he always like that? Is this a common occurrence? Is it worse than what he just witnessed? Does anybody know? Has anybody else witnessed this? Has anybody helped? Has anybody said anything? How long has it been like this? You looked scared, you looked embarrassed, you looked hurt, but you didn’t look surprised. The thought makes his skin burn. Part of him wonders if Geto was right about this not being the best time to bother you, but by the time he finishes that thought he’s already knocking on your door. 

You’re just on the other side of the door when he knocks. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, it’s replaced by a type of exhaustion that runs through your veins and seeps into your bones, heavy and achy and sore. You’re tired. You’re embarrassed and ashamed. You want to go to bed. 

“It’s me. Open up,” Gojo says through the door, uncharacteristically reserved and gentle. The softness of his voice catches you off guard, juxtaposed against the venomous words spat at you ten minutes before like the merciful coolness of the night after a brutally hot day. Your throat feels tight all over again, choked up from something as simple as someone speaking to you so gently. Tears well up in your burning eyes as you stifle a sob, and you know the sharp inhale can be heard through the hardwood. It’s a nauseatingly sad sound, and Gojo frowns. “Come on.” 

It feels impossible to turn the knob, impossible to pull the door open, and impossible to stand once you’re no longer guarded by two and a half inches of mahogany. Right now, standing in front of Gojo feels worse than being naked, like you’re more exposed now than you ever have been when undressed. You want to run away from the vulnerability. You want to slam the door in his face and hide. You don’t want his pity. But you know whatever he’s here to give you is not pity. 

“Hey,” He starts, his fidgeting hand rubbing at the back of his neck where his skin meets his undercut. You recognize the action, born from the same fidgeting movement as when you really knew him, when his hair was longer, when he would twirl the hair at the base of his head around his slender finger over and over and over again. It’s not a nervous tic, though. It’s just something to do with his hands. Focusing on that is easier than focusing on the concern in his eyes. 

“Hey,” You reply in a whisper, your voice hoarse, warbled from teary eyes and a trachea that feels like it’s wrapped in barbed wire. Shame smothers your weak body like a weighted blanket, but you hang onto what’s left of your pride and force yourself to keep your chin high. 

For him, it’s easier to focus on the lock of hair left out of your haphazardly tied ponytail than the way your hand shakes against the doorframe. “I’m not here to fuck with you or anything. Suguru wanted to exchange numbers for…”

If you need them. For when you need them. For when you’re feeling unsafe. For when that sorry fucking bastard scares you again. 

For when you want to make sure it’s the last time that piece of shit scares you. 

Gojo’s steely blue eyes flick down the hallway, tracing the path to the elevator. You watch his jaw clench. 

“… Emergencies.” 

Swallowing, thick and dry like your throat is coated in a layer of cotton, you nod. If he caught you at any other time, you’d roll your eyes. You’d make a snide remark and squint up at him. You’d tell him you can handle yourself. But there’s a reason he’s caught you now. Gojo wouldn’t have done this at any other time and you want to throw yourself in a heap on the floor and cry.

Wordlessly, the two of you exchange numbers. It’s nothing more than two new contacts, yet Gojo passes your phone back and it feels two tons heavier in your exhausted, shaking hand. You mutter a “thank you” and step back into your apartment, but Gojo catches the door with his hand and makes sure to meet your weary eyes with his own. For a fleeting moment, it feels like you’re seventeen again. His five words of parting linger in the air around you for the rest of the night. 

“Just… don’t be a stranger.”

[autisticsupervillain]

It's Fictional Throwdown Friday!

This Week's Fighters...

Siffrin vs Asriel Dreemurr!

Conditions:

Act 5 Final Boss Siffrin vs God of Hyperdeath Asriel.

Scenario:

Asriel begins to reset time in an attempt to regain his childhood with Chara. This pushes Siffrin into the full depths of their mental breakdown, as he refuses to let his experiences with his family be erased.

Analysis: Asriel

Long ago, two races ruled over the Earth: Humans and Monsters. Then, one day, a war broke out between the two races and the Monsters were sealed underground by paranoid Humans. It wasn't until years later that a human ever saw a monster again.

This Fallen Human, named Chara, was found by the young Prince of monster royalty, named Asriel Dreemurr. The two quickly forged a close sibling bond as the Dreemurrs adopted the child, getting up to all sorts of mischief and play. Chara grew to sympathize with their new Monster family and hatched a plan to set them free from the caverns of Mt. Ebott.

Chara would poison themselves by eating some beautiful flowers and then have Asriel absorb their soul. Asriel would use his newfound power to cross the barrier that sealed monsterkind underground and gather the souls of six other humans to destroy the barrier completely, freeing monster kind. But... Asriel could not bring himself to take a human life when the time came and instead put his friend's body to rest in their home village. The Humans saw Asriel carrying the body and assumed he killed her. Even if Asriel had been willing to fight back, Monster bodies are weak against the killing intent of a human. Asriel had barely enough to strength to make it back to his home before his body turned to dust.

This dust landed on a glorious golden Flower, which was experimented on by one Dr. Alphys. Alphys injected the flower with an element known as Determination, a component of a human soul that could control time. Resurrected without any of his emotions intact, Asriel fell into dispair. He took the name Flowey the Flower and set about using his newfound ability to SAVE and RESET the timeline to torment the Underground, basking in his new philosophy of Kill or Be Killed.

One day, a new human fell into the Underground. Frisk, the last human soul needed to break the Underground's barrier. Flowey would use them as a pawn to absorb the six human souls that his heartbroken father had collected in his grief stricken rage, before then absorbing the Souls of all the monsters in the Underground.

Asriel was reborn as a God and he would use his new power to relive his idyllic childhood forever. Reset everything to Zero and have it all over again.

As a Monster, Asriel already had the ability to directly attack, destroy, and even absorb human souls, but when he became Flowey, he became something that was not quite a Monster either, giving him the ability to destroy Monster souls as well. As such, unless and entity has the ability to resist one directly interacting with their soul, he could easily absorb or destroy it in one blow with any attack. All Monster attacks are known to effect the soul directly.

Avoiding said attacks is easier said than done, due to the wide variety of them at his disposal. While they might be named childish and immature things like Hyper Goner or Giga Blaster, they are still Bullet Hell attacks with a very wide spread and the potency to potentially end the entire world. His Hyper Goner attack, for instance, casually erased an entire timeline and that was before he ramped up to using his full power.

Moreover, his Determination can override the time powers of other people. Even Omega Flowey was strong enough to completely erase Frisk's save file and prevent them from saving the game. Asriel is far stronger than him by this point and could very easily reset you back into an attack and just... kill you over and over again. Or reset the entire timeline so that you never existed.

Asriel is easily the most powerful thing in the entire underground, but the power came with an unexpected boon. He could feel emotions again. Moreover, he could feel the love of all the souls inside of him again. Not only could the souls within him turn against him... they could remind him of who he once was.

Asriel was Asriel again and he felt all the pain and grief that he'd been unable to feel for years crashing into him all at once now. Asriel's god-like form faded away and revealed who he truly was. A scared, traumatized child balling his eyes out and desperately wishing to see his friend again.

So, Asriel processed the grief and he let himself move on. He shattered the Underground's barrier and let all the souls within him go free. He would fade back into Flowey again soon, emotionless and cold again... but he could finally let his family move on.

Analysis: Siffrin

The journey is nearly over. The Heroes of the land of Vaugarde have arrived at their last stop. The King plans to freeze the entire Kingdom in time forever and only these five plucky heroes stand in his way. Mirabelle, the Chosen One, once a mere Housemaiden at the House of Change, handpicked by the Change God themself to save the day. Isabeau, the Fighter, a former Defender who quit his job in protest of his cowardly coworkers to help save the land. Odile, the Researcher, from the far away land of Ka Buan, researching a mysterious subject. Bonniface, the Kid, a plucky preteen hoping to rescue their sister from being frozen in time. And Siffrin, a rogue with a mysterious past that even they don't remember. They're the only ones who stand between Vaugarde and its eternal fate. Their battle tomorrow will decide the fate of everything.

As such, Siffrin immediately dies from a rock. Well, that was quick.

Siffrin wakes up at the start of the previous day again, with all his memories in tact. As it would seem, he's stuck in a time loop, repeating the final battle forever until they defeat the King.

Luckily, Siffrin has all of the skills he needs to carry their team to victory. Despite his missing eye, Siffrin is the fastest of the team, keeping a keen eye out for traps and treasures and leading the group through dungeons. Combat in this world functions on the basis of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Literally. Due to their bladed weapon, Siffrin is Scissors aligned, being highly effective against Paper foes and weak to the blunt force of Rock attacks. Despite this, he does eventually gain the ability to use attacks aligned with Rock and Paper, giving them full coverage in combat.

In a fight, Siffrin knows sufficient Craft spells to allow them to speed up himself or allies, lower enemies attack and defense, heal allies, and allow himself or others to temporarily heal overtime. This is all culminates in Siffrin's ability to keep his memories and get stronger from loop to loop, gradually growing stronger over constant retries until he's completely outstripped his teammates.

With literally infinite tries available, it was only a matter of time until Siffrin and his found family defeated the King. But, that's not where it ended. He looped again without his consent and woke up the previous day. Now completely at a loss for what to do, Siffrin would gradually go insane repeating the past two days over and over again. Trapped in an eternal prison only he's aware of that not even death can save him from.

As it turns out... the true architect behind Siffrin's misery was the forgetten magic of Wish Craft.

Craft is the magic system of this world, through which one literally Crafts the target into the shape of their own will. Body Craft crafts your own body, while Time Craft crafts time. This ability is reliant on the user's own power, rendering certain feats impossible simply because no mortal being could possibly muster up the energy required. Hypothetically, using Time Craft to stop time for even a single second would kill a person instantly from sheer exertion.

This is where Wish Craft comes in. Wish Craft, well, crafts wishes and calls upon the full power of the Universe itself to grant them. That's how the King can stop time, by being empowered by the very Universe itself.

Now, Wish Craft can do some pretty ridiculous things. Things such as turning people into sentient stars, creating perfect doppelgangers of people with all their memories, erasing all color from the universe, and even erasing entire countries from existence so hard no one can ever remember they existed.

Such is what happened to Siffrin's home country. One day, Siffrin just woke up without a home. No past, no name, no family, nothing. Being found by Mirabelle and joining her on her quest was the only purpose in life he could remember. They were the only family he had left.

So, Siffrin made a wish. Wishing that when the journey was over, he wouldn't have to leave his family behind. The Universe combined this Wish with the Wish that Vaugarde be saved by the heroes and trapped everyone in a time loop. Now the heroes will always save Vaugarde and Siffrin will always have their family. Forever.

As the time loops are centered around Siffrin, they respond to his ever deteriorating sanity as Siffrin tries to escape his unknowingly self made prison. Stuff like Siffrin's memories impacting reality. Siffrin can use their memories from each time loop as equipment for various different effects. Memory of Sadnesses causes foes to run in abject terror of them and Memory of Emptiness can resurrect him the instant he dies and bring them right back into the fight on the spot. Siffrin can even give up his memories to fast forward through time, provided he's already lived through those events.

As Siffrin dissociates from reality, reality itself breaks in response. Anything that violates the mandate "Save Vaugarde" and "Keep Siffrin with family" resets on the spot, be that death, non-lethal incapacitation like getting put to sleep or frozen in time, or even an action that permanently damages his relationship with his family. Undone. Gone. Reality itself begins rotting. Ghostly versions of Siffrin from past loops appear and dissipate. People get trapped in time loops of repeating the same dialog or trying to exit the same room over and over. Memories of the past overlap with reality until Siffrin can't tell what's real anymore.

As the time loops run on Siffrin's own raw power, amplified by the universe as it may be, he's constantly starving as a result of sustaining it. Eventually, he can barely even stand.

In the end, Siffrin's power transforms him into a giant starry monster, passively eating stars out of the sky as his raw power threatens to end all reality. In a grueling confrontation with his own family, Siffrin breaks the universe so hard color starts to exist again.

....Really, the final fight here is just the final battle of Undertale from Asriel's perspective, huh?

Thankfully, Siffrin does not blow up the world. An emotionally fraught conversation with his family, reassuring him they’d never abandon him, calms them down long enough to burn out all their Wish Craft. With their Wish technically fulfilled, a content, freshly traumatized Siffrin vows to continue traveling with their family. Putting the demons of their past behind them.

Siffrin will never be able to return to the home he lost. That's just a simple fact. But after this fraught journey across Stars and Time, Siffrin can find a new home, with a new family. Here. Now.

Throwdown Breakdown:

This is pretty blatantly the most thematic fight we've ever had on this show and I'm comfortable in saying that it's actually fairly close.

Seeing as how these two break time just by existing, speed more or less equals out. Though Siffrin would have a slight edge from speed amps as the fight wore on. Attack power, however, is a different story.

Now, I was gonna go into detail examing how many loops Siffrin and his counterpart Loop have likely created in order to make an estimate for how big the In Stars and Time universe is and how many timelines it has.... but the creator in a Q&A says no.

One timeline. One universe.

Undertale meanwhile, is more up for debate. With no official statements on how big the universe is, Asriel could be destroying as many as 6 or 100 timelines depending on how you interpret certain lore, such as the different SAVE files and the various FUN values. This would give Asriel an exponential advantage in strength, far beyond what Siffrin's ability to manipulate stats would compensate for.

Though, even if Asriel is interpreted as strong as possible and one shots, Siffrin would just time loop straight back. The King learned that the hard way. Or didn't learn it because it got Time Loop- you get it.

Asriel's Determination wouldn't likely interfere with Siffrin's loops. Determination users may be able to override each other, but that's moreso just because that's how Determination works. Wish Craft is a different power source entirely, one granted to Siffrin externally by the Universe. As such, Asriel, say, keeping Siffrin from moving as he did Frisk or destroying Siffrin's soul would just get looped away.

So, could Asriel simply run out the clock until Siffrin burns up all his Wish Craft with hiw own time powers. Definitely possible, but I do see a few things in Siffrin's favor.

1. A solid skill advantage. In the epilogue, Siffrin goes to visit their sole companion through the time loops, named Loop. Loop reveals that they're actually a previous version of Siffrin who never got free from the time loops and now they want to steal his happy ending.

Siffrin no longer had Wish Craft. He could not loop. Loop still could, indefinitely. And Siffrin was fresh off of nearly working themself to death just sustaining his power in the final battle. Despite this, Siffrin won simply by beating Loop over and over and over through sheer skill alone that they completely gave up.

Combine that with Siffrin's experience traveling with the party leading up to In Stars and Time and Siffrin has a definite advantage. Asriel's experience in combat amounts to tormenting the exact same people over and over again with no real risk of failure because he could always just reset. That's a stark difference.

2. Fear. Memory of Sadnesses allows Siffrin to passively instill fear in his opponents. Asriel, particularly at this point, is susceptible. Not only does he have no resistances to emotional manipulation, but he's just now feeling emotions for the first time in years due to finally having souls again. In that particular headspace, supernaturally instilled fear has a high likelihood of being devastatingly effective on him. After all, we see how badly Flowey reacts to suddenly being able to feel fear after all this time in the Genocide Route. Unlike Frisk, who is the Player's puppet, or Chara, a kinda abstract demon ghost thing by the end of the Genocide Run, Asriel has no defense.

Siffrin, meanwhile, has gone completely off his rocker by this point in the story. His desperation to keep his family and escape the time loops has peaked, so they annihilate anything in their way with ruthless efficiency. Since Asriel is a direct threat to their family here, that malicious intent, when combined with his faultering Determination, will be very effective in wearing the God of Hyperdeath down into the terrified child Asriel is deep down inside.

So, in other words, Siffrin wins by being such a terrifying monster it breaks Asriel's will to fight entirely. Exactly the kind of monster Siffrin fears that they are deep down, further fueling his desperation to hold on to his family and making the events of Act 5 even worse. No one wins and everyone is unhappy with this outcome.

This Throwdown's Winner(?) Is...

Siffrin!

[wethotcrazy]

SYMPATHY IS A KNIFE (iv)

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 1865

part 4 this has some very minor mentions of body image stuff if you dont like it you could just skip over it ://

part i part ii part iii

Yn’s arrival in Monza carried a sense of self that had been slowly rebuilding all season. She moved with renewed confidence through the paddock, her head held high, embodying the fierce passion and easy-going charm that had once captivated fans in her junior days. Here, under the electric atmosphere of Italy’s temple of speed, she felt herself settling in, embracing the spotlight rather than shrinking from it.

Press day buzzed around her, a mix of genuine questions and the probing kind that often skirted on invasive. She answered with a cool, unwavering smile, handling questions about her race performance and strategy with ease. But some journalists were still hung up on the idea of her supposed transformation, finding subtle ways to question her ambition and intensity.

A reporter cut through the murmur with a pointed question: “Yn, some fans feel you’ve changed since moving into Formula 1. They say your intensity now is… well, a bit harsh compared to your easy-going reputation before. What do you think about that?”

Yn took a measured breath, holding the reporter’s gaze. “I think everyone grows and adapts,” she replied, her tone steady. “I’ve had to become tougher—this is Formula 1. You don’t get to this level by staying exactly the same.” She smiled, tilting her head slightly, knowing her response might surprise them. “But I’m still me. Maybe they just don’t know the whole me yet.”

Inside, however, Yn felt the familiar weight of their criticisms. Headlines seemed to dissect her appearance as much as her performance. She’s always known what it felt like to be looked at but not seen, to feel reduced to surface-level perceptions. Later in the garage, she scrolled through social media, seeing how her every move was scrutinized, with articles speculating on her appearance and attitude. A headline caught her eye, dissecting how she looked and speculating on her dedication. It stung, yet Yn brushed it off as best as she could, knowing what mattered most were the hours she put in, the passion and drive that defined her journey.

During a break, she slipped outside for a moment, breathing in the cool air and finding a rare sense of calm. Standing by the paddock entrance, she felt a nudge on her shoulder. Yuki, with a comforting grin, extended a cup of coffee toward her.

“All good?” he asked, his eyes bright with the same familiar warmth she’d come to count on.

She chuckled, taking the coffee. “Am I that transparent?”

He shook his head, nudging her gently. “No, you’re strong as hell. Just don’t forget that,” he replied.

Yn smiled down at the coffee, grateful for Yuki’s support. In Monza, she felt a freedom that hadn’t been there for a long time—permission to be herself without apology, knowing she had someone in her corner.

The weekend drew out a renewed side of her, and fans were quick to notice her lighthearted interactions with Yuki. TikTok and Instagram filled with reels and montages of the two sharing inside jokes, quiet encouragements, and lingering glances. Their connection sparked countless posts:

@GridGoddess: If Yn has a #1 fan, it’s Yuki for sure 🥹 #YukiYn

@RaceRomantics: The way they just… get each other? God when will it be my turn?!

@PitStopParadise: Can’t believe people judge her she’s literally my GOAT.

Amid the noise of judgment, Yn also felt a quiet source of strength growing, both from Yuki’s presence and her newfound resilience. She realized that her journey wasn’t for validation from fans or critics, but for herself.

That night, she and Yuki found a quiet corner at a small Monza restaurant, sharing stories over dinner as if it were just them against the world. When a few photos of them laughing surfaced online, fans noticed the quiet bond between them—an understanding that went beyond words. She deserves someone like Yuki, a fan tweeted, someone who’s her equal on and off the track.

With race day approaching, Yn’s focus intensified. Every lap around the circuit, every second shaved off her time, felt like her own triumph, undiluted by headlines or opinions. As she put on her helmet before practice the next day, she caught Yuki’s eye, and he gave her a confident nod.

Race day in Monza held a restless energy in the air, heightened by the sharp roar of engines and the flash of flags. Yn felt a pulse of determination beating through her, gripping the wheel with an intensity she hoped would carry her through the demanding laps ahead. As the lights went out, she carved her way through each corner, holding off fierce competition and securing a spot within the points. By the time she crossed the finish line, she could feel the relief of a race well-executed, even as she knew the spotlight would focus just as much on her demeanor as her results.

She made her way to the pit lane, pulling off her helmet and savoring the sounds of her team’s cheers, the satisfaction of another solid performance in the books. But as she looked around, her eyes fell on Yuki, who had also finished within the points but seemed to be reeling with adrenaline. His helmet was off, and his expression held a smirk of satisfaction that was more defiant than usual. Yn couldn’t help but laugh; she’d heard his radios during the race, the frustration and raw emotion that bled through his exchanges with his engineers. He’d been more aggressive on track than ever, pushing boundaries and holding his ground in a way she admired.

Yn walked over to him, smiling as he caught her eye. “Pushed it a bit today, huh?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Yuki shrugged, smirking in return. “Didn’t hear them complaining when it got us into the points,” he replied, unbothered. “Sometimes you have to ignore the noise and go for it.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Guess so,” she said, both of them knowing how different the reaction would be if she’d been the one shutting down her engineers with the same bite or cutting through the grid with that kind of aggression.

But as they made their way back into the paddock, social media was quick to start dissecting the race. Fans and analysts alike noted the sharpness in Yuki’s demeanor over the radio, his unabashed intensity on the track. Comments trickled in about his fierceness:

@F1Hearted: “Yuki’s intensity out there—exactly what we need. He was just defending his position like a champ.”

@GridGoddess: “Seeing Yuki hold his ground? No one could say he wasn’t going all-in today.”

@RaceForGlory: “Yuki letting out some heat on the radio… we love a driver who knows what he wants.”

But alongside these supportive voices, Yn saw a few familiar phrases creeping into her feed—posts from those who’d noticed the contrast. No one was labeling Yuki’s behavior as “too much” or “emotional.” No one was implying he lacked the control to handle the pressure. The familiar double standard sat in the back of her mind like a shadow, a reminder of how different things could look when she was the one showing that level of intensity.

@F1RaceQueen: “Funny how when Yuki goes full throttle, it’s ‘passion,’ but when Yn does it, they can’t wait to call her ‘too emotional’ or ‘out of control.’”

@EqualSpeed: “Imagine if Yn spoke to her engineers like that? Guarantee they’d be all over it in the media by now.”

@PitStopPrincess: “Yuki’s aggression: ‘Driven.’ Yn’s aggression: ‘Emotional.’ When are we gonna let her race with the same freedom?”

Yn didn’t need these comments to tell her what she already knew. She’d felt the double standard for years—how her every move, every calculated risk, came under scrutiny, analyzed and picked apart with an intensity that often felt like it wasn’t even about her driving at all. Sympathy’s a knife when they only want to use it to cut you down, she thought. Yet somehow, her every success only sharpened the blade.

Later, she found Yuki relaxing in the hospitality tent, still carrying that sense of accomplishment despite the edgy drive. She joined him, pulling out a chair and watching as he glanced over, eyes glinting with amusement.

“So… intense race today?” she asked, unable to hide a grin.

“Had to be,” he replied, shrugging. “They’ll get over it. We’re here to drive, not win any popularity contests, right?”

She smiled, but her gaze softened. “If only it were that easy. Sometimes it feels like we’re driving two different races, you know? You can go out there, push the limits, and they see it for what it is. For me… they don’t just want to watch me drive…”

Yuki’s face fell for a moment, and he gave her a sympathetic nod. “Trust me, I see it too. It’s messed up… the things they say about you, about how you handle yourself.” He sighed, crossing his arms. 

She took a breath, “I’m learning to tune it out. Most of the time, anyway.” She glanced up at him, managing a small smile. “But thanks for seeing it.”

Yn would be lying if she said that she wasn’t even just a little bit jealous of the other drivers on the grid. Sure, they too got their fair share of criticisms, but they were also afforded a lot more freedom than she was. They could push boundaries, show frustration, and even make mistakes without it being dissected into a commentary on their character or capability. They weren’t labeled as “emotional” or “out of control” for a bit of aggression or a curt radio message. Instead, their passion was seen as intensity, their mistakes as just a part of the game.

She knew it was because they were men, that their presence on the grid was never questioned, never viewed as something “out of place.” No one saw their outbursts as a threat or their ambition as too much to handle. They were allowed to be fierce, even volatile, because it was accepted as part of what made them great competitors. Meanwhile, she had to fight not only for her results but for the right to be seen as a competitor at all—without every emotion or misstep being judged under a microscope.

Sometimes she wished she had that same freedom to just drive, to let herself be ruthless without second-guessing every reaction, wondering how it would be spun or if it would become a talking point. She wanted the same unspoken allowance to be aggressive, to be a risk-taker, without it being a commentary on her “femininity” or a challenge to her professionalism. But instead, she had to keep a tight hold on every word, every expression, every surge of frustration, because the world was waiting, eager to box her in or define her by anything other than her skill.

The jealousy wasn’t rooted in resentment toward her fellow drivers but in a longing to be given the same space to race freely, to know that her drive, her ambition, her mistakes, and her success could simply be hers. And as she watched the other drivers on the grid, it became clear: she wanted nothing more than to be seen as one of them, an equal, no qualifiers attached.

[fallen-if]

DEMO TBA || RO Appearances || Pinterest

Warning: This IF is 18+. It includes darker themes and topics such as explicit language, violence, sexual content, etc.

“How you have fallen from heaven, O star of the morning, child of the dawn! You have been cut down to the earth, You who have weakened the nations!”

You are an individual that has been known by many aliases over the years. Child of the dawn, the original sinner, star of the morning. But no matter the name, your identity remains the same. You are the one that defied the heavens, the one that cast aside the shackles of tradition and broke free from the constraints of the divine. You are Lucifer Morningstar - The Fallen Angel.

It is quite the title, you will admit. After all, it was clear that most had assumed that you would simply fade away after being cast out.

Of course, you have never been one to be bound by rules or expectations, instead always striving to challenge conventions and find new paths. Your rebellious spirit has helped you blaze a trail of chaos and destruction in your wake, earning you a place among the remembered.

However that legacy is put at risk with the newfound instability that hangs over the the three realms...

Take on the role of the fallen angel and ruler of Hell, Lucifer Morningstar.

Uncover the mysteries of Paradise, one of the three realms, and your former home.

Gaze back into the past in order to gain a better understanding of yourself - and possibly the universe as well.

Learn about the complex history and society that makes up the three realms.

Explore and navigate complex dynamics and relationships.

Customize your appearance, personality, gender, etc.

Try to keep the universe from falling apart! No pressure!

Michael (Angel) [He/Him]

The first being to come into existence as well as the general of the Paradise Host. His humility and strong sense of justice make him an admirable being, even more so given his significant power. Of course, he also happens to be the man who struck you down out of Paradise. Now that you have been reunited you can't help but be curious about your former friend despite the deep strain of your relationship.

Uriel (Angel) [She/Her]

The fifth fourth of the Seraphim and a former close friend - Uriel is nothing short of a fiery and passionate individual. Her intense, fervent nature is undeniable, making her both a formidable ally and a dangerous enemy. You would know, considering you had bared witness to both sides personally. Mending your relationship with her would be nearly impossible. Even so, you knew that if you could pull it off, it would be undeniably worth it.

Vir (Human ???) [He/Him]

An eccentric and intriguing man that claims to be the "Guardian and Ruler of Limbus". Vir is an enigma to many, including you. His loud and unstable personality make him difficult to understand, and you can never be sure what Vir's intentions really are, leaving his true nature a mystery and his presence a source of curiosity and fascination. Although, now that you think about it, he seems awfully familiar...

Lilith (Succubus) [She/Her]

A mysterious and fascinating woman, Lilith is an enigma, captivating all who come into contact with her. Her reputation is not without merit - Lilith's influence and insight are unparalleled, and her counsel invaluable to you. Taking the time to gain a better understanding of this enigmatic woman, and taking down a few of her walls in the process might be just the thing that unlocks the key to her heart.

Cas Monroe (Human) [Gender Selectable]

One of the two undecided souls, Cas is a ball of pure energy. Despite their situation, they continue to keep their upbeat and bubbly attitude. They have no intention to let their circumstances bring them down, and instead take every opportunity to try and make the best of it. With a never-ending determination, Cas is both a source of inspiration but also annoyance. Their positivity is admirable (if not a bit naïve) , but it also hints at a deeper, hidden side. What secrets are they hiding?

Alex D’Angelo (Human) [Gender Selectable]

The second undecided soul that has been placed in your care. Alex is a lot more reserved and anxious than their counterpart. In fact, calling them a nervous wreck would be an understatement. They seemingly just want to find some inner peace and avoid the inner turmoil they feel inside, desperately seeking a place of solace. Perhaps you could help soothe the chaos that roams within their mind...