#(originally i was going to kill him off but that's a story for another day)

[rogueorbit]

fault lines is really about highlighting how much of a bad father otto is but since in this setting actually being a father to your children is seen as like. not important whatsoever compared to your day job, i do always wonder if what i'm trying to accomplish actually comes across at all or if it gets written off as "oversimplifying" his dynamic with alicent or whatever. personally i don't really care either way, i just don't agree with the "oh, he loves alicent in his own way" crowd and it felt disingenuous to attempt to write him that way in fault lines lmao

like yeah maybe in this setting being a father is less important than your duty to the realm or whatever because kids are more like commodities than actual people but i do think if your kid has no mother and you intentionally isolate her, destroy her only genuine relationship with another human being and make her believe you're the only one she can count on and then you just. aren't there for her whatsoever and actually in a fucked up kind of way the old guy you married her off to is probably closer to a father than you ever were or will be, then you're kind of irredeemable scum in every setting!

rhaenyra's return and continued presence in fault lines is the catalyst for alicent to realise this because a) rhaenyra supports her and doesn't make her suppress her feelings, and b) alicent sees rhaenyra can be a good parent to multiple children while also doing her day job and just trying to do the right thing. in turn, alicent ends up really fucking angry in most of her scenes with or regarding otto because she now has the space to grieve the life that was stolen from her by her father who, sure, could love her, but who knows? if there's any evidence of it, i sure haven't seen it.

not to mention he (canonically) wanted to assassinate rhaenyra and plotted it all in secret with his little council buddies while excluding alicent because, while some may argue otherwise, he absolutely does not see her as an equal lmao.

so, in fault lines, yeah, he is absolutely presented even more overtly as a villain than what we see on the show, because being a bad father still affects the child even if "being a father matters less" or whatever

[irisinluv]

Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? PT 1

All I could do was stare at my reflection. This had to be a joke. I was going to wake up in my bed, right this instant.

“FUCK!”

Ok, so, pinching myself hurts. That’s fine. This is like. Some sort of lucid dream. What do they say to do if you’re lucid dreaming? Oh, that’s right, put your finger in your palm, it’ll phase through!

I resist the urge to scream as my finger meets solid flesh.

You see, I’m not in the right body. Or the right world from what I can tell. No, I’m supposed to be back home, waking up in a panic as I realize my alarm didn’t go off cuz my phone died after I stayed up way too late reading manga.

But of course, I’m not late to work, I’m in a lavish bedchamber right out of the latest webcomic I’d been reading! And by the looks of it…. I’m the crown princes crazy fiancé! As much as I love reading about the Isekai trope, I never wanted to be in one! And come on- as the Yandere Villain!? Couldn’t this at least be original? There’s hundred of stories just like “my next life as a villainess,” why couldn’t I be like… a stable hand or something? Ugh. Ok. Think!

I need to get home. Do the protagonists ever get back home in the stories I read? I pace around my room and rack my brain over every webcomic I’ve ever read, every manga I waited in line for, every anime I binged, even the unfinished manhwas! I can’t think of a single fucking one where they get home?

Well this isn’t going to stop me. I have a cat who’s going to absolutely flip if she’s not given fresh kibble in the morning. She has enough in her bowl for another 2 days but she needs it topped off ok! She’s a princess! I can’t be stuck here! Who’s going to throw her pompom toy for her if I’m not there???

What did all these have in common? What’s the barebones trope layout? Ok let’s see

1) person either died or falls asleep and wakes up in a new world…. Check

2) person is the villain!…. Check

3) to avoid the characters terrible death, person tries to change the story, ends up being new protagonist…

Ohhh… hey…. Do these Isekai characters ever just…. Play along? Even the “reincarnated as a baby” ones, they only play along till they’re old enough to try to run away or rework the political structure of the entire city. Maybe that’s it. Make it to the books natural end, and you’ll wake up where you belong. It’s like when you get part of a song stuck in your head. Play the whole song, and it’ll get out.

Ok, I’ve trained most of my adult life for this- I can totally ace this trope! I just have to stalk the crown prince, act totally in love with him, and be a bitch to the female lead. Then my finance will leave me, I’ll do some crazy dramatic act to try to kill the female lead, and then I’ll be exiled or executed, and wake up to feed my cat. How hard can it be?

Hard. It’s very hard.

Where the hell did he go!? My fiancé, the crown prince Eric, was JUST HERE. I swear! He turned that corner back there and then went down this hall… at least I think it was this hall? Ugh! This is impossible! For someone with such loud shoes and an armed escort, you’d think he’d be easier to follow! Now my feet just hurt. They don’t make these fancy shoes to run around the castle all day. They’re meant to daintily peek from beneath my many skirts as I host a tea party or some shit.

Ok. I’ve got this! I’ll just peek into each room until I find him, maybe I can get a better feel for the layout, or maybe find his office and see if he has a schedule or a day planner or something I can use to make this whole stalking thing easier.

I begin snooping, and it’s a bit of thrill to be honest! Back in my real life, I’m the kind of person to hide a wrapper deep in the trash can if I’m babysitting, sitting on the floor playing a game on my phone after the kid goes to bed rather than “making myself at home” the way the parents insisted as they showed me how to access Netflix. I’ve never been a snooper. Now…. Well. It’s totally on brand for this character! I’m not me, I’m a psycho lovesick fool! I giggle a bit at that as my fingers trail over a shelf of beautiful pottery in some sort of sitting room.

“What’s so amusing dearest?”

I practically screech as my heart leaps to my throat and I whirl around, and see the very person I’d been searching for has snuck up on ME…. That’s so unfair!

“W-what? O-oh! Nothing! I was just- uh, admiring the pottery?”

I stutter out as I try to recall how to act like a human being while simultaneously trying to stop feeling my own pulse in my ears. The idiot has the nerve to LAUGH! Full on snort and everything!

“What are you doing in this wing anyways? Weren’t you meant to be out riding today?”

Shit. I was so busy trying to figure out his schedule, I didn’t consider maybe the body I was shoved into had a schedule of her own. Ok. Play it cool- I’ve got this!

“Yes, well, I decided I wasn’t in the mood and wanted to stay in today instead.”

His brows furrow

“Oh, but you love riding? Are you feeling ill? I can fetch the royal physician for you if you-“

“No! That’s- that’s quite alright! I simply wanted a change of schedule, that is all. Um… what about you? What are your plans for the day?”

He looked a bit surprised at that, and a small smile danced on his lips.

“I was just going to the library to do some paperwork, boring stuff really, and then of course our dinner at its regular time.”

I nod like that means anything to me. Ok think, if I were crazy in love with this man, what would I say?

“Would you like some company? Reading in the library sounds really nice, maybe we could have some tea as well?”

Ok. I’m already fucking this up. He looks confused…. God damnit …. I knew I shouldn’t have skimmed over those early chapters- but the translation was shit ok!?

“Well… I’d actually love that. But are you sure? You haven’t exactly shown interest in reading, and you’ve never requested something like this before…. In fact I don’t think I can recall the last time we’ve interacted outside of dinner or a scheduled social event in… well. Ever.”

Wait…. What? Isn’t my character like goo-goo-ga-ga over him? Are you telling me she never asks to just… spend time with her lover? They only talk during dinner and parties or whatever?

“Of course, I think it’ll be relaxing! Just lead the way!”

My brain is working overtime as I smile politely at him as we reach the library and I pretend to browse for books. I’m missing something here. What is-

Oh. Shit. That’s right. I’m supposed to be really insecure and awkward about him. That’s why she stalks him- she spends all her free time obsessing over this man from the shadows, threatening the competition…. Yet chokes up when it comes to how to act natural. Her inferiority complex is what drives her entire character. And then to him, they’re just two nobles in an arranged marriage who speak on dull subjects like the weather and horse rides…. And who barely interact.

This must have been a real big shake up, she always stays out of sight, they never run into each other by chance. And she certainly never would ask to sit and read with him…. Maybe watch him do his work from a hidden keyhole somewhere, but that’s right…. She IS more of a traditional lady with her hobbies. She was raised to be the perfect noble wife, so naturally, her hobbies include things like dancing, needlepoint, and horse riding. The only studies she’s interested in are etiquette and things that noble ladies are supposed to know.

Well…. Shit. That’s so like me to already have fucked this up. But that’s ok. That’s ok- he’s going to meet the female lead and fall in love and so I just have to be the obstacle they need to overcome. Surely the details don’t matter too much…. It’s my first day in the job ok? Not everyone’s perfect!

I find a book that honestly actually sounds interesting, it’s historical, but it’s giving Hellen of Troy, the closest to a dark romance I think I’ll get from an academic personal library like this. I settle into what looks like the comfiest chair in the central area, and begin reading. The prince and I exist comfortably, the only sound being the scratch of his pen, and the occasional rustle of paper as he flips a document or I finish a page. We continue like this for several hours until he puts down his pen and clears his throat, getting my attention.

“I know it’s a long way from dinner…. But I was thinking I’d grab something light for a mid day meal and then take a walk about the gardens …. Would you care to join me?”

Honestly, some lunch and pretty royal gardens sounds like so much fun, so I agree. As we begin walking, I ponder how I can recover from all this.

You know what.. this can totally still go to plan. This is just me being the evil villain and sinking my claws into him! The female lead will appear, and I’ll reveal my true, nasty side to her! She’ll have to fight to save the prince from his marriage to me!

*insert evil laughter!*

“You’re smiling.”

“W-what?”

“A smile. It suits you. You’ve been doing that a lot today….. I like it.”

Ok and now I’m blushing. I go to reply when I suddenly find myself weightless for a moment, and then hit the ground with a hard thump.

“Ow! What the-!?”

My eyes snap up and glare at this pretty blonde girl who just rammed into me, and sent me flying

“Do you not know how to watch where you’re going!? Owww…. Ugh.”

Ok I’m sorry I’m usually a nice and understanding person but I’ve never been literally knocked over before! Who does that to a person?

Eric helps me to my feet and sends a reproachful glare toward the girl, asking me if I’m alright with most concerned look…. And the girl gasps and says,

“C-crown prince Eric! I apologize! I’d didn’t recognize you!”

She drops into a curtsy and lowers her eyes all demure and modest as if she hadn’t just bulldozed me. I send an incredulous look toward Eric…. She… didn’t see HIM? I’m the one she took out? He gives me an equally puzzled look and so I decide, you know what, fuck it. I’m this evil person in this world…. I need to act like it!

“And not recognizing his highness is an excuse for taking out the princess consort, soon to be crown princess? Are you blind or just daft?”

Oh my god I really just called someone daft! This feels like when you stay up late thinking all the witty comebacks you could’ve used against your high school bullies, except actually using them in the moment!

And Eric is being a sweetie and letting me handle this, waiting expectantly for blondie to answer me, just prompting her,

“Well?”

“Forgive me…. Princess consort…. You are right. My oversight in inexcusable. It appears neither of us were looking where we were going. I hope we can start fresh!”

I scoff- that’s it? Who does this bitch think she is? Yes, I was looking at Eric, but I was going a walking pace, who rounds a corner with so much force that you knock someone over?

Suddenly something clicks- oh shit! This is the female lead!!!! This scene happened in the story, just without the prince here. This is good, that means this is on track. Although I gotta say- I was much more on the female main characters side when reading it. Now, I just feel like she’s one of those mean girls in high school who’s not *technically* doing anything mean. Anyways- what was I supposed to say? That’s right.

“Yes…. Well. I’m sure we won’t be seeing much of each other anyways. If you’ll excuse me-“

Nailed ittttt…. Now her line?

“Well, actually…. My name is Lady Cressida, and I’ll be staying in the place for several months as my father is a foreign ambassador overseeing trade agreements with his highness the king. So I imagine we will be seeing *plenty* of each other. That goes for you too your highness! So please- forgive me, I look forward to getting to know each of you better!”

Oh that’s so cool, seeing her recite the lines from the story. But ok- I have a role to play as well. I scoff and grab Eric’s arm, pulling him behind me as I storm off, playing the part of entitled lover, stuck up and irritated at this ambassadors daughter who DARED to speak to my love.

Yea, this will work, Eric will think Cressida is a genuine sweetie, and see me as being the unreasonable bitch who’s refusing to accept her apology, or apologize for not looking where I was going either. And now I’m manhandling him- totally unlady like. God I’m killing this aren’t I? Minimum wage job and demanding cat, here I come!

What I don’t see, as I lead Eric by the arm, is the cold glare he shoots towards Cressida, before smiling down at our connected hands, an unreadable look in his eyes.

Part 2

SERIES IS DISCONTINUED- sorry y’all, just not inspired to write this anymore and don’t wanna force it.

[simpingnbitching]

ok, fake cryptid batfam is feeding me so well right now

like “the rumor around gotham is that a Bat watched the night” type

Bruce meets the JL and they all think hes some sort of meta when in actuality they could probably kill him with no sweat if he was unarmed

Bruce taking every precaution to make sure they keep thinking that way

Robin gets introduced as Bruce’s son/fellow cryptid and they all collectively freak out bc “HOLY SHIT THERES ANOTHER ONE???”

Bruce having to make up some bullshit excuse for why Robin is a child and going around fighting crime (some excuse like: ACTUALLY he’s technically a thousand years old, so this is fine)

the rest of the batfam shows up with just elaborate fucking backstories all based in the original story that bruce made up

dick’s robin retires?

no worries, jason says, he’s currently waiting on his metamorphosis bc their species has to go through that before becoming an adult

jason dies but the backstory was that they were immortal?

no problem, tim explains that sometimes their species goes dormat because they’ve lost too much energy

they acquire steph, but only for a few days?

no worries, bruce explains, sometimes their species goes under shifting to find the right body

one of the ones that I read had Bruce using and recorder and faking having 2 hearts, which Clark could hear, and when the recorder broke, to bring in Robin and explain that Dick was his 2nd heart splitting off of him (The Hearts of Gotham by schrijverr on ao3)

another one was literally batfam pretending to be slightly human versions of the animals they were named after and kon, being desperately in love with tim as he does, decides to uses ttk to create and shape wildly expensive gems and diamonds for tim because he thinks that “birds like shiny things, right?” (tim is rightly very worried that kon, in his dumbassery, decided to make large enough diamonds to completely dismantle the industry) and clark is later shown these diamonds, also very worried about the sheer enormity of these gems (‘a fake cryptid and a real romantic’ series by suzukiblu on ao3)

another one had batfam using engineered wings for fight and flight and their wings were a perfect complement to their costumes

clark meets tim without wings and is freaking out because holy shit he has no wings did he rip them off where are they??

batfam bonds through wing painting and fixing and the jl is in awe of them and their wings

best part is most of batfam does not realize that jl thinks their wings are very real and not mechanics and only realize when one of the younger ones ask abt them (Loading and Aspect Ratio by JUBE514 on ao3)

plz plz plz give me more recs bc i love this trope so muchhh

[goldsbitch]

Blink Once

Lando thought taking care of his twin daughters would be the hard part. Turns out, he can manage. Now, figuring out which one is which - that's a whole different story.

2k word count warning: none - domestic, fluff, fun stand alone part of Norris Family Polaroids

The room is in a state one could describe as a battlefield. Tiny clothes, diapers, creams, powders and God knows what scattered everywhere. There is also an intense stare down happening between the two pairs of blue eyes and one set of greenish. The latter belong to Lando, the former to his dearest offspring. The most adorable duo of little girls that he had ever seen. Every since they were born, he's been getting random streaks of immense pride throughout the day. That is until now, when he is staring at the two little grinning demons, holding a green sock in one hand a purple one in the other. Normally, he'd be overjoyed that he had managed to keep the two happy and not crying for so long. Y/N has gone out to much needed and postponed catch up with another adult, that's not Lando or anyone they're related to. It was his first time alone with the kids. He needed to prove it to her, and himself, that he can do it.

One of their daughters was expected, the other one was a happy surprise. To say taking care of two, instead of one, was a challenge for the new parents would be an understatement. Sleep deprived Lando was begging silently for his daughters to give him at least a clue to solving his latest fuck up. Identical twins. Y/N was so terrified of mixing them up, that the color designated socks and clothes were established right from the beginning. Olivia has green, Maya purple. Right?

He sighs dramatically, standing in the middle of the nursery and trying to recall which one had which pairs of socks on.

"Oh, how great of you that you can sit on your own now," he proclaims to the two, who keep beaming back at him, blabbering and apparently finding this very amusing. "If you could just magically learn how to talk now and tell me which one is which, that would be a-mazing!"

Nothing. Obviously. They have a long way to go to be able to do that. He tries to retrace his steps one more time. He put one on the changing dresser, that must have been the one with the green socks and went on to grab the other one to put her -on the left? Or was it right? He curses himself in creative swear words for taking the socks off so mindlessly.

It might be humiliating, but Lando is self-aware enough to have somewhat expected something like this to happen. He checks the shared note he and Y/N have. Ok - so it's right, Olivia is green and Maya purple. Great. Now which one is which?

He decides to sit them down in the living room - most likely mixing them once again, but what difference does that make now, he thinks.

He holds the two socks in front of their faces. This works with dogs, it must work with children too. He tries to brush over the fact he just compared his heirs to an animal.

"So, which one do you like better? Hm? You must have developed some sort of notion of which colour is yours at this point, right?" he speaks is sarcastic baby voice as the girls keep on laughing. Lando frowns. "This is not some sort of game, ladies. For all I know this might be the grounds for a divorce and your villain origin story." Nothing. No reaction to the socks, they just keep looking at him. Adorably.

He starts to properly panic now. Calls himself a shit parent, immature dad and just plain stupid idiot. Y/N is gonna kill him. He has to fix it somehow.

He tries different approach. "Olivia? Olivia, is it you? Blink twice if you’re Olivia. I’ll settle for a burp!" he speaks to the one on the left. It's like this child has stopped needing to blink completely. "So you're Maya?" he asks and figures the response of her hand reaching up must be enough to confirm her identity. He turns to the daughter on the right. "So, you're Olivia? Does that sound familiar?"

He is going to explain this to them one day, it's going to be a very funny story of how their father fucked up their whole life. Mixed them up so much that they end up becoming drug addicts. Oh, God. He is truly spiraling. Were they born with a destiny he’s now sabotaging by switching them? Or not switching them?

"Okay, Team Chaos. Maya, blink once. Or just scream, because that’s your go-to answer for everything anyway." He watches them intently and finally sees a blink! And immediately another one from the other child. He groans and puts his head in his hands. After a moment spent in a pit of despair, he comes back to reality with new found determination. He is a father, their father. His instincts must work. He picks one up and in the air and examines her intently. Turning her left, right and upside down. And then the second one. He's got nothing. These kids are point to point exact copies of each other.

As a typical young parent, he turns to internet for help. And as per usual, he finds zero reliable advice to go with. No - there is no secret birthmark on one of them. No, they both have identical eye color. No, there is no difference in their teeth. In amidst of all of this, he panic buys a fingerprint kit and full on plans on preventing this from happening in the future.

He comes back to stare at his kids, who are uncharacteriscally quiet, calm and content. As if they know that for the first time in weeks, he does not need their help to achieve chaos in his mind.

He calls the one person who is smart, won't probably laugh too much in his face, won't tell Y/N on him and might understand his parent panic.

Max Verstappen picks up after third dial.

"Lando!" he greets him cheerfully. At least someone is having a good time. "What's up? How's the new parent life looking out for you?"

Lando gets to the point straight. He is after all running out of time. "I've mixed up the twins. Don't laugh. I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean, you’ve ‘mixed up’ the twins?" the Dutchman asks.

Lando rolls his eyes, how does one not understand the simple premise. "I mean, I was changing their diapers, I took their socks off, and now I don’t know which one is Olivia and which one is Maya. I’ve stared at them for an hour, and they’re just...Point to point the same."

Max bursts out laughing on the other end of the line, a loud, unfiltered laugh that makes Lando cringe. He waits for the inevitable to end and lets him speaks first.

"So I assume you're alone with them? Is Y/N out of the house?" Why is that important, Lando does not understand.

"Yes. I’m serious, Max! They’re identical. Identical! It’s like trying to tell apart two...marshmallows. Two tiny, giggling, adorable and judgmental marshmallows who know I’m losing it and find it hilarious."

It seems that Max is finally somewhat on board with the seriousness of it all. "Right. So what’s the plan? Are you just gonna call them ‘Baby One’ and ‘Baby Two’ until Y/N gets home?"

Lando pinches the top of his nose in frustration. "Max, I need to solve this. If I don’t figure this out, Y/N will kill me. She was already paranoid about this happening, and now I’ve gone and done it. I mean, what if I ruin their entire lives, Max? What if they grow up thinking they’re each other-"

Max is solution oriented. So he jumps into interrupting the young father, because he might have just got on forever.

"Okay, okay, calm down. Let’s think this through. Did you check for a birthmark? Sometimes one of them will have a birthmark or something small that’s different."

Lando groans loudly. "No birthmark, no physical difference, Max, my kids look identical and I can't recognize them apart at all!"

"Hm," he stops to think, Lando stops to think and hopefully the whole world stops for a moment so he can fix his cardinal mistake. "What about… I don’t know, their personalities? Isn’t one supposed to be louder than the other?"

Lando appreciates the idea, first good one. Sadly, not a helpful one. He keeps staring at menace his children are. "They’re both loud. And they both cry at the exact same time, like they’ve rehearsed it. I think they’re doing this on purpose to mess with me."

"At least you can be sure you're the father," Max rhetors and laughs again.

"Not funny," Lando gritts his teeth.

"Well, I’d mess with you too if you were my dad."

"MAX."

"Okay, fine, fine. Why don’t you just pick one, call her Olivia, and call the other one Maya, and just stick with it? What’s the worst that could happen?" he tries to calm Lando, but it backfires masivelly.

Lando is now pissed at Max as well. The guy has kids far apart in age to obviously not understand the gravity of the situation. And he's more that willing to make him understand. "The worst? The worst! I’ll tell you the worst. What if they figure it out when they’re older and I’ve been calling Olivia ‘Maya’ for years? What if Maya’s like, ‘Wow, Dad, you didn’t even know who I was?’ And Olivia’s like, ‘I always knew I was the favorite.’ And then they hate me forever and end up in therapy, and the therapist is like, ‘Your father was a moron who couldn’t even tell you apart."

"That… sounds like a lot of "future you" problems."

Lando start to pray silently to all the gods he's aware of. "Future seems pretty damn close, given Y/N probably comes home any minute now."

And that's when he hears the door open. Fuck.

"Just wait when they're teenagers and start switching on purpose," is the last he hears from Max before hanging up indefinitely. Lando freezes, the phone slipping from his hand and landing on the carpet with a soft thud. His eyes dart between the door and the two grinning culprits, who have now decided to crawl toward each other and share in their apparent victory. He whispers under his breath, “Traitors. Both of you.”

He gets up automatically, the plan now being wooving Y/N, the mother of his devil children, out by his adorableness. It worked when he was trying to get to agree to go on a first date with him, it has to work now. He wonders into the kitchen, where he sees her putting some box of pastries onto the counter.

"Hello, my love," he attacks and immediately steps all over to her personal space. Hand on her cheek, the other one on her hips and he locks them in a kiss. He's not fully certain it works, but it earns him a pleased smile. Baby steps - no pun intended. "So, what did you do?" He know already, coffee date with a bestie, bla bla bla, but he needs to buy himself some time. She tells him anyway and he is pleased to her happy, for the last time in their lives probably. Oh, what a nice journey this has been. He gets lost in the love-filled thoughts that he temporarily forgets about his predicament.

She kisses him gently one more time and flashes a look into the living room. "Look at them, so happy." Fuck, that was quick. It was foolish of him to rely on the fact Y/N might just forget about their kids. "How’s everything going? Did the girls behave?"

Behave. Right. The girls behaved perfectly. It was him who had descended into chaos.

"Yeah! All good on that front. We're a great team!" he responds, maybe too enthusiastically. He is certain this was the last time she's left him alone with the them, until they're able to identify themselves on their own. It was fun while it lasted. The pit of despair in his stomach is growing.

"It makes me so happy to see you all having fun," she says and it's the kind of relaxed smile he hasn't seen on her face for weeks now.

"Honey, do you wanna take a nap or some alone time in the bedroom?," he asks sincerely, casually tangling their hands together. "Looks like some time off suits you." This is not said as a part of his salvage plan. It is actually really nice to see her rested for once. She looks at him sheepishly.

"You're amazing, you know that?" she whispers, several positive emotions written all over her face.

"Keep focused on that," he says before he can stop himself. Fuck once again. He freezes. She winces, her spidey senses on. He glance is averted to the children now.

"Lando, did something happen?" she asks, suddenly worried.

This time Lando looks over at the girls, who are still preocuppied by themselves. "No, all good. Look at them, all content." And mixed up, he thinks, but does not add that.

Y/N does not look conviced and goes over to check up on them herself. He does not stop her. It was bound to happen anyway.

He's an adult. Knows well enough from his high demanding job that fessing up to a mistake is ultimately better than have someone find out. Deep breath in. Here goes everything.

"I don't know which one is which," he says and lets the reality of it sink in. Y/N looks at him with eyes wide out. He continues. "I was changing their diapers, took the socks of and then forgot which one is which. I'm sorry."

She stares at him, then at the girls and right back at him. To add some gravitas to it all, the kids are now playing with both socks. Lando is pretty sure the blood stopped flowing in his veins. He tries to calculate how long it's going to take him to pack his stuff up. Y/N kneels down to level with the girls and smiles at them. Lando's fighting the urge to take a photo, so that he can remember what having a family felt like. Then she picks up the child sitting on her left.

"Hi, Olivia," he mumbles and puts the sock on accordingly. Lando does not compherend. "Hello, Maya," she continues and repeats her action. Has his wife just decided which one is which and moved on? He could have done that minutes ago! He stays silent as he takes careful steps toward his family. Y/N stands up as well and looks at her disheweled husband.

"Olivia's got little tiny dimples," she says simply to provide some explanation.

"What?" is the only response Lando is capable of giving her. She waits with a sneaky smile as he comes over to them and examines the girls one more time. After a moment, he speaks again. "You're lying."

She laughs and dismisses that. "No, I'm not, look." Lando still can't see a damn difference, but decides on believing Y/N. "How do you-"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I guess it's mom instincts." Lando is stunned at how casual she is about this all. Just like that, she goes back to unloading her back to the kitchen. Lando's heartbeat slowly goes down to the normal a human is suppose to have and turn to watch Y/N. When he's sure that she in fact not being sarcastic, does not seem to be mad at him and confirms that he might just have survived this all and gets to keep access to his family, he walks over her to cherish her once again.

"I'm so sorry, I was really trying to avoid doing that," he apologizes, still not quite done being guilty. "I know you were afraid of this."

She turns to him with a smile. "It was bound to happen eventually. I was really worried about that when we came back from the hospital," she glances at the little girls lovingly. "I'm with them so much that I guess I started to see the tiny, miniscule differences. Don't feel bad not doing so," she walks over to him to be the one doing the comforting.

"If you want me to keep them straight, we’re gonna have to tattoo their names on their foreheads. I’m kidding. Kind of."

She chuckles. "Yeah, do that and you are dead."

He shakes his head. "Always dismissing my genius ideas."

"And always will be, honey," she leans over and kisses him. Just like that, the perfect moment is over. Sounds of crying creeping in from the living room. Y/N sighs into their kiss.

Lando looks at his two identical, mischievous daughters, he can’t help but smile. He may not have a clue what he’s doing, but one thing’s for sure. Life with these two is going to be anything but boring.

"Go lie down, honey. I got this," he notes and this time Y/N nods back at him.

[demilypyro]

Ok so as someone who knows very little about sonic characters that aren't the main cast. Can you explain to me who Surge is? (I am asking you to infodump. I understand I could just check the wiki but then you wouldn't get to talk about a character you like)

Alright you asked for it. Long post attack.

So Eggman had this protege named Doctor Starline, who had a falling out with his mentor and hatched a plan to kill Sonic and replace him with a new hero, one who would take Sonic's place in the eyes of the people but be under his control.

So he kidnapped a random girl off the street (no name or history known at this point), filled her with a bunch of cybernetics to give her superpowers, and slowly brainwashed and trained her into becoming essentially Sonic's equivalent of Wario.

This was Surge the Tenrec.

As Sonic's so-called "imposter," Surge is like an exaggerated version of Sonic. She has his heroic heart, but also his temper, his pride, his irresponsibility, his rudeness, all turned up to 11. She's got the standard super speed, as well as electrokinesis - lightning powers. She's accompanied by Kitsunami, or just Kit, a blue fennec with water powers and a similar background, but who was based on Tails instead.

As part of their brainwashing, Surge was conditioned to hate Sonic. As Surge's backup, Kit was conditioned to want to support Surge in any way he can.

Surge and Kit eventually found out what had happened to them, how Starline had kidnapped and brainwashed them, and were planning to betray him. Before they could, however, Starline was killed, after being thoroughly trounced by Eggman, leaving Surge and Kit free to do whatever they want.

When Surge finally encountered Sonic, she blamed him for what had happened to her. She holds him responsible for always letting Eggman survive to come back another day, leading to ever-escalating conflict. While before she had no real reason to hate him beyond her brainwashing, all that baseless animosity now had a foundation, and she's wanted to take him down since. Surge and Kit have had several fights with Sonic and Tails already, and while they were defeated each time, it's clear they pose a real threat.

Left with only each other, and having no real goals beyond taking down Sonic and Tails, and no hints to their past, Surge and Kit became a neutral force of chaos, not affiliated with either Sonic or Eggman. While Surge has the desire to be a hero, she can't let go of her grudge toward Sonic, and Kit's obsession with helping Surge regularly shows itself to be unhealthy, which may lead to a falling out between them in the future.

Since their first appearance in the Impostor Syndrome mini-series, they've made regular appearances in the main comic starting with issue #50. They've been making waves, establishing new rivalries and inciting new conflicts. Sonic wants to believe there's good in Surge, but she's a tough nut for him to crack.

Surge is one of the series' best original characters. Surge is cool, has an interesting origin, and she contrasts Sonic in a way that gives ample opportunities for new stories. She's got a good heart, but she's carrying around a ton of trauma and animosity she doesn't know what to do with. She's scrappy, resourceful, and more introspective than you might expect. And by often being positioned as the underdog, she's very easy to root for.

I was always a bit uninterested in the Sonic series at large, but Surge really got me on board. She really made me a fan.

She's my favorite Sonic character.

If you're interested, look into the Imposter Syndrome mini-series, which leads right into Sonic IDW issue #50, or you can just read Sonic IDW from the start.

Okay bye

[local-diavolo-anon]

i'm back!

ok so 2/3 days ago i found this youtube video where op turned Springtrap (or well, William Afton) into a fully build DnD character, and if i say so myself: things got out of hand fast

so here is my take on DnD Springtrap and specifically on that build (adding more infos under the cut for who is interested, i suggest to watch the video first)

starting with saying that unless you're playing in a scifi setting, this build is either not for you or to be modified, since in later levels spells are heavily centered around technomagic and electronic devices; personally when i will play him i will probably tinker around with the chosen spells and cantrips to make him less violently niche and/or more versatile

which kinda saddens me because it takes away not little of the characterization but, given most dnd stories take place in a medieval fantasy or high fantasy setting, a cantrip like On/Off or a spell like Remote Access are NOT particularly useful; so i will go for more psychic damage or necromancy oriented abilities, maybe i might take more than just 4 levels in artificier as well (especially given that again, all of those warlock spells at later levels are all technology oriented) but i need to see what those offer

however it is a kinda tank-y build given that with a shield on you can get up to a 27 of Ac, so even with low damage and not much hp you would not struggle too much to stay alive, and i like that!

as for the character himself, i put too much effort into my interpretation not to share it, so if anyone wants to play this guy as well, i fabricated a possible backstory that might come useful:

The character goes by the name "Dave Miller" (or whatever variant you want to use), and was originally a human artificier who created constructs for a living, mainly with the goal of offering aid to who needed it for whatever reason.

There however he ran into an issue, that being that a robot need a power source, and his own heart and lungs could not sustain a whole robot by themselves.

After losing part of his family to some kind of accident he became terrified of death, so with age he started replacing his own body parts with machinery to delay his last days (which made him a cyborg), until the point where he was very very close to become just a robot.

(This part may or may not involve a pact with a deity of death, this entirely depends on how you want to play him but it would make sense since the build is an artificier/warlock hybrid)

Through particular and very much not illegal experiments tied to necromancy he discovered that the life force of a living being could be shared, and used as a form of fuel. (possibly: age lived of the creature used= amount of extra months you get)

Here comes the second problem: this only worked with intelligent creatures, and more specifically, it worked best with creatures of your own race, which meant that he either went around murdering people or he found another solution. Non same-race creatures worked as well but not as good and there were not easy to find in the middle of a city and with a shop tied to your name.

And here is where and WHY he'd join a party of adventurers: after some time, his reserves or fuel were running VERY thin, and running into a group of adventurers was a god sent because by joining their party he essentially got a free pass to kill whoever he wanted, and reduce them to a dried raisin after sucking some life force out of them. Doing so you learn that the mowe powerful the creature is, the more energy it produces as well.

Your goal, that you as the player are following, when role-ing your character? essentially slay whatever powerful BBEG your Dm throws at you and suck all of that juicy fuel out of them, so that you can return to your little shop in the middle of the capital and return to create and sell whatever weird construct, doll, or robot comes to your mind for another few decades undisturbed.

And this is it. I think this might be a good backstory that could fit pretty much any setting you want to play this guy into, be it classic dnd or some scifi futuristic thing.

of course you don't NEED to use this one line per line, make up your own without looking back if you don't like it lol, dnd is the "make up shit and have fun" game after all!

Edit: also no his outfit makes no sense, i just went with vibes and decided a tanktop dress shirt, a twin tailed gilet and suspenders OVER said gilet was a good choice.

[neowinestainedress]

𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄?

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: any nct member!ghostface x detective!fem!reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: “horror”, thriller, yandere-ish, smut, halloween special, scream!au 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in these past months your only goal is to find the killer that is terrorizing the town of Woodsboro, but when you get close to him and feel like you finally have the upper hand, Ghostface turns the game around again.  Or, Ghostface wants to play with you but not like he does with his victims, and you let him. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: dark content, talks of [m*rders, sl!tting throats, v!olent stuff in general], dr*g/anaesthetic use [to make mc fall asleep but unrelated to any sexu*l act (she’s awake and willing)], mentions of [dubcon] phone s*x + masturbation, implied stalking, use of restrainers, cl!t rubbing, rough t!t/n!pple play, protected s*x turns unprotected, kn!fe play, ‘fear’ play, clothes cutting, fake sympathy, pet names used in a mocking way, degradation, rough s*x, hair pulling, spit (1), p*ssy slapping, dacryphilia, possessiveness, 1 brief talk of carving, polaroids pictures, all consensual but i’ll still put a dubcon warning just to be safe (tbh it’s more like hate sex bc the mc would rip his head off but also fuck him), reader is kinda fucked up herself. | inclusivity notes: reader has hair long enough that can be pulled (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type but reader is manhandled a few times and has b**bs and *ss big enough that can be cupped, no mention of skin color, no use of y/n 𝐖𝐂: 10.662k 𝐀/𝐍: this year i had vague ideas for halloween but not even a defined good one, i had some suggestions i liked but were far too complicated, and i had no energy to write them in time. but a ghostface/scream au was an idea i had in mind for some time, the original was a ghostface cosplay, but then i went with this one, and I’m happy with how it turned out. i had 2 members in mind (johnny/haechan) for the og plot, then someone suggested jeno and jisung (as a duo) but if i unmasked him the plot wouldn’t have made sense anymore, so he’s whoever you want him to be! the other ghostface is mentioned but doesn’t appear physically in the story, you can pick who you want for him too. i never wrote blankly for the male mc so let me know if it was good. please, if you like it, leave feedback through reblogs or asks! and also let me know who you imagined behind the mask 👀 enjoy and happy halloween

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄.

Your mother always told you to mind your business or else your curiosity was going to be the death of you one day.

It’s clear you never treasured her words, and your curiosity led you to be a private detective with only a few thrills in your life since now, nothing too exciting ever happened in your small town, until one day you received a phone call from the district of Woodsboro. A string of murders was terrorizing the town after years and all the evidence led to another psycho who thought it was funnier to kill people while putting on a Ghostface mask. 

Months have passed since that call and you have nothing concrete. It’s like he’s only messing up with you and, in the meantime, innocent people keep dying. But you have your theories, the ones you only keep to yourself, stored away in the privacy of your diary, hidden under the pillow of your bed. Your colleagues seem decent people, but with time, you’ve learned to trust nobody. 

And your secret theories led you right where you are now. In the open country, away from the small town, where a small barn grabbed your attention the first time you moved to Woodsboro. 

The barn seems empty but eerie vibes surround it. The strong smell of the grass stings your nose as your black boots walk on the muddy ground, the rain of this morning still lingering in the air and in the countryside. 

When you reach the perimeter, you squeeze your eyes to see inside, but the few tiny windows don’t allow you a big view. The more you walk around it to make sure it’s empty, the more the hold on your concealed carry with the gun inside tightens.  

It’s late October and the cold penetrates your brown leather jacket, but the temperature is not the thing that makes you shiver. 

You should’ve never followed your instinct and come here alone. You should’ve spoken to somebody else in the department, told them your theory and have some backup in this crazy plan of yours. But when your impulses take over, your smartness slips away, and you find yourself in the worst situations ever. 

Like right now. You stand in front of the wooden door and find the courage to push it open. You should feel thrilled, you found him. You found the psycho that has been haunting the town for months now, messing up with you with clues and mocks that pushed you farther away from the right path. Yet, you beat him, for once it looks like you have the upper hand now that you’re walking around the empty barn away from the town. But something doesn’t feel right, your guts are telling you something but you don’t listen, you can’t walk away now that you’re so close.

There’s not much to inspect, a few pieces of furniture, a disheveled mattress in the middle of the room, and a few chairs in a corner. It almost looks like an abandoned farm if only it wasn’t for the unnerving vibes that carries with it and for two walls that call your attention. On the right, there’s a map of Woodsboro, pins linked by a red thread, connecting all the places where Ghostface hit in these past months. Your hand quickly reaches the back of your pocket to pull out your phone and snap a picture, hoping there will also be places he didn’t go, and this time you can be faster at stopping him. 

What’s on the other side is worse. 

“What the fuck…” you mumble under your breath as you step closer to the wall. Polaroid pictures hanging from it, Ghostface and the victims, you guess, moments before they were brutally killed. You’re not surprised, one of the gifts he would leave on the scene of the crime being Polaroids, but they didn’t make much sense. “He’s a fucking psycho,” you scoff as you take another picture. 

“Surpriiise!!” 

Your phone falls on the floor with a loud thud and your heart jumps in your throat when his voice breaks the deafening silence in the room, but your reflections are swift enough to make you reach for your gun and turn around, shooting. 

“Boo, fail,” Ghostface laughs, hitting your wrist hard enough to make the gun fall on the floor next to your phone. “You’re really not as smart as I thought you were, don’t you know intruding on someone else’s property is illegal?” he points out, pushing your body against the wall, the sharp blade of his knife grazing the skin of your neck. 

You try to keep calm, deep slow breaths as you try to don’t look scared for your life. You might die today, but you won’t give him that satisfaction. 

“Don’t look so frightened, my dear. I’m quite happy to have you all to myself,” he chuckles, his hand lifts to caress your face and you struggle to avoid it, but the click of his tongue makes you stop. “I wouldn’t act too careless, it’s sharp.” 

You stop moving. You are smart, and you can get yourself out of this situation. “Do you want to play a game, Ghostface?” You ask, ignoring his taunts, the irony in your voice is clear, just like it’s blatant in the slow bat of your eyelashes, but your words only make him laugh. 

“Oh, that’s not how it works, detective. That’s my line. You didn’t study the script?” 

You scoff, trying to take time to free yourself. “We’re switching roles. Do you want to play a game? It’s called you turn yourself in and I put you in jail.” 

He snickers, and his head tilts to have a better look at your face. He’s had many people in this position before and never saw so little fear in their eyes. “Now you want to act like you don’t love the chase?” 

“Fuck you, I don’t love it,” you spit out, narrowing your eyes, desperately trying to get a glimpse of anything under the mask. Another failed attempt. 

He laughs darkly, so deep it hits you to the core and makes you shiver — in fear or excitement, you’ll let this decide to your better judgment. “I know you do,” he coos as his thumb covered with the black glove caresses your lips. “Enjoy the little clues I leave you around? You were interested in the pictures, I knew you loved them, that’s why you get the prettiest ones. I tell you so much, but you don’t understand me,” his voice is calm, scarily calm, and full of sarcasm filled with a sweetness that feels like a slap across your face. “I was a bit mad it took you so long to find me.”

Rage shoots up inside of you, but you instantly push it down, you can’t lose your composure. “So, what are you going to do, kill me?” Your voice drops of a tone, and your eyes turn into a teasing gaze, making him chuckle. 

“Talking about death so nonchalantly with me, mmh… are you brave or dumb? Because if you ask so nicely, I just might let the knife sink in.” 

You laugh lightheartedly, putting up the best performance of your life before your eyes flutter seducingly at him. “No, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel,” you coo, lips in a pout and innocence in your eyes, until you hit him with a swift, strong kick between his legs, the distraction of your performance giving you time to slip to the side, causing just a bit of your skin to cut and bleed. 

“Bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he kneels to the ground. You reach for your gun, but barely have time to grab it before he pushes you on the floor again. “We were having so much fun, you just have to ruin everything.” 

You’re waiting for the worst when he traps you on the floor with his body on yours, but his arms don’t lift to stab you in your chest or stomach, the last thing you see before passing out is his hand lifting in the air and the sting of a needle pushing past your skin. 

The white light of the room feels like staring directly at the sun when your eyes blink repeatedly as you try to come back to earth and push away the hammering of your headache. You groan hoarsely, trying to adjust to the light, but the biggest discomfort comes from your shoulders, pushed behind your back and around the chair you’re now sitting on. 

“Sorry, I had to tie you up, but you’re a bit feisty today. Didn’t want you to get hurt,” Ghostface replies to your silent questions — not so silent, considering how loud you’re groaning and struggling on the chair, trying to break free. He’s standing in front of you, but a chair is right behind him so you guess he was sitting there before you woke up. 

“You can’t even take one down without a fight? Need to kill me without breaking a sweat?” You taunt, eyes dark and a deep frown on your forehead. 

But your teasing seems to leave him unfazed as he walks toward you with a glass in hand. “Drink.” 

You scoff, staring at him. You hate that you can’t see him, not even because you want to find out who’s hiding under there, but also because you feel like you can’t confront him well enough. “You think I’m so stupid to accept a drink from a psycho?”

His head rolls back followed by an annoyed sigh as he stops right in front of you. His black boots bumping against yours. “You know that’s not how I move, no fun in killing with these shortcuts. Drink. I would never want you to pass out here,” he coos while his free hand pushes your hair out of your face. You can’t see behind the mask, but you know he has a shit-eating grin on his face. He moves the glass to your lips, but you turn to the side, he doesn’t give you a choice when he strongly grips your chin, pushing your lips open, and forces the water down your throat. “Oops, it spilled all over, you’re so messy, detective,” he snickers when water drips on your chin and shirt. As if he didn’t do it on purpose. 

“Asshole,” you mutter, eyes closing into fissures while you look at him. His head tilts, “Oh, brave. I could slit your throat right now, add you to the collection.” 

You chuckle darkly, shaking your head. “You won’t,” you say firmly. “You’ve never had someone quite as fun as me.” 

A low laughter escapes from the mask. “So, you are at least a bit smart?” His hand places on your thigh and you try to move away, but the chair screeches on the floor, and his hold only tightens. 

“Don’t play games now. Don’t fake it,” he groans, hand moving up on your blue jeans. “You enjoyed our last conversation,” he whispers, the mask close to your face, so close you can almost see his eyes behind the blackness of the two holes. “Had shivers run down your back when the phone rang in the middle of the night, haven’t you? You sat up straight in your big bed, all alone, and felt fear take over. Never answer unknown numbers. That’s what they say, that’s what you say, running around town, warning everyone about me,” he laughs deeply. “And then look at you, picking up that phone call, eager to hear my voice on the other side.” 

“You’re a psycho,” you spit out, struggling against the restrainers. But once again it is an act; he is a psycho, but you are starting to fear you aren’t much different. 

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I am, never denied that. But don’t act better than me. You stood right in front of that window, stripping for me, touching yourself for me, moaning for me. How fucked up that is?” He snickers. “You have fucked up fantasies, my pretty detective, but I’m not one to judge. I’d gladly help.” 

You laugh quietly, trying to look confident but it comes out shaky from your throat, “If you want to help, take the mask off and show me who you are.” 

“Wow, wow, darling. Not so soon, I’m not one to burn stages in a relationship. What next? Want to meet my mom?” 

You inhale sharply, and spit on him, “God, you’re insane.” Your eyes snap open when he pulls out of his back the sharp knife, your breath is stuck in your throat and fear runs all over your body. And once again you regret how impulsive you are. You did well all these past years of training and then on the first real-life experiences at pushing this side of you in the cage, but it looks like it’s coming out like a beast that’s been trapped too long.  

“Don’t be so scared,” he huffs, the fake sympathy in his voice should make you mad but it triggers something else inside of you, and you hate to admit that he might be right, you’re enjoying this more than you should, you’re enjoying this entire chase more than you should. It’s like a game, but it’s not when real people are dying. “I would never hurt you,” his voice is raspy, slightly muffled by the ghost mask he’s wearing, and the knife sits on your sternum. “I hope you didn’t like this shirt too much, detective.” 

You don’t have time to react, the steel cuts your shirt neatly, the sound bouncing in the small room and the sharp tip brushing your skin. You shiver, gulping hard and closing your eyes, already feeling the sensation of it cutting through you, but it doesn’t happen. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head disappointingly. “You truly don’t trust me. I’m offended, and I don’t like when people offend me. Just like I don’t like when they hang up the phone while we’re playing. If people were respectful, I wouldn’t have to kill them, you know?” You stare at him with a furrow on your face, you’d like to take the mask off and see his eyes, not really to find out who’s hiding underneath that mask, but to see if his gaze is as insane as you imagine it to be. 

“Let me go,” you say, the skin of your wrist bruised from the pressure you’re applying against the ropes.

“Don’t struggle too much, it turns me on,” he warns, kneeling at your level. He smiles softly and thinks it’s a pity you can’t see it, you’re just so pretty, with your beautiful face filled with different emotions and your eyes looking at him with a gaze that wants to be threatening but it’s all the opposite, almost making you look like a lost puppy.  

“Why?” 

“Why? It’s funny to see the victim beg for their life, it makes you feel powerful, you could show mercy, but you don’t,” the smug smile on his hidden face can be heard in his voice and you shiver at how cold he sounds, the shrug of his shoulder is just the cherry on top to his unhinged behaviour. 

“So, you’re just going to keep me here?” 

“No, I want to play with you. Do you want to play a game, detective?” 

Your gaze falls on your thighs where his hand is placed again, the black gloves preventing it from leaving traces behind, as it slowly moves closer to your heat. 

You snicker, pretending to play it cool, but your breath twitches at the contact. “’Cause if I said no you would stop?” 

“Hey, I’m a killer, not a rapist,” he defends, shrugging. Yet, you still don’t reply, and he doesn’t like that. “So? I’m not so patient when I ask people if they want to play with me, so don’t test me.” 

You swallow hard, swiftly looking around to see if you can pull a move on him. Damnit, it’s your chance to get him and throw him in jail but instead, you’re seriously thinking about his proposal. You fool yourself that you’re only doing this because maybe he could slip, maybe he could say something in the heat of the moment that could give you a clue, or he could leave his traces on you somehow, maybe his mask could fall, but you know you’re feeling something else. Attraction. 

“I said,” he mutters, his face comes closer to yours, making you pull back, and the knife pushes flat in the hollow of your chest, “do you want to play a game, detective?” 

“Yes, yes, I do,” you mutter, starting to breathe again when he pulls the knife away. 

“Good, I love playing with you.” His fingers move to unbutton your jeans and then pull the zip down, you look at him attentively. “Lift your hips for me, love?”

You glare at him at the pet name but he only chuckles deeply. “What? If I’m rough with you, you get mad, if I’m sweet with you, you get mad. I can never win, can I?” 

You huff, deciding it’s better to not reply and just do as he says. Your pants are quickly at your ankles and suddenly you feel even more trapped than before now that you can’t even move your legs, but his touch on your naked skin takes you away from that thought. 

“Pretty panties just for me?” He coos, tilting his head to the side as he stares at your burgundy panties with the lace trim. “Were you hoping to find me here so we could finish what we started on the phone?” 

“Shut up, this is not for you,” you retort, your forehead creasing with a furrow. 

“And who is it for?” He asks, cupping your pussy, watching your body shiver. “Oh, no, please don’t tell me there’s a boyfriend I’m not aware of. I’d hate to kill him.” 

You bite your lips and keep the contact with the mask, but words struggle to come out when his index finger starts rubbing on your clit, moving from the slit —where you can feel you’re starting to get wet— to your sensitive nub. “It’s not for you,” you repeat, trying to don’t show how much his touch is affecting you. 

“Well, you want me to work so hard too, I’ll have to find out on my own if someone is playing with what’s mine,” he replays nonchalantly. “I know where to find you, maybe I’ll come visit again.” 

“You talk so much for someone who wants to play so badly,” you retort, a teasing grin curling your lips. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know my princess was so eager,” he replies, saccharine voice filled with mockery, before a harsh slap lands on your pussy making you jolt and whimper. “Want my fingers?”

The glare you give him would be enough to kill him; isn’t this pathetic enough? How much more does he want you to humiliate yourself? 

He rolls his head back and then the knife is against your neck again. “Do we have to do this every time I ask you a question? Do you want my fingers, detective?” 

“Yes,” you whisper. Your body relaxes momentarily before tensing up with excitement again, but it quickly shifts to disappointment. “What are you doing?” You ask when his covered fingers press against you again. 

“Oh, you’ll get the gloves too, I’m not dumb, you know? Don’t leave fingerprints on dead bodies, won’t even leave them on yours,” his voice is smug, all the confidence of someone who didn’t make a wrong move and somehow was always ahead of you and the police department. 

You hate him. You hate he’s so much better than you at this. And you hate him even more now that he has you fighting whimpers and moans. 

“Are you seriously going to pretend you don’t like this while your hips are bucking up?” He taunts, clicking his tongue in a mock. “Think moaning is more pathetic than humping my fingers like a bitch in heat?” 

Your mouth opens to retort but you can’t deny the evidence; your hips are rolling against his hand, chasing for more, your panties are darkening as your wetness leaks through the fabric and your chest is heaving in erratic motions.  

“Look at me,” he sings, hand moving up to graze your neck, thumb pressing on your carotid, making your head snap up. “You listen so swiftly when you fear for your life. It’s funny, you know, because I truly would never hurt you.” 

You chuckle, shaking your head, trying to pull away from his hold when his hand moves up to caress your jaw. The gentleness of his touch is even scarier than when he has his knife pointed against you. “Is this what turns you on? The fear in their eyes?” 

His head tilts to the side, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Partially. But not in your case, what turns me on with you it’s the chase, and the fact I always win.” 

You scoff bitterly, struggling in his hold but his hand quickly grips your chin and pulls you closer. “Didn’t you see the movies? The villain always dies.” 

“If the heroine is not busy getting fucked by him,” he mocks, squeezing your face harder and moving his fingers faster on your clit. Your head rolls back and so do your eyes while a chocked moan leaves your lips. “See, I doubt you will shoot me in the head if you keep moaning like this.” 

You groan angrily, you’re madder at you than you are at him. You want him and it’s so wrong that you do, but there’s not even a siren ringing in your head, telling you to make this stop. 

“No, shh, shh, angel, it’s fine, this will be our little secret,” he whispers to your ear, the mask rubbing against your face, and when your eyes turn to look at him, you can see small dots of blood on the white varnish. “We could play another game: one secret for you, and one secret for me. If you behave, maybe I’ll reveal myself to you, if you promise to keep it to yourself.” 

Your teeth sink into your lips harder when he delivers another harsh slap on your clit before resuming his quick movements. “Just — just tell me if I know you,” you mumble. You know he will never reveal himself, but maybe you can get something more, anything to complete the missing pieces of the puzzle. 

He chuckles darkly, staring at a spot behind you as he pretends to think. “Mhh, we’ve met.”

You frown and your heart jumps in your throat for a moment at the thought you’ve seen him. “Only met?” 

“We talked,” he adds, finally letting go of your face, making you breathe normally again. 

Your eyes widen while your brain hurts as you try to quickly connect the dots, and find out who’s hiding underneath the mask, you just have to put a face on a voice — even if distorted, but you can’t. And suddenly realization slumps on you.

“Will it — will it break my heart?” 

He snickers under his breath as he looks into your sad eyes, you’re looking at him like a dog when it’s being scolded, but in this case, you’re also silently praying he’s not someone close to you. He has no idea why that would make you feel better, if you care more about Ghostface or whoever is hiding under the mask, but it doesn’t matter, and he mocks you again, mimicking you in a high-pitched voice. “Will it hurt if I was someone close to you? A colleague? A friend? A lover?” 

Your breath gets faster. Will it? Would you turn him in or defend him? And you can’t stand you’re even questioning it, of course you’ll turn him in, that’s your job, but most importantly, your duty. But will you? You could be doing it now, and you’re not. 

“See? It’s not as funny if you know me,” he laughs at your face, your thoughts so loud he could get a headache. “It’s not as exciting, you love the thrill of this too, more than you like to admit.” 

“Fuck,” you curse when his other hand cups your covered breast, it’s a harsh tug and the leather feels weird on your skin, yet, it makes you clasp your thighs and forget what was tormenting your morals, again. 

“They’re so perfect, I can’t believe you always keep them hidden under those ugly clothes,” he pouts, giving it another hard squeeze. “Sorry.”

“For what — what the fuck?” You scream when he cuts your bra with the knife, first the middle and then the straps, the matching burgundy bra falling in pieces on the bottom of the chair. 

“It was getting in the way, and I don’t like things that get in my way. I cut them off,” in his voice lingers a hysterical laugh that makes you shiver, and in times like this, you’re glad you can’t see his face.  

You gulp and automatically close your legs. 

“Not you,” he reassures you, forcing your thighs open again with a smack, “you entertain me. And you suck at your job, so it’s clear you also don’t get in the way.” 

“I’m good at my job and I will get you and put you behind bars —” 

“Uh, uh,” he clicks his tongue, knife under your jaw before you can even finish the sentence, silencing you in an instant. “We were having so much fun, don’t ruin it, babe.”

You swallow and look down following the path he’s tracing with the knife, goosebumps bloom on your skin and you hold your breath when it gets closer to your neck, only releasing it when the blade sits in the hollow of your chest. 

“It’s so funny how you shake like a leaf, I’m a professional,” he says, sounding almost offended. And you furrow, is he talking about the knife or his fingers? “Both, love.” 

Another groan leaves your lips before he moves the crotch to the side and the cold air of the room hits your burning core. You’ve never been so ashamed your entire life, you shouldn’t be an open book to him, you shouldn’t be so malleable in his hands, it’s pathetic and humiliating. 

“You’re so fucking wet. I’m quite pissed I can’t run to the police department and let them know how much I turn you on. I can already see the disappointment on their faces,” he taunts, the slick sound of his gloves against your dripping pussy burns your body in shame and excitement.  

“Don’t you dare,” you spit out, but you don’t sound so menacing since your voice breaks, and a pathetically high-pitched moan rolls from your tongue right after.  

“I said I’m not going to, I keep my promises,” he kneels to the ground, one hand keeping you spread more and the other is still busy taking care of you. “Maybe if you promise you won’t shoot or put me in handcuffs right away when you’ll find out who I am, I can eat you out. I bet you let out the prettiest moans when you have someone between your legs.” 

Your head rolls back, and you hiss. “You wish,” you retort through gritted teeth, but a part of you dies to know what that would be like. “I will never give you the satisfaction.” 

He laughs mockingly. “Maybe I should blindfold you and do it now, will you recognize me by that?” At those words your body tenses up, head standing straight again as you look down at him with terror in your eyes. “What?” He asks in a giggle, surprised by your reaction. “You’re fucking with me right now, I still have blood on me. Would that be the most problematic thing? Having fucked with me before? Without this mask?” 

“You’re just messing with me,” you mutter but your brain is trying to think, the list of the people you’ve been with is not that long, he can’t be so stupid to out himself like that, right? 

“Maybe… I love it when I can see you think,” he whispers. “Usually, you have your hands in your hair, pulling at it even if you just washed it or spent hours styling it, and then you nervously bite your right thumb, somehow there’s always a hangnail to pull until it bleeds, oh, and you also nervously walk back and forth, two steps forward, two steps back. It’s cute, really. You have no fucking clue how to stop this, but you look so into it, chasing after me… well, so you think because, let’s be honest, you’re only chasing after your tail.” 

You can’t believe he knows all of this, how close to you is he? And a few names start popping into your mind, but for each face that you see, your only answer is it can’t be. 

“Why are you surprised? I told you, I love watching you,” he says, voice scarily soft even through the distortion of the mask. “You’re very pretty, detective. When you work hard to catch me, and even more when you screw it all up to moan for me.” 

“Ugh,” you groan through gritted teeth, wrist rubbing against the rope keeping you in place and hips bucking up, anger and pleasure mixing like a drug in your brain. You hate to admit it, but you’re close and you doubt you can push back your climax any longer.  

“It’s alright, love, I told you, I won’t judge you,” he hums. He studies your face for a moment, admiring how your teeth trap your lips in the vain attempt to don’t truly show how much you’re enjoying this, but your eyes are filled with lust, lightly glassy, and your cum is painting his gloves white. “Now, will you come for me?” 

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, your body shutters as the orgasm washes over you, the quick movements of his fingers on your sensitive clit making your nails dig into the palm of your hands while your moans slip out of you freely. Your morality disappears, getting dragged away with the orgasm that consumes you before leaving. 

You forget where you are for a moment, or to be more precise, with who you are with, as you let your head roll back, close your eyes and take deep breaths, waiting for the high to pass. 

The thing doesn’t bother Ghostface, though, he sees enough fear in people’s eyes, he likes it better when you stop pretending and relax around him. That’s the thrilling thing about you, you are the most entertaining game he has ever played. With all the others he knows how it will end, their lifeless bodies laying in a pool of their own blood and the sirens of the police going off in the background as he blends in with the crowd, but with you? It’s unknown. Like a Russian roulette. 

He’d love to shred all your clothes off, but he knows you’d have to spill your guts (not literally) if you walk out of there completely naked, and he’s sure the version you would tell the police would add another crime to his name. So, he takes your shoes off and then pulls your pants down. 

Your laugh makes him raise his face and stare at you. “What’s so funny, dollface?” 

You shrug, wetting your lips. “You scare me more when you act all sweet, you know?” 

He scoffs, standing up again, and caressing your face. “You want me to hurt you so badly. I could carve a heart right here,” he presses the tip of the blade next to your heart, tracing the shape of a heart, causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. “It would look so pretty on you, and you will always carry me with you. Isn’t it nice? Couple goals.” 

You raise a brow at him, he doesn’t even realize it, but he’s giving away so much of his personality, even if you don’t find it out now, you’re pretty positive all of this is leading you somewhere. You shake your head quickly, trying not to show how hard you’re thinking about your plan. “I only want one thing from you, and you know what it is.” 

He chuckles, leaning next to your ear. “My dick.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you curse, accidentally kicking him now that your legs are free to move. You suck your breath in, fearing your move, even if involuntary, might piss him off.  

He hisses but doesn’t do anything else. “Don’t get all bratty here, doll. You said you wanted to play a game, and we’re going to play it until the end.” 

When he cuts your panties and balls them in his fist, saying “keeping them as a souvenir,” with a grin that can be heard in his voice, you only reply with an “asshole.” 

Once again, he doesn’t pay your insults any mind, and you wonder why he’s so nice to you. Should you fear it? Will you be his last victim, getting the worst death of them all because he needs to put on a show? “Now I will untie you, if you play any trick on me… you know how it ends.” 

You nod quickly, watching him disappear from your view as he stands behind you. You inhale when the knife places against your neck again and roll your eyes back. “You don’t have to do this every time, you know?” 

“It turns you on,” he retorts firmly. “And I need to make sure you don’t do any funny business.” 

Your eyes roll back again but you try to relax anyway and keep still when your wrists are finally free. Your shoulders are in a more comfortable position again as you subtly roll them to ease up. “Get up,” he orders, and you follow, moving carefully because the blade is still close to your body and you don’t want to end up dead on the floor. “Good, now lay on the mattress.” 

Your face twists in disgust when you’re reminded of the mattress on the floor, but he pushes you forward. 

“We didn’t kill anybody there.” 

You stop, turning around swiftly, and his reflections are rapid enough that he doesn’t push the knife into your chest. “We?” 

“Oh… it didn’t click yet…” He laughs darkly at your expression, the whole world falling on your shoulders as you wonder how could you be so stupid to not realize it. “Sorry, love. But hey, aren’t you happy I helped you out?” 

You glare at him but then bring your hand to your hair and your thumb to your lips. Of course, there are two of them, that’s the only way they could always be so headed of you. 

“Not the right moment to think about that,” he warns, voice dropping lower, making you stop your nervous ticks. “Get on the bed.” 

You turn around again, suddenly aware that he’s completely covered and you’re bare. That thought makes you seek the cover of the mattress more, and swiftly you’re laying where he wants you. But it also turns you on, being so exposed to him while he’s giving you not even a peak of who’s under the mask and the clothes send chills down your body and more cum drips out you.

“Promise you’ll be good? We can play cat and mouse later if you want to,” he asks, the blade running flat on your boobs, making him chuckle darkly when your nipples harden at the contact and your hips buck up. “You promise, detective?” He repeats with urge when you don’t reply, too busy watching the knife move on your body as he pins you down. 

“Promise,” you reply, looking into the blackness of the eyes of the mask. 

He chuckles under the mask, and you watch him unbuckle his pants. You could easily grab the weapon that’s on your stomach and stab him, you could even un-mask him, but you lay still, almost mesmerized. And the conscience inside of you likes to remind you how fucked up you and your morals are, but you brush it off, shaking your head quickly. 

“Turn around,” he orders, but you hesitate. That’s too much vulnerability. It’s clear he doesn’t like your hesitation when he groans, grabbing the knife and pushing it aside. “God, I have to do everything with you,” he sighs as he forcefully flips you on your stomach before his legs trap you again. This time you can’t do anything even if you want to, but once again, you don’t want to. 

“Fuck,” he moans, hands cupping your full ass and squeezing hard, the firm hold eliciting a moan from you. “Look at you, so fucking pretty. Keep your head down, don’t try to even get a peak,” he warns, and your immediate reaction is to turn around to understand what’s going on, but you know better, so you press your face into the pillow and only when you hear the loud sound of a spit and a glob of saliva drip between your folds you understand what happened. “Not that it was needed, you’re dripping. But you know, I like to get messy at times.” 

You turn your face around, resting your head on the pillow, and bite your lips. The smugness and insanity of his voice causing more cum to ooze out of your pussy.  

“I want to feel you so bad,” he hums, spreading your cunt, making you feel so exposed, “but will you run to the police? Will you tell them ‘oh no, I had to fuck Mr. Ghostface to have a bit of his DNA and save the town from this psycho’?” he mocks with a high-pitched voice, it doesn’t sound like you at all, more like a hopeless, brain-dead, blonde girl that dies within the first minutes of any horror movie. 

You snicker. “You underestimate me, I could say I got those traces from somewhere else.” 

“But will you? Also, I’m pretty sure they will find traces of you too. How humiliating would that be? Come on, honey, I won’t blackmail you, but you will screw yourself over? That’s not very smart of you.” 

He’s right, you hate that he’s right. You will have to out yourself in the process of trying to turn him in. “I — I won’t.” 

Deep down he knows you won’t, there’s no way they won’t trace it back at you too, and he also knows you won’t try to play the victim when you’re not, but he needs to be conscious, one wrong step and you could turn the game around. As much as he likes to mock you, he knows you’re smart and have been close to discovering them a few times, it was a matter of luck, and they were extremely lucky. 

“Better safe than in jail,” he chuckles darkly, you don’t even try to peer around, and only listen to the plastic of the condom rip. 

You whimper when you feel the tip against your slit, and you hide your face in the pillow as if that could change the reality of what you’re willingly doing. You’re too excited to be so ashamed of your actions, but, even if some may argue your morality is nowhere to be found, it still feels like a big balloon hovering over you. 

You shiver when you feel the mask rest on your shoulder, “Nah, ah, angel, no being ashamed now. I told you I don’t like rude people, so don’t be rude and ask me nicely to fuck you.” 

The urge to slap him is stronger than anything else, but once again your greed makes him win. “Please… please fuck me.”

“Not what I want to hear, you know what I want. We practiced the other night, haven’t we?” He reminds you, a hand creeping around your neck, holding tight enough to make buzzes of fear run through your bones. 

You close your eyes, inhaling as deeply as you can while trying to find the courage to humiliate yourself one last time, but then the words slip out, “Please, fuck me, Ghostface,” and the air gets knocked out of your lungs when he pushes into you. It’s a strong, deep thrust that fills you to the brim and knocks you over. Your head falls against the pillow again while his loud groan fills your ears, “Fuck, it sounds so good from your lips.” 

“Oh, fuck,” you curse through gritted teeth when he starts moving right away, barely giving you time to adjust to the feeling, thick dick grazing your insides and strong hands wrapping around your waist tightly. 

“Is it too much for you, detective? My sweet little angel can’t take it?” 

A groan slips past your lips, you try to stand up on your elbows, but he pushes you down. His body presses against your back and you feel trapped again. “Don’t move. I will fuck you so deep into this mattress that I will feel your scent for days after this. I want your face smashed against the pillow, I want it to be wet with your ruined makeup and tears, got it? ” 

You nod quickly, shoulders dropping as you slump against the mattress. His breathing next to your ear makes you shiver, and you wonder if that’s the last thing the non-so-lucky people have met him heard before dying. But you push it away, for the sake of your sanity, you have to fool yourself that you’re not so attracted to a bloody murderer, that your morals are still intact, and that you are a good person. 

It’s pathetic how all the anger you feel disappears with each calculated thrust, pleasure getting to your brain so quickly you stop holding back. Soft whimpers and moans roll out of your tongue and unconsciously your ass grinds back into him.  

“Fuck, that’s what I want to hear,” he hums, standing up while his hands wrap around your waist. He never wanted to burn those gloves so badly, feeling the urge to feel your burning skin and mark you with his bare hands, but he can’t risk it. That doesn’t mean he can’t leave marks in other ways. One hand leaves your hips and cups your boob, eliciting a broken moan from you. “Have I told you they’re so pretty?” 

“Mhh,” you mumble, eyes closing as he pinches down on your nipple. You wish you could say it hurt you but instead, it makes you clench hard around him, cum leaking out more with each pinch on your delicate, sensitive buds. 

“Shit, you really are into pain,” he comments, there’s mockery in his voice —like always— but there’s also a genuine surprise. “Who would’ve thought, my innocent detective is way more fucked in the head than I thought.” 

“I — I’m not,” you retort, groaning and forcing your eyes open, but the deep chuckle that rumbles in his chest makes you quiver, and your attitude drops in a moment. 

“Honey,” he slurs, voice dipped in honey, “you’re letting Ghostface fuck you dumb, you are fucked in the head.” 

You shake your head quickly, but he’s had enough of your lies. The rough tug at your hair makes you let out a choked gasp as your head is lifted from the pillow. “I know you better than anyone else, angel,” he groans, mask pressed against your hot face. “I know your dirty, little secrets. I know what runs into that dirty, little mind of yours. You can’t lie to me,” he almost purrs, a low chuckle making shame fire up inside of you, “and I can feel you, princess. Squeezing me, barely allowing me to pull out to fuck back into you. Fuck — I should feel you right now, no stupid rubber between us.” 

Another broken moan slips from your lips when he roughly lets go of the hold on you, your fingers clench hard around the thin sheet under you, and your hips jerk up even more. It’s like you want to feel him more, to have him imprint himself deep into you, so far under your skin that you won’t be able to wash him off, and you don’t even know why you feel like this. Why it made you feel like this a week prior too, all the hesitation and fear as you picked up the phone and heard his breathy, distorted voice, flying out of the window the moment he started ordering you around. But was it truly an order when your only hesitation came from the fear of judgement, and you could only feel your body tingle with excitement? Sitting in front of the window, having no idea where he was hiding, putting on a show for the killer you swore you hated and making yourself come the hardest you’ve ever done. 

“It makes you feel special, doesn’t it? The way you’re the only exception. The only one I would never hurt.” His voice is lower, hitting you to the core, making your toes curl and your breath falter in your chest. “You’re like a daisy in a garden of bloody, red roses.” 

“Please,” you breathe out, choking on your tongue, eyes fluttering open shyly. 

“Want me to stop?” He coos, head cocking to the side as he lands a sharp slap on your asscheek that makes you hiccup on a whimper and then another to your boob that drags a louder cry out of you. “Don’t want to hear how special you are?” 

But that’s not what you meant. Your pleads were about something else, something you struggle to confess. 

A deep laugh resonates in his chest as he looks down at your already wrecked face. You’re so precious, he can’t believe you sometimes think he could hurt you. His prettiest game, his wildest fantasy. The thrill he feels in his bones every time he’s close to you, so, so near to being discovered and yet always safe. It’s exciting, getting to his brain so much he can hardly hide how much it turns him on. But you’ve never been this close before. He dreamed about fucking you, having you pressed under him, begging, moaning and crying as his dick hit deep into your sweet pussy, pounding into you over and over again until you were nothing but mush in his hands. He wanted to strip you down completely and leave nothing of the women he sees and admires every single day. He dreamed of having all this power over you, watching you get weak on your knees and let him do anything he wanted, watching your body convulse in pleasure and your brain empty. And here you are now; wet, fucked-out eyes looking up at him while your pretty, plump mouth opens and closes as your shut-down brain tries hard to find the words. 

“Speak up, princess. I don’t like to wait.” 

“Please, wa-want to feel you,” you slur in a whisper, eyes blinking lazily as you try to hold onto what’s left of your sanity. 

He chuckles, his thrusts coming to a stop that makes you whine in disappointment. “You want me to fuck you raw, detective?” 

You hum, nodding slowly, not for the lack of enthusiasm but for the amount of shame that’s looming over you like a tornado. But Ghostface doesn’t like your silences, he doesn’t like it when you hesitate, that’s not what turns him on about you. It’s your impulses, the way you jump into things headfirst without thinking, for some it may be dumb, but to him, it’s just that sprinkle of insane bravery that makes life exciting. Your head is yanked up again with a rough pull of your hair, but his hold quickly moves to your neck. “I thought we were over the phase where I have to drag the words out of your mouth, detective. I’ll ask nicely one last time, do you want me to fuck you raw?” 

You swallow your pride and reply meekly, “Ye-yes.” 

He chuckles, pulling out of you almost completely before sinking in again with no warning, knocking the air out of your lungs, air that’s already struggling to fill them as his hold on your neck doesn’t loosen up. “See? It wasn’t that hard, was it? Even your stupid brain could put two words together.” 

You gasp for air when he finally lets go and your face sinks on the pillow again. 

“I’d love to, but I won’t risk it. Maybe next time, maybe if I’ll ever feel like telling you who I am,” he replies, and you groan in disappointment. Not only he doesn’t give you what you want but he also mocks you, reminding you why you’re here and how your mission flushed down the toilet as you let him play you like a violin. 

“Then — fuck — please, fuck me harder,” at this point you want him to fuck you so hard your brain will just unplug and your superego can stop nagging at the back of your mind. You don’t want a single thought in your brain, just pleasure and lust. 

“That I can give it to you,” he hums happily, and in a second, he complies. His hips start snapping against you at a fast speed, his tip hitting you deep repeatedly as he keeps you arched back with one hand around your waist and the other one wrapped around the makeshift ponytail he made with your hair. 

You can already feel the orgasm build up at the tip of your stomach, but it only worsens when Ghostface roughly pulls you flat against him. Your head falls behind on his shoulder, eyes rolled far in your skull as your lips hang open to let out desperate moans and suck in as much air as possible. 

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he moans, his thumb rubs against your neck and jaw while his right hand squeezes and pulls your boobs hard before pinching the nipples. “Listen to those pretty sounds you make,” he snickers, “and you still want to pretend you’re innocent and pure? You’re fucked up just like me, baby, that’s why I like you so much,” he slurs. 

You blink, once again adjusting to the light is uncomfortable but you make out just in time the fact he’s holding a Polaroid camera. “Smile for the camera, babe,” his voice rings in your ears but doesn’t reach your brain and before you know it, you’re coming just like that. The look on your face is not a smile but an expression of blissed pleasure, the exact moment as the climax explodes inside of you, making you clench around his dick and shake in his arms, your arm twisting back, letting your hand claps on his bicep and sink your nail in the thick fabric of the black cloak.  

Ghostface would like to say he’s disappointed and scold you for misbehaving, but he can only stare at you with amused disbelief written all over his face. But you only see the constant expression of the mask and once again, you fear for a second he’s mad at you. Truth be told, he could even kill you right now, you wouldn’t mind much or even notice, too lost in the pleasure that’s still looming on your body. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, hips slowing down until they stop completely, “you just gifted me the most precious pic in my collection,” he whispers. You feel like the edge of mockery is still persistent but at the same time something genuine lingers in it, it doesn’t make it less creepy, but the ‘fuck me harder method’ worked because you don’t question his, and yours, fucked morality and just smile dumbly. 

And that smile, united with the slow bat of your wet eyelashes, is what he needs to lose it. 

“Oh, fuck it, I’ll clean you up once we’re done and if you’ll try to turn me in, I’ll find out, so you better keep your promise, alright?” 

You don’t get what he’s talking about right away, too fucked out as you lay on the mattress waiting for his next move, but when he pulls out of you and swiftly pulls the condom out, you get it. You bite your lips in anticipation and swing your hips in invitation. 

The sight would be enough to make him come right there, and he damns himself because out of all people, you can’t be his biggest weakness. It got to be some fucking joke of destiny. “Will you go to the police?” 

“No,” you mumble.  

“Good girl, because these little games are just for us, me and you, you can’t use what we do here to help you with your case.” When he sinks inside of you again, he feels like he could lose it all for the way your wet, warm walls wrap around him. “Fuck, fuck,” he curses, voice even more distorted now that he murmurs through gritted teeth, “you feel so fucking good.” 

His thrusts now are almost primal, desperately pounding you against the mattress, keeping you pinned down with a hand on the back of your head —not that you need that, you wouldn’t be able to hold your neck up even if you wanted to— and holding for dear life on your hips with the other. You’ll probably have some bruises by the end of the night, if not colored prints on your skin, surely light discomfort at the touch will follow you for a few days. And you almost want to beg him for more, to mark you in some other ways, to leave something just for you to see and carry with you. Sick and perverted thoughts cross your mind, and you push them away swiftly. 

You bite down on your lips when his hand leaves your side to torture your nipples again, he can barely push his hand between your body and the mattress, but he has just enough space to play with your sensitive nipples, making them even harder and causing you to clench even more around him. He loves how sensitive you are there and how each rub, pinch, and slap has you easily squirming and moaning under him.

“Look at you, going all dumb on my cock,” he groans, mockingly giving one harsh slap to your tits before his fingers trace your cheek. Your skin is so hot he can almost feel it through the fabric separating you, but what he’s most fascinated about are your tears, black mascara running down your beautiful face, dying on the pillow and your tortured parted lips. “Are you still thinking about being better than me or — fuck — have you finally embraced your dark side?” 

Not a word comes out of your mouth when you whimper back, and not even a thought crosses your mind. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grins smugly. “You know,” he breathes out, head thrown back as it gets harder and harder to contain the orgasm, but he doesn’t want it to end so soon, “you should fire yourself and be my toy, just my toy, every time I need you, everywhere I need you. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? It’d make you feel even more special.” 

You mumble a weak reply, it’s a whispered ‘no,’ but your body doesn’t deny how much the thought turns you on. Too many responsibilities in your life and your job, too much to carry daily, but right now? Nothing. Guilt will eat you alive tomorrow but not now. Something feels exciting about being on the run with him, being the one that runs, instead of the one that chases. But it won’t happen, you believe in your job, and you want this slasher to end.  

“Cause only I can get you like this, ugh,” he grunts, hips slamming faster but more sloppily against your ass, the vulgar sounds filling up the room. “No man before and no man after will make you come this hard. Nobody, love. No matter how much you’ll want to, they all will disappoint you and you will look for me in every single one of them,” he groans, each word punctuated by a harsh slam of his hips, “well, the lucky ones that will get a taste before I’ll get them and kill them.” 

You don’t reply, just lay there, looking like a mess as you try to fight another orgasm because coming again would be humiliating. 

“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” You can hear the grin on his face and his voice has the edge of insanity of the usual. “Let’s be honest, you’ve got a list of shitty partners, you would’ve been grateful if I got rid of some of them.” 

“Fuck, just — just fuck me,” you beg, your hand reaching behind to touch him somehow, but he doesn’t like it. 

He grips your hand and pins it behind your back bending your arm, you hiss in discomfort, but he doesn’t let go. “Oh, no, angel. You don’t make the rules in this game, I do. If I want to sink into your brain and get so deep into you that I’ll make sure you will never come out the same, I will. I’m the darkest side of yourself, the fucked up filth you’re too afraid to face,” he groans. “And I know you’re close again. Your tight cunt is squeezing me, and you made a mess on the mattress,” he snickers. “Imagine if they find this place, this mattress, your DNA on it,” he stops, leaning next to your ear, voice dropping lower, “or better, imagine if they find us now. What do you say, detective? Would they be disappointed? Would they just jack off at the view? You look so hot right now, I wouldn’t blame them if they’d get off to you, to us together. Kill them surely, blame them not. We’re so hot, detective.” 

You squirm under him, feeling like the room is spinning fast and you can’t ground on anything. You have a darker thought in mind, something you can’t confess to him or else he won’t stop mocking you. You want to get caught, but not by your colleagues, by his partner. What would he do if he saw you and his partner in crimes like this? Would he understand this, or would he snap? Maybe even feeling betrayed. Does he even know you and him have been playing this game of attraction for a while now?  

Your silence doesn’t make Ghostface suspect anything. You simply look totally fucked out, brain empty as you plead in soft whimpers and moans. 

“You sound so fucking good,” he praises. “Why don’t we play another little game, uh?” 

Your eyes open in surprise and you hum with no strength, “what?” 

“Beg me to save your life,” he says, grabbing the knife again and placing it close to your neck. “Come on, do it for me, I won’t ever hear you say it because I will never want to kill you. Please, detective,” he coos, hips slowing down because your pussy is fogging his brain and he’s not sure his always-perfect aim and reflexes will work right now. 

You take a deep breath and then speak. “Please, Ghostface, please, spare my life.” 

His head rolls back, and a deep, groggy moan comes out of his lips. “Fuck, yes, keep going,” he orders, hips picking up the rhythm again as he skillfully flips the blade to the lesser sharp side just to be safe. 

And you obey. You beg, choked-up words slipping from your lips that soon turn into please, fuck me harder, and then please, wanna come. You feel boneless, your body is too hot, and you feel you might pass out, you need a release and then hope something bigger than you will make you get back on your legs and walk out of there as if nothing happened, as if you never followed your guts and found his —their— safe haven. 

“Come for me, love,” he orders, throwing the knife to the side before his hand sneaks under your body to roughly slap your clit a few times, enjoying the louder moans he drags out of you by doing so and watching with pleasure as your body squirms and shakes. “And don’t forget to smile for the camera.” 

This time your eyes lock with the polaroid that he points toward your face as his chin rests on your shoulder. But it only lasts for the time of the picture, your body collapses again when he lets go of your hair and you let the pleasure pervade you from head to toe. It’s breathtaking and mind-blowing, and next time you’ll fuck someone else you’ll hate that he’s right. You will feel him everywhere, you will feel his dick deep inside of you every time your fingers will desperately try to take its place, and every time you’ll let someone in your bed, but you don’t hate that thought as you should. 

“Fuck,” he groans, giving you a few more pumps to make sure you rode your high before slipping out and then roughly flipping you over. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and you follow with no hesitation —honestly, you were struggling to keep them open in the first place. 

Your heaving chest, your parted lips still letting out cries, your wet cheeks, and your trembling closed thighs are the last drop he needs to let go. Deep moans reach your ears while his hot cum drops on your face, most on your skin but some in your mouth, and they get even louder when you shyly swallow it and lick your lips for more. 

“Fuck, fuck, you’re —” he gasps but doesn’t finish, holding onto nothing as he empties himself all over your face. “Fuck.”

He feels dizzy, the orgasm still shaking him up, but then he looks at you and has to bite back a moan. The white strings of cum are covering your blissed face, your eyelashes are clumped together by the tears, and your lips are plump and darker, he knows he doesn’t want to forget what you look like right now. “Smile one last time, baby.” 

And you do, the corners of your mouth lift and then you hear the click of the polaroid. You think for a second you should’ve told him to don’t take them, he could easily blackmail you, or straight-up get you fired, but once again, you don’t truly care, and you don’t deny how much the idea of those photos turned you on.

You should get up, grab your pants, jacket, shoes and leave. But you feel heavy and tired, you’re still shaking, and your breath didn’t go back to normal, yet. 

“Don’t worry, detective,” Ghostface whispers, something passes on your face to clean you from the mess, but you don’t know what, and only then you open them ajar, just to see he’s still wearing his mask. “I’ll take care of you.” 

The Ghostface mask is the last thing you see. 

When you wake up, you’re in your bed, wearing your nightwear, completely cleaned up, but your bones and muscles are still sore, and a terrible headache is throbbing in the left side of your brain. You turn around, rubbing your eyelids with your palms before you can fully focus on the pillow and see three things on it. The Ghostface mask, a polaroid of you two from before, his face next to yours as he pulled your hair, and a note. 

“It was a pleasure playing with you, my pretty detective. Can’t wait to see what our next game will be like♡ ” 

general taglist: @froggyforyoongi , @wingsss45 ; @tddyhyck ; @technologyculturedneo

© neowinestaindress; all rights reserved. do NOT repost, modify, or translate any work from this blog on any other platform and claim it as yours. you can find my works on ao3 (neowinestaindress) and wattpad (winestaintedress_; currently inactive).

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Hi omg, I love your dragon!hybrid Targaryen stories. I was just wondering if you could do one for Aegon? Or like include him in one of the hcs and like explore the idea of them being like jealous?

How Dragon!Hybrid Targaryens deal with their jealousy.

Hey anon! I'm glad you like those stories; they're very dear to me, too! Thank you so much for your ask! I’m not super into Aegon as a whole character, but I find that there’s a way to integrate him into the story.

And your jealousy idea would be exciting, especially with Dragon!Hybrids. 

I used those who (I think) would be most prompt in being jealous in the first place and explained why the others don’t feel jealous, per se. (Everyone except Laenor and Laena.)

Warnings: 16+ for Aegon (obviously), description of gaslighting (Daemon), jealousy (somewhat mild but still).

Original Masterlist

Dragon!Hybrid Masterlist

Aegon: His jealousy comes from a deep insecurity and the feeling of not being enough. And I don’t think he deals with his jealousy very well. Either he enters fits of anger or cries about it, then fucks you mercilessly, because that’s basically all he knows to do. 

Brutal movements, hips hitting hips, deep warmth inside your body, his hand holding yours over your head, his lips leaving marks on your skin. Desperation in his movements, pleas for your love. 

“Please, please don’t leave me.” Between groans and moans and sighs, Aegon cannot keep his voice down. 

Anger and despair and loss. All the things he feels when he watches you interact with everyone else that’s not him. He lets his free hand run free from your neck to your hips, leaving bluish marks for remembrance of him in the morning. 

“You’re mine.” Snarled into your neck, as he tugs your hair, make your back arch so as to meet his frantic pace. Drunk mumbling about enemies taking you away and teary comments for his mother never to know about you. 

You’re his secret, his peace. 

Aemond: Aemond would kill a bitch. Not cut, kill. His jealousy comes from his lack of actual appreciation and possessions. He’s scared that somebody better could take you away from him. 

“Aemond, there is no need to draw your sword…” You tried to softly reason with him, hands grasping at his, trying to hold said sword in place. Aemond’s face is cold and closed off, his eye strained on the injuring party, who stands a good amount of space away from the both of you. 

“Pray tell, Qelos, why I shouldn’t?” He humours you, his tone freezing, back straight as an arrow. He never lowered his gaze from his now mortal enemy. The other party shivers, and you can’t help but look their way for a second. A mistake, and you feel Aemond take a step forward. 

“Enough, husband,” you hiss, looking to his face, eyes going from his own purple iris to his eyepatch. “You cannot fight all those who spent time with me. Lord Maxwayl only wished to offer his congratulations.” You tell him in a low tone, hands still grasping around his on the hilt of his sword. 

There’s no fear in your gaze, only anxiety. A diplomatic miscommunication of this size wouldn’t be a good thing for the Greens. And Aemond knows this. He lowered his gaze to meet yours, and finally, his shoulders relaxed, and he smirked. 

“Very well. Thank you, good lord, for your words; we are very happy.” He acknowledged the fearing lord with a predatory smile. Promises of violence are still present in his face, a warning for the next time he touches what is his.

Baela: Baela is well-educated and balanced. She’s not prompted to be jealous. Why would she? Her name and position are very advantageous. She’s had a very good education in many fields of study. Her Rider would be crazy to even consider another option. 

And she would come and get you anytime. 👀

Daemon: He’s not jealous; you’re jealous. Will not fight with you about it. What do you mean you think he did something to the squire that helped you two days ago? Oh, you mean the one who saw your ankles by accident? Nope. He definitely didn’t do anything to him. 

“I promise, Byka Azantys. I have done nothing to your help.” His smirk makes your blood boil. You know, know that somehow he’s done something, organised the disappearance of your favourite little squire. A promising little boy with stars in his eyes. 

“I don’t believe you.” You argue, crossing your arms over your chest, taking a step to put distance between the two of you. His smirk grows bigger, and your teeth clench with a white-hot anger. 

“I can’t make you change your mind, but my words are true. Now come, enough of this childish dispute; I’ve missed you terribly.” He takes a step closer to you, his hands taking their place on your hips, thumbs running against the material of your clothes, as if to soothe you. And you let him. 

A small purring noise escaped his throat as he tugged you closer to his chest. He dipped his neck to kiss yours. You knew it was to change your mind and you didn’t fight him. You didn’t really want to know what he did to that squire after all. 

Helaena: Helaena is not jealous. She’s just happy to have someone that listens to her, that makes her feel safe. In her mind, your relationship is not one to be jealous of; you’re her rock, her peace, and her shelter. 

Jacaerys: He’s jealous of the time you spend with others. He’s very protective of your time together and will blatantly refuse to accommodate others when they want to invade his peace. 

“Leave.” He grumbled from his position, face nuzzled in your chest, not even considering for a second that your naked bodies intermingled might be embarrassing for some parties in this discussion. 

“Your presence is requested at a council meeting.” Rhaenyra’s voice float’s through your chambers, and if you want to liquify and disappear in the bedding, Jace could not care any less. His wings flutter into existence, covering your body and his as he raises his head to glare at his mother. 

“We’ve just left a council meeting three hours ago.” He counters, curly hair unkempt and messy from your previous activities. You blink, and the smoke you thought was escaping his mouth is gone, but the smell of sulfur still lingers around you. His mother tries to reason with him, calling out his name, not unlike a plea. 

“Jace…”

But he shakes his head, resting it against your chest once more, eyes closing. “It’s late, and I made a promise to stay here tonight, Mother.” His tone is without appeal, and Rhaenyra glances at you before nodding. 

“Very well, but you must come to the council tomorrow.” She warns before closing the door behind her. Jace only grunts his response, kissing the skin that’s closest to his lips.

Rhaena: She’s not jealous; she’s disappointed. Her lack of capacity to shift makes her feel a little less than her sister and stepbrothers/uncles/cousins. But she is more one to talk about her feelings than make a scene, take her anger out on you, or gaslight you about it. 

The silence in her chambers is broken only by the crackling of the fire, which was alighted for your comfort. The both of you are currently occupied with books, a usual occupation for the nights you spent together. But Rhaena cannot find the concentration she needs to read even a single page of her book. 

“Do you love me?” She asks unprompted, breaking the silence like one would break a wall of ice, her heart suddenly thumping with worry that she just did something awful. You put your book down, gazing up, surprised, as you look in her direction. 

“Of course I do. Why do you ask?” Now it’s your turn to ask, leaning to catch her hand with yours. It’s colder than hers, and she worries about the temperature of the room for a moment before answering you. 

“It’s just… didn’t your family send other proposals for your hands?” 

That was your private letter. And Rhaena is not one to read private letters, but it was open, there, for her to see all of the little words written on the page. You sigh. 

“Of course, but that’s usual. I’ve already sent my answer. I will not give you up, my love.” You smile at her, running a thumb over her hand gently. She nods. 

“But you could’ve chosen anybody else.” It’s your turn to nod. 

“Yes, and I chose you.” 

Rhaenyra: Rhaenyra is not jealous. She’s possessive and territorial, but that comes with the dragon spirits. (I spoke about it here, and here). 

Taglist : @lady-dragon-rider

[jazjelspen]

devil's spawn.

angel alastor w/ radio demon daughter reader

(notes: based off of the concept of my other story 'my angel baby' except alastor and his adopted daughter switch places and personalities. In Alastor's pov (?)in this chapter.)

(caution: RUSHED!! definitely rushed qwq so I greatly apologize. Not proofread in the slightest. Might have cringe parts am so sorriy qwq)

(Alastor is still in a way the angel version of 'the radio demon' except he's called 'the radio angel' by his fans, but he doesn't refer to himself as such since angel alastor is actually humble)

(I'm willing to make another part but considering Hs becoming more stressful and it blowing my brain up it'll definitely take time, but always willing to make more if wanted/needed)

It was another bright and fresh day in heaven, Alastor clinging the laundry up on the line while his mother, whom he managed to find in his decades inside the pearly gates, sat on a rocking chair reading a book as she usually would.

The bright heavenly lights making his halo shine, complimenting his wings, other neighborly 'winners' he would be acquainted with would walk by and greet him with a wave or a tip of their hats to him while he was outside fixing their clothes.

In this particular universe, Alastor is the complete opposite of his original counterpart. Where the original Alastor would hurt and destroy, this version of him would care and heal. He was selfless, kind, compassionate and sympathetic to which again is also a complete twist around compared his original self.

Alastor died out of an accidental kill, mistaken for a deer and shot through the head while he was out in the forest collecting his adoptive daughter's favorite flowers, at her favorite flower meadow on the day of her eighteenth birthday.

Unfortunately due to missing his baby girl's birthday and being taken away from her too soon for his liking he has been living in pure regret, panic, and pure sorrow form having to leave her too early and it pained him everyday.

He raised you all by himself while juggling his passion for radio hosting, finding comfort in your innocence and smiles when he first found you and as you grew up you gave him a reason to live and work.

That's the only thing that him and the original sadistic version Alastor have in common; the fatherly love for their daughters who are also their entire lives. Their love traverses across universes.

Eventually the more you grew up the more.. peculiar and unique you became.. your innocence would melt away with a sadistic fire in your eyes that he would notice at times but would try his best to lead you in the ways of love and compassion which you had for him but lacked for those around you..

Alastor was finishing up his morning chores for his mother's home before he would eventually go back inside and get a few necessities before leaving his home. His pearly coat, his shining microphone staff, fix his appearance in the mirror just a tad, and finally hugging his mother goodbye from the porch to head up and down the street towards the main part of the city.

Yes, he was still a radio host as well too.

Instead of broadcasting screams of pain and terror from sinners he instead would give voices to those who wished to express their passions, interview everyday folk and influential people on opinions and advice to those listening to his radio show and he even has good connections and acquaintances to the high Seraphims of heaven in order to get the latest news in the ruling of heaven.

He's just as famous as he was in life, maybe more considering how many people there are in heaven alone.

His polished shoes creating sounds on the pavement as he hummed a special tune that he adores, a tune he used to sing to you. Yet again still greeting passing by acquaintances and fans of his show with genuine glee and care.

Alastor waved off to an old friend while walking by, shining his taken cared for smile. "Good to see you again Roger, don't forget to tune in soon in a few hours! It'll be a real gas so don't miss i-- oh my!"

Alastor looked down as he seemed to bump into someone small, looking down at his feet he saw a young little girl. Another fellow 'winner' she seemed to have bumped into him with chocolate smeared around her mouth with a giddy yet apologetic smile on her face. And unfortunately smeared some chocolate on his pants.

"Hiya mister!" she waved, showing her dirtied little hand as well "Sorries! I didn't watch where I was going..!"

Alastor noticed the stain and his jaw hung slightly from surprise but then immediately laughed it off, petting the young girl on the head in understanding.

"Oh little one, don't worry about it at all! Here, so you can clean yourself up." He then took a white embroidered handkerchief for his chest pocket to give to the little girl who then wiped her face and her hands, seeing her struggle a bit Alastor graciously held her hands gently to wipe them off for her and her nose as well.

"Mary!" A voice exclaimed that approached, a woman than came into view, a winner as well. "Oh! Well if it isn't our most kind radio host! I deeply apologize about my daughter sir.." The mother would smile sheepishly and apologetically. "Thank you so much for helping my little girl, I apologize for her clumsiness! Could I perhaps offer you help of any kind?..”

Alastor shook his head as he would then neatly fold the handkerchief and saved it in his coat this time so that he could remember to wash it when he got back home. "Oh no no! No need ma'am, it's nothing a little magic can't cover up for the time being!" He smiled at the woman who now had her hands placed on her daughter's shoulders with a sigh slipping through her lips. He looked down at the girl as he gave her a pat on the head "On the other hand, are you okay dear? I do hope you didn't hit yourself too hard!.."

The little girl shook her head as well in reply, "Nu-uh mister! Thank you for helping me! I promise not to bump into anymore misters or any misseses!" Oh her messing up of words ringed a bell in his head

"How darling! Take care of yourself and your mother now, " He looked up at the woman to then lower his head slightly in respect before resuming his steps again "Apologies for the rush, just trying to see if I can get some special guests on my radio show tonight!"

The woman waved at him 'goodbye' with her young girl following suit "Oh I sure hope they agree! Good day to you Alastor!"

"Good day to you as well madame!" he waved back as he finally took enough steps away from them to now get a clearer view of the inside of the city.

He couldn't help but sigh in despair, he remembers when he used to have his own little girl.

Took care of her as if she was his own blood, as if they came form the same flesh and heritage.

And although you didn't, he never loved you any less.

His smile faltered slightly but picked it up quickly, rushing towards the next moving tram that he recognized to get to his destination: the middle of the city. Once he saw one and hopped on, he could feel his heart pump with blood he once had as red and now as gold as the tears of the elder angels.

If what he heard was right, he would try to get a segment with three special guests from hell.

Sure, he knew that they came from a place of bad and evil but that didn't deter him any less. From life to death he would give voices to everyone that needed to be heard and he would follow it no matter where someone came from.

The fresh breezes and the smell of bakeries, restaurants, the sounds of workers in mom and pop shops and independent growing businesses were like music. He could've sworn that even the laughter of children and the chattering of friends, couples, and families amongst each other turned into melodies in through his brain circuits.

Heaven was.. heaven.

But his only sin was not speaking out at heaven's hypocrisy or flaws at times. Many times he would but it turned into heaven setting restrictions on him.. silencing his own voice. He was never fond of that but apparently according to Sera and that blasphemous Adam, it was required. 'To avoid panic and prevent disturbances amongst the people of heaven' or so they'd say.

He was working on a way to go around that.. change their minds. But it was much harder than he anticipated.

Oh!-- The tram stopped with a loud hiss and ring.

Alastor snapped out of his thoughts would hop off the tram and finally start resuming his walk. He was now just a block away, the more he walked the less the voices and sounds of work distanced, entering a quieter part of the city. He was now in the smack middle of the entrance to heaven, where ice cream shops were laid in rows, cafes as well, people quietly chatting and drinking their beverages or eating their food.

Oh! And he could heard a familiar tune! It was that one.. welcome song that St. Peter would often sing..

Not a favorite song of his.. at all.. but he applauded them for effort!

Maybe a splash of swing or jazz would bring it to life.. but he assumed that was the old man in him talking.

For the time being he decided to watch some place nearby yet not too close since he knew that if he stayed where he was he would be caught up in the performance and he would have to sing with them..

Waiting at the side and hearing the singing come closer and close Alastor would make himself busy by polishing his microphone with his breathe and sleeve, fixing and dusting himself off as to not give any bad first impressions.

And thankfully he managed to remember his stain that the little girl left-- forgetting about it due to wanting to get to his destination on time and helping the poor thing. With a gentle swish of his staff pointed at the stained he then managed to cover it with his heaven-given magic.

Once the full group performance made his way towards his direction was when he stood up straight, chin high, shoulders fixed, looking good as always Alastor.

He heard Emily's voice among the performance, the youngest of the two Seraphims.

He's quite close with the two, at first only starting as something for business until one day he got closer to them and confessed his past, and his regrets.

Emily reminds him much of his daughter, the high angel having an enthusiasm and mentality of a late teenager or young woman, same age his daughter was when he last saw her.

He thought, wondered, pondered, dreamed-- what his little girl grew up into.

His eyes stared at his microphone, the shine of silver blinding him when he turned it for a spot of sunshine to burn his eyes slightly.

Did she grow up into an incredible woman? Did she ever find love? Settle down and have children? How has she matured? Does she resent him for leaving him so soon even if he never meant to? Does she look completely different? Did she ever change her name?

Were you even up here at all?

He hopes you were, looking and asking for you far and wide in heaven. Did you seclude yourself? Did you hide from him on purpose?

Or were you simply in hell..

No-- his little girl couldn't be in hell. Sure she had concerning hobbies, thoughts, ways of doing things but it didn't deserve her going to hell of all places.

You had to be up here, somewhere.. you had to.

A somber sigh escaped his lips as he stared at his reflection in the object between his palms and fingers. His heavy heart tugging and ripping itself apart.

'my little girl.. where are you?'

"Alastor!! Hey!"

A young voice shouted at him from afar, looking up he saw Emily wave and ushered him to head towards her way from afar.

He let go of his guilt for now, and shined his iconic smile as always.

"Why hello Emily, Sera," he lowered his head at the high angels in respect for them "How may I help you ladies today? I see we have new visitors!" His head moved to look at the other three ladies in front of him that came from below.

There was a young woman with eyes that shared the same enthusiasm as Emily's did, hair of sunshine and gold, fangs as sharp reminiscing those of a blood bat, small and thin frame and an outfit that successfully mimics casual sophistication.

Another young girl to her right was one that seemed more reminiscent of an angel, her long hair filled with silver and moon, a gaze as sharp as broken, stance serious and unapologetic, she seemed ready to protect the blonde girl beside her but also had eyes of worry and a sense of uncomfortability haunted her features and her almost slouched back.

The last one, really shook him up.

The next young woman to the left of the blonde girl was adorned in nothing but pure red with tones of a deep hot pink in her entire look. Her clothes were of an era he knew of very well, of course he'd recognize clothes from the 30s!.. except they had a few odd touches that more or so reminded him of the 40s or heck maybe even 50s.. a bit more ahead of his time. She had a large sharp smile that screamed of mischief and eyes that are waiting to do something-- anything sinister.

Despite all this, these characteristics weren’t the ones that shook him to his core.

She looked like someone he knew, that he missed.

"Everyone, this is Alastor. He's heaven's most famous and influential radio host! Giving voices to the voiceless when he was alive and even more up here, and of course due to his selfless acts when he was alive he was blessed to be let through the gates of heaven." spoke Sera, introducing the 'winner' as he chuckled sheepishly.

"Oh thank you Sera, but it's nothing really! Just had to do what was right."

Sera then lead his eyes back to the newcomers, having him face directly to the girl with hair of sunshine first. "Alastor, I present to you the Princess of Hell and heir to the throne, Charlie Morningstar. She's here to present a few ideas to the court the next day."

Alastor's eyes widened in surprise, "Princess! I didn't know royalty were to visit us today!" he bowed down towards the girl as to pay his respects, standing back straight once he finished. "A pleasure to meet you sweetheart quite the pleasure! Didn't expect our guests to be of royalty so apologies to any bad manners."

The princess shook her head with a large smile "Oh!-- don't worry you didn't give off any bad manners! It's nice to meet you too Mr...Alastor!.. it.. it's very admirable what you did before and what you do now! You seem to have earned your place here quite well!"

The man shook his head as well in reply "Oh like I said it's nothing! If anything I should thank my daughter, she was my reason and my motivation to be nothing but kind to others to present a good example! I continue to do so in her honor."

Charlie's eyes grew as a soft 'awwww' escaped her lips "You must love your daughter very much..!"

Alastor nodded, "Of course I do! As a father always should!"

Charlie opened her mouth again to speak, her eyes filled with a sense of bittersweetness until she was suddenly interrupted by the young woman dressed in red. She walked in between Alastor and Charlie with a sense of charm and enthusiasm, the spirit of a presenter or spokesperson shining in her body language and way of speaking.

"How delightful! The love of a parent transcends heaven and earth! Now that's poetry!" the girl's voice was glitched out and heavily amplified with a strong sound of static, as if her vocal cords came straight from a radio speaker. She held a staff much similar to his, except her's was shorter and more compact-able.

The girl with silver hair rolled her eyes in nothing but pure irritation, Charlie giggled nervously as she then pointed her way towards the one who spoke. "And this is ______! She's the founder and host of my hotel back in hell! She's helped me throughout everything and I dont think I would be able to get to this point if It weren't for her help as well!"

Ah,

He knew it.

______, anyone could have that name.

But you looked like his daughter, his pride and joy.

His face still shines with a smile but his eyes are baffled with the sudden hit of realization.

It couldn't be a coincidence-- you looked like her, your eyes had that spark he always used to see in his daughter before he left. The way of speaking, that stance-- more confident and mature but the way you spoke.. your vocals were a match to his daughter's just with a touch of years to it.

And you looked at him as if you knew as well, eyes narrowing with piqued interest. Sharp smile widening an-

wait..

what?..--

You seemed to have almost hopped right in front of him with your hand suddenly shaking his. "A real pleasure to meet you sir! Quite the pleasure!"

You mimicked his greeting yet somehow you spoke it so naturally, as if spoken a billion times before. He was stunned, if there weren't people around he would've slipped and broken down right here right now--

but he cannot, will not.

He will not worry others, he will not bother others with his emotions.

"Good to meet you Ms.."

"______. Simply call me ______." Your sinister grin only stretched, a sense of despair fell into the pit of his stomach,

His little girl in hell?

Did he.. fail at raising you?

Was dying too soon the reason why you let yourself fall?

Whatever the case, Alastor was nothing but stuck in a small limbo of his own guilt again

If he did this to you-- even indirectly,

he wouldn't ever forgive himself.

"Ms.. ______..."

'my little girl' he would've said, 'my daughter, how I've missed you. please forgive me for leaving you so soon... I'm so so sorry my darling..'

the words were stuck to his throat.

a small gust of air was the only thing that escaped from his cords.

Sera clapped her hands together once as a way to announce, "Well Princess Morningstar. I hope your stay here is nothing but comfortable, and I say that to your companions as well."

Sera looked at the 'winner' with confusion and a sense of concern but she knew she had to leave due to duties calling for her and Emily's presence.

Sera gently put her hand on his shoulder, "Alastor, would you perhaps show them where their hotel is and how to check in? It's going to be the one nearby."

'the one nearby' he thought, 'a block away.. '

"of course! anything to make our guests feel more welcomed!"

Sera nodded in 'thanks' before flying off with Emily on her side, herself also waving goodbye to all of you as well.

Alastor paused, before finally turning his head at the girls.

"Well, let's get you all to where you'll stay for the time being!.."

He will find out what happened to you, what went wrong, how he messed up.. he'll beg for forgiveness from you. for you were and still are his reason for who he is.

you were his one and only daughter, he will make it up to you.

"Follow me now! Time isn't going any slower!"

Little did he know, he wasn't at fault at all.

You were just born that way.

You knew what you were and you embraced it as a way to cope from him being taken away from you.

Of course you had to blend in and you took on the mantle of taking over your late father's radio show, eventually becoming as famous as he was and you were nothing but just as charming as he was on his show.

But then you killed, the power imbalance favoring you was nothing but amazing to you.

Years later, you enjoyed it. Killing was your life's purpose. Your crimes were never a subject for you to ever regret or feel guilt for.

You regret nothing.

You were a merciless killer then, and one now.

Through earth and hell, forevermore.

[hardwriterdeluxe]

Second Life

I’ve been were busy recently and haven’t had time to write and I’ve also had writers block, I wanna thank @chavdrone and @kaithescallylad for inspiring me to write this story! ________________________________________________

Oliver was walking home from a friend towards the bus stop when he noticed a new shop. He had been around this part of London many times and had never seen this store before. Its dusty storefront displayed many different styled mannequins in attempts to be trendy, but they just ended up cheesy. Oliver looked at the store and read the half-broken neon sign, “Second life”; it was a second-hand shop. Oliver had time to kill, so he took the opportunity to check the store. It was open, and he went in. He was met by a large arrangement of racks with clothes and shelves; he didn't know where to start. The store seemed to be empty of any customers, and the checkout was empty as well, so Oliver just went around browsing for potential items.

Oliver was your average guy. He studied at some college in London he had recently turnt 20 and described by his nerdy characteristics: brown overgrown hair, glasses, a lanky build, and an normal clothing style. It was out of character for Oliver to blink twice at the White Nike trainers he just passed. His body felt drawn towards the pair, and even though the pair were size 11s and his feet were size 9, he felt obliged to try them on. He grabbed them and went towards a dressing room, not finding any other mirror or place to sit; he went there. Oliver removed his boots and put on the White Nike Tns. At first, he felt amused seeing these large, comically-looking sneakers on his feet, but that soon changed. The sneakers quickly started feeling moist, wet, and they were smelling; he was confused. Becoming uncomfortable, he quickly tried to yank off the sneakers, but to no avail, they were simply stuck, and the size gap weirdly felt snug.

Unbeknownst to Oliver, Second Life wasn't just an ordinary second-hand shop; no, it was a store offering a new life. Each item dropped off by the last owner transferred their essence into the new owner, ultimately forming a second life for the customer. Oliver's body started to change, and his height increased; his body frame started filling out, his lanky arms becoming toned, and his stomach gaining the outlines of some abs. His body gained a lean look, and his body started to emit the same smell his sneakers had; ultimately, exuding masculinity mixed with a new fragrance coming from his body, some cheap Axe deodorant and cologne. Oliver's face started changing; Oliver originally had slim and feminine features, a round nose and jaw, and a kind-looking face. That dramatically changed as his jaw started to square up, some stubble growing in, and his mouth gaining a stupid expression, a stupid grin. His nose swelled up and got crooked from all the fights he "supposedly" had gone through, and his eyes squinted up as well as his brow ridge squared up, his eyebrows becoming full and dark, and his ears becoming pierced. Oliver's hairstyle went from his long hair to a short-styled fade.

Oliver's clothes disintegrated all but his underwear that changed into some blue Nike boxers, as well as his bulge growing to accommodate his new length and foot size. Oliver's body started getting new clothes as a black football tracksuit materialized on him, the pants tucked into his socks, and he ultimately got a chain around his neck, finalizing his new look.

The last step was his mental state; Oliver's mind adjusted to his new persona and changed him into Ozzy, a 20-year-old British chav. Ozzy didn't go to college like those fancy shits; instead, he spent his days hanging with his brothers and working for some money. Gone was Oliver, and the world around him had erased Oliver for good. The store owner watched the whole change back in the storage, checking out another happy customer.

[red-riding-wood]

PSA - Community Predator

Over a series of months, myself and other Tumblr users -- fic writers, gif makers, fans of created content -- have been victimised by @mrkdvidal1989, who has extensively lied about who he is, preyed on multiple women and denied involvement -- therefore ruining friendships, reputations and feelings, and promised me life-saving medical treatment that he never followed through on.

More information including mine and their stories under the cut.

The reason I am going public with this is twofold:

A) To protect others from being hurt. He is known to reach out to many tumblr users, especially young women in the Cillian Murphy fandom -- but he may have a wider reach beyond this circle. B) Since his "disappearance" three weeks ago and the unravelling of his lies, this man has ruined my life and the only hope I had of obtaining treatment for a condition that has been plaguing me for four years.

Killian Vidal is the name he has chosen to give us, and has claimed to be both a officer commander and general in the mobility troop in the SAS (the general rank does not even exist), has beaten cancer a while ago (but said to another mutual that his "time was running out" and he is currently struggling with it), and a plethora of other life experiences and general knowledge about him that varies in consistency when talking to different people and is questionable in its validity. He has also shared pictures of "himself" that when reverse image searched, belong to different people.

I got to know Kill when he reblogged one of my fanfics (as the story seems to start with a lot of his victims) and he reached out via DMs. We quickly became close friends who called nearly every day on Discord and when I told him about my health issues, he immediately offered to pay for my medical treatment wherever I could find willing doctors.

I was hesitant to believe this at first since all of this seemed too good to be true (and was). He claimed to be very wealthy, enough to afford private jets like it was nothing and to rent me an apartment in the UK in the same building as him. Over time, I grew to trust him because he felt like such a genuine person and friend, which was made all the more believable by the fact that he has such a huge following on Tumblr and was, at the time, part of a vast social network of fans and friends (one of which he even claimed to know IRL -- who will remain anonymous unless they decide to speak out). I decided to ignore the little red flags because I was so desperate to receive this treatment that for me would be life-saving.

For four years, I have been plagued by an array of (mostly) undiagnosed digestive issues that have made my life almost unbearable and have on numerous occasions nearly killed me due to malnutrition. I've spent months in hospital, endured years of malpractice and misdiagnoses, undergone heart surgery, and have tried absolutely everything I can to get better. In the winter of 2023, I was told by my doctor that I was refused in the TPN program (a treatment that may have slowed or stopped my weight loss) and that with or without it, I was looking at mortality. Refusing to stop fighting but having exhausted the public health care system in Canada, I went into 2024 not really having much hope of anything anymore.

So, when Kill came along, that changed. He promised -- and I mean, from the bottom of his heart, promised -- that he would help me get treatment, that he would get me out of my abusive home and fly me to the UK, that he would be there for me as my friend, etc. I was beyond grateful, and as my trust with him built, so did my hope.

The travel plans kept getting put off; originally, he would fly me out as soon as the apartment became available, which was the 11th of Feb, 2024. He kept finding excuses to not book the jet. Finally, it seemed as if around the 15th/16th I would be flying. My health had been declining rapidly and the situation was becoming all the more urgent, and he said he was in contact with a pilot and would send the ticket soon and call me.

That was the last I heard from him. The 16th.

Initially thinking he had ended his life (he had discussed thoughts of suicide with me prior to this), I was beside myself with worry not only thinking one of my closest friends was gone but also that my chance at life was. I reached out to his other friends, and I made several calls to the UK authorities and emergency services and ended up requesting a welfare check be made to see if he was even alive.

They reported that no one under the name Killian Vidal was in the records of the building name he gave me -- the same building that I was meant to live in within that week.

After reaching out to my now beloved friend @kittenonpluto (A.K.A., Cas) on Tumblr, I learned that Kill was in fact alive, and had told her that he was in hospital for digestive issues in Indianopolis, United States (though again, no record of his name in their medical system). He still wouldn't talk to me, but told her to tell me that he would reach out when he was out of hospital.

Cas and I compared information he'd told us (her story will be attached to this post) and looked into the mystery more. He constantly dodged confrontation and questions about the fake photos and information he'd sent her, and seemed to use his completely fabricated hospitalisation as an excuse to not fulfil his promises to myself and her, as well as a means to garner sympathy.

It was quite obvious that he didn't know how the American medical system worked, and he even incorporated elements of my actual story and used them in his. When asked about his treatments, he responded with medically false information. He reported digestive issues, reflux, and having both an NG tube and TPN -- both of which I have experience with -- and let me say, I am beyond disgusted and infuriated that my real life trauma was used as a ploy in all this.

How do we know for a fact this is false? I checked the police case for his welfare check again, and they said that they confirmed him being in the UK at the same time he had told Cas he was in hospital in the States.

After a final confrontation from both Cas and myself (and a desperate final plea for the medical aid he promised me), he was never heard from again from either of us or our friend circles.

I'm now having to pick up the pieces he's left me in and to be honest, I have little to no idea of what the hell to do or how to save myself. The fact that he strung me along for a month and built up my hope that I was going to live only to abandon me without even a word is deplorable to me.

And mine isn't the only story. I've heard from four women on Tumblr (who, again, will remain anonymous unless they choose to speak out) who he has been romantic or sexually involved with (and lied about his involvement, made them out to seem insane or toxic, created rifts in our friendships, toyed with their emotions, and made false promises to of relationships, marriage, and finances).

And that's not including the ex-wife who came back to Tumblr to claim that her and Kill had never met nor married. She was promptly silenced by a "lawyer threat" that we have strong reason to believe was a bluff.

At the end of the day, there are so many lies, half-truths, inconsistencies, etc. this man has wrapped himself in and we don't know for the life of us what his motives are, but from the information that we do know is false, he isn't genuine. He toys with people. He hurts them. Myself and the others that have been affected by this want that to stop.

And at any point, he has the ability to make a new account, and take on a new persona, pretend to be someone else. Tumblr is a wonderful place and I have met so many cool people on here, but please be careful about who you interact with and what you share, because aside from making this post, it is beyond my power to stop him from doing what he does. But after what he did to me, I could not remain silent.

Other Stories

If you have an experience or story with Killian that you would like heard, please reblog it on this thread or make a post. With your consent, I can include a link to it below.

kittenonpluto's story

aurorag98's story

everyoneisawhore's story

your-nanas-house's story

hllywdwhre's story

Final Note

Lastly, if you have read this far, thank you.

If you want to reach out to me about this issue -- whether it's to anonymously share your experience, ask questions, ask for evidence (of which I can back up these statements with), or anything at all --, please do not hesitate to do so. <3

For those who may be worried about the potential legality of this post, everything that I have stated as fact is fact and it is not my intention to slander or spread false information.

[struggling-jpg]

Thoughts About the Potential Underlying Hidden Tragedy of Yanqing and Jing Yuan

that isn't just the "Yanqing will have to kill Jing Yuan eventually" red flags.

A relatively longer-ish post so thank you for bearing with me if you choose to do so!

I'd already been thinking about this whole mess of thoughts for a long while now, and so have other people, but the urge to write this came from a comment I saw on a post that mentioned how Yanqing had lost to "Jing Yuan's ghosts" and overall how it contributes to the dynamic of them being mentor/mentee + father/son. While the narrative seems to be leading to "Yanqing having to strike down a Mara-stricken Jing Yuan," there's just enough weird points that stick out to the point some alternative outcomes for Yanqing and Jing Yuan's fates to play out.

And while I anticipate HSR to follow that most expected point, I feel like there's enough there that could lead to a subversion or something more likely than that, an additional twist to the knife alongside the expected point.

Jing Yuan's Flaws as a Mentor and Father-Figure:

While most of us love the family fluff, I'm pretty sure we can all acknowledge the issues in Jing Yuan's approach and decisions in regards to Yanqing. Yeah, this is a fictional space game story where it's likely they aren't going to delve into the consequences of having someone as young as Yanqing be a soldier, there seems to be something there regardless. Like the brushes with death that he has and how we see him have to worry about the Xianzhou's security as a teen due to having a higher position in a military force. This is all set up for more of a coming-of-age type narrative for him, which HSR has done amazingly so far, but there are a lot of chances for this to explore something darker.

Among official media, the one time I could even remember the term "father" being used in relation to Jing Yuan is in Yanqing's official Character Introduction graphic:

Another notable thing that we see here is how we do have moments where Yanqing expresses thoughts and questions about his own origins and birth parents. The fact that even here, he wonders if the general is hiding something from him, sets off some alarm bells in my head. But he then brushes that off because he's always been with the General and Jing Yuan accepts him for who he is (which under the theory that Yanqing originates/is connected to the Abundace adds a whole heavy layer (this will be discussed in a later section)).

Yanqing does something similar in his texts:

As Huaiyan says to Jing Yuan:

"Yanqing can understand your concerns."

Alongside Yanqing generally being a considerate and polite boy, it can possibly be said that his eagerness to share Jing Yuan's burdens not only stems from his own gratitude towards him but possibly also Jing Yuan's distance.

As in, Jing Yuan doesn't really express his feelings so blatantly, and what we can clearly tell from when Yanqing first met "Jing Yuan's ghosts," neither does he speak much about his past too on a personal level. In Jingliu's quest, Yanqing says that Jing Yuan simply told him to forget everything he saw that day.

For Jing Yuan, the loss of the quintet is a grief that feels fresh in his heart, especially with echoes of them running around him. This is in the description for "Animated Short: A Flash":

(Will also talk about this in a different section)

While Yanqing learns about his General's past in a more direct manner (aka the people involved), it's sad how avoidant Jing Yuan is at times. While he's never been a upfront person, especially in the case of solving problems, I wonder if HSR would go as far as to show the negative side of that in terms of raising and teaching Yanqing.

History Repeats Itself (Sometimes It Don't Need A Reason):

+ the Jingliu parallels

Following up on that last image, Jing Yuan, especially in A Flash, has that whole "history repeating itself" thing going on for Jing Yuan. It points to Yanqing having to take down Jing Yuan but it also comes with a lot of its own possibilities and meanings.

It's blatant that Yanqing parallels Jingliu to an unsettling degree. Anyone who personally knows Jingliu and meets Yanqing sees her in him. Jingliu probably sees herself in him as well. Beyond powers and passion for the sword, her Myriad Celestia trailer shows that her principles before getting struck with Mara were the same as his. But it took her losing her dear friends in such a cruel and brutal manner (alongside how long she'd been alive) for all of that to fall out and form the version of her we see today.

And while it seems that Yanqing is deviating from Jingliu's due to the teachings he's learning, especially with Jing Yuan's effort, I feel like there's still a chance for things to go so wrong and mess with that. Yukong's line about him strikes me as concerning:

"A sword will vibrate and beg to be unsheathed if it is unused for too long... Once unsheathed, it will either paint the battlefield in blood, or break itself in the process..."

Even though I don't think HSR will go down a route of tragedy with Yanqing, like say, he gets Mara struck somehow or killed because that's not how Hoyo's writing has fully gone for playable characters (Misha and Gallagher aside in terms of death). Even in the most despairing parts for Hoyo's games, they're usually outlined and tinged with hope in one way or another. It's just that with what's been presented, there's got to be more here than meets the eye.

Yanqing's Origins - The Breaking Point:

From what we've been given, I think the number one thing that would have the potential of shaking Yanqing's entire sense of his life and the reality he lives in is learning where he comes from. Where he actually comes from has been a strange mystery since the beginning, how Jing Yuan getting him being recorded in the military annals of all places.

As shown from the screenshots of Yanqing's texts, he doesn't know and tries to brush it off because he's happy with Jing Yuan now. The choice to have this aspect here leaves a lot to ruminate on. What is Jing Yuan hiding? And if he really is witholding information, does he ever intend to tell Yanqing? If he doesn't and Yanqing finds out, how will it play out? And even if he does mean to tell him, depending on the severity, how will Yanqing take it?

It's why the theory that Yanqing is connected to the Abundance, possibly even coming from it directly, is as harrowing as it is.

With his arc in mind, will his development be enough to sustain him when he does find out the truth? If he finds out sooner than he should, will he be able to rise above it? And what of Jing Yuan? If confronted with a situation that's outside of his control again, what will he do and how will he react?

The potential in that scenario is so fascinating to me, because we can all anticipate the absolute gut punch that Yanqing killing his master would be. It fits Hoyo's writing style of something so sad but having a hopeful end for the future type beat. But the idea of that being twisted, that expectation being flipped on its head, could be so agonizing. It's not a narrative we see too often explored, at least in my experience, so maybe that's why I'm brainrotting over it so much lol.

[origami-trust]

May 8th: (and Dracula spoilers) It was by this time close on morning, and we went to bed. (Mem., this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the "Arabian Nights," for everything has to break off at cockcrow—or like the ghost of Hamlet's father.) Really struck that Jonathan brings up "Arabian Nights." On one hand, this cements the comfort he felt in the library - it's always so lovely when a character in books - loves books! But the idea of the One Thousand and One Nights, the storyteller Scheherazade who keeps extending her life by one night, and then another, and then another by the captivating stories she tells....feels very appropriate for Jonathan. People have mentioned this before in the Big Book Club - Dracula might have changed his mind about when he was going to kill Jonathan to let him live a bit longer, and I like that reading. Jonathan seems like he outlives his original purpose that Dracula planned for him, and that's because Dracula finds Jonathan very entertaining! He spent the night talking to him, and the previous night asking him all sorts of questions. As long as Jonathan can continue to be entertaining until dawn, he'll get to live another day to tell more stories the next night.

[wonyowonyo]

Bubble (P. Hanni X M! Reader)

Wohoo! Double update baby! Anyways, I hope yall enjoy this cute Hanni oneshot. I'll try to put up some more stories if I can, to make up for my hiatus. See you all later.

3rd Person POV

Miiin.. Miiin.. Miiin..

The noise of Cicadas enveloped the youthful and sunny ambience of the school grounds. Students chattering and collectively doing their own after-class tasks. It was a busy day for everyone, after all, today marks the end of August.

Splash... Splash...

Sound of water falling from the faucet coming in contact with a basin drowned out the noise outside of the washroom. A single feminine figure, leaning against the counter top with her hand supporting her weight was alone inside the room, closely inspecting the water with a sense of impatience as she waited for the detergent-filled basin to be filled with water.

Hanni would take her hands off the counter top before walking up unto her bag, sliding the zipper open.

B A N G!

The sudden loud noise from the outside would cause Hanni to jolt in surprise, the tranquil feeling inside the washroom dissipates as the noise outside suddenly became louder. Hanni took a moment to calm herself before sliding the window open before struggling to climb on top of its frame to get a better view. "Oh, it's the festival committee."

In front of her, was a group of students gathered around a fallen heavy prop, a person stuck beneath it, as they slightly panicked while stifling their laughter.

"Wah! Oh no!" "Chief of the Executive Committee!"

The students called out for the Chief that was stuck underneath while flailing his hands, signaling for help. Hanni watched from the window as they collectively lifted the prop off the poor guy.

"3! 2! 1! and Go!"

"Yes!"

They momentarily cheered as the student was finally able to let out a breath of relief before accepting his friend's hand to help him stand up. He pats his dirt off his uniform before seeing a familiar silhouette on top of the washroom window frame. His attention was diverted as the committee immediately got back on track and resumed their work.

------------------------------------------------------------

After another few minutes of committee work, they decided to call it a day as the group of students prepared to go their separate ways.

"See ya, Y/n! I'll call you sometime. Are you going to the sea or the mountains?" Seunghan, Y/n's friend and a member of committee, waves his towel around as he greets Y/n a goodbye.

Y/n returned the wave as he walked a separate way from his three friends "Well, somewhere."

Sungchan, another friend of his also casually waved a goodbye to Y/n, walking along Seunghan and their other friend Sohee. "Bye Y/n! I'll kill you if you get a girlfriend!"

Y/n snickered at Sungchan's comment, waving off his friend's funny threat. He'll probably be too busy helping out his family's business to even have time to find some girlfriend this summer holiday. "As if I can."

With Y/n walking alone around the school grounds, he'd spot the same washroom he noticed earlier, gaining his attention. However, replacing the spot of the former silhouette was two floating bubbles, escaping from the washroom.

Miiin...

Miiin...

Miiin...

------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------

"?!"

Hanni stood shell shocked from the sight unfolding in front of her. The commotion that has happened earlier, sidetracked Hanni and distracted her from her original purpose. Momentarily forgetting the detergent-filled basin she was filling with water. She got too absorbed watching the committee work that her klutz self was unaware that the water was overflowing, which caused foam and bubble to flood the entire wash room.

"Wah... Wah!! W-why is there foam... ah.. foam... ah! Fo-fo-fo-foam!!!" Hanni was full-on panicking as the foam slowly crept towards her feet, a myriad of bubbles forming along the unfortunate incident.

"Ah! No time to stand around! The water!" Hanni told herself as she briskly walked within the slippery floor, reaching for the faucet handle, she would lean to the countertop before turning the faucet off, squeezing it to ensure no leakage.

"Hanni."

Just as Hanni managed to successfully close the faucet and stop the incident from going worse than it already is, a deep-toned voice would call out to her name, causing her to turn her to the source of the voice. Leaning on the window sill, was Y/n L/n. They stare at each other for a few moments with Y/n scanning Hanni's current predicament. Meanwhile,Hanni froze on the spot like a deer in headlights, some foam and bubbles sticking on the poor girl's figure.

"You... What are you doing with all this?" Y/n asked, his face mixed with confusion and amusement, just plainly looking at the girl's current situation, it'd look as if she's preparing a one big foam bath inside the washroom.

Hanni bit the insides of her cheeks, averting the gaze of the boy outside the window as she briefly hesitated. "Y..."

Y/n however would again speak, cutting her off accidentally as he didn't manage to hear her try to speak due to the girl's sudden timidness.

"That's some foam."

Y/n looked with amazement, as he surveyed the flowing surge of foam and bubbles, filling the washroom. He'd then redirect his gaze unto Hanni. "Did you do this Hanni?"

Hanni's eye would widen, as she immediately became more nervous. "Eh! No..." However, she immediately realized that there was no way in hell she could even try to avoid being caught red handed right now, after all, it's only her that is inside the washing room, it'll be plain stupid to deny it. Hanni could only sigh.

"Er.. Yes... I-I thought I could do the laundry with the washing machine... I let it out of sight only for a moment and this..."

Hanni pressed her lips unto a thin line... as her shoulder would only drop lower and lower, a wave of embarrassment surging unto her. "..this happened."

Y/n looked at her with an unamused facial expression. ".... You're an airhead." An idea would suddenly pop unto Y/n's head as he'd push himself off the Window. Fixing his bag, he'd take a step back. "All right, be right back. You wait here, Pham."

Hanni's face contorted into one of confusion, wiping the residue foam around her face as she walked closer to the window. "W-wait."

Before she even knew it, Y/n was already sprinting, waving his hand. "Leave that as it is! I'll be right back!" Hanni was taken aback, what did he mean to just leave this place as it is for now. "Like this?!"

And just like that, Y/n ran off and left Hanni's line of vision, leaving Hanni to awkwardly stand behind the window. "...What should I do?"

Miiin...

Miiin...

"...What should I do... that was... Y/n..." Hanni stayed in her position, her eyes never leaving the place where Y/n ran off to. She was so busy overthinking that she didn't even notice her face flaming up, and turning tint of pink, a flustered face that didn't seem to come from embarrassment, but instead of something else.

------------------------------------------------------------

Step... Step...Step...

"Pham Hanniiiii!"

A familiar deep voice can be heard again, getting louder with the fleeting steps. And then Y/n's figure would cast a shadow inside the room, as he stood outside the window once more, slightly panting as he peeked inside the wash room to look for Hanni.

"Did you wait for me?"

Hanni was sitting above a countertop, a mop within her hands as her foot dangle along the bubbly foam.

"You're back Y/n! What was that about!"

Hanni said a bit antsy, pertaining to his sudden sprint earlier. Y/n was a bit taken aback, averting the girl's eyes before clearing his throat.

"Erm... I went to... the store nearby."

Hanni was a bit surprised by Y/n's action as she went closer to the boy, a coy expression evident within Hanni's face.

"You went to buy Ice Cream?"

Hanni asked as she stared at the popsicle on Y/n's mouth.

"Yup. There's two popsicles in a pack. Here's for you."

Y/n hands over the remaining popsicle to Hanni while he positioned himself on top of the window sill, sitting over the ledge. Hanni gave him a small 'thanks' as she helped herself with some popsicles.

Hanni took the popsicle from Y/n, her fingers brushing against his. She felt a jolt of electricity run through her and quickly averted her gaze, focusing on the popsicle instead.

"Thanks," she mumbled, taking a small bite.

Y/n grinned at her, watching as she carefully navigated the foam-filled floor to sit beside him on the countertop. They sat in comfortable silence, enjoying their popsicles as bubbles floated around them, catching the light and casting small rainbows in the air.

"You know," Y/n began after a moment, "this is actually kind of fun."

Hanni raised an eyebrow. "Fun? You call flooding a washroom with foam fun?"

Y/n laughed. "Well, it's not every day you get to sit in a room full of bubbles and eat ice cream. It's like something out of a movie."

Hanni chuckled, feeling a bit more at ease. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's definitely memorable."

They both fell silent again, watching the bubbles rise and pop around them. Hanni couldn't help but steal glances at Y/n, noticing the way his eyes sparkled with amusement and the way his hair fell into his eyes. She felt a warmth spread through her chest, a mixture of embarrassment and something else she couldn't quite name.

"You know, Hanni," Y/n said suddenly, breaking the silence, "you're really cute when you're flustered."

Hanni's face turned bright red, and she sputtered, nearly dropping her popsicle. "W-what? No, I'm not!"

Y/n laughed again, a soft, genuine sound that made Hanni's heart skip a beat. "Yes, you are. And I mean it."

Hanni looked down at her popsicle, trying to hide her blush. She felt Y/n's gaze on her, and she took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart.

"Thank you," she said softly, glancing up at him. "You're pretty cute too, you know."

Now it was Y/n's turn to blush, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thanks, Hanni."

They sat there for a while longer, finishing their popsicles and talking about everything and nothing. Hanni felt a sense of contentment settle over her, the earlier chaos of the foam and bubbles forgotten. She was just happy to be here, sharing this moment with Y/n.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the washroom, Y/n stood up and stretched. "We should probably clean this up before someone finds out," he said with a smile.

Hanni nodded, reluctantly getting to her feet. "Yeah, you're right. Let's get to it."

Together, they worked to mop up the foam and clean the washroom. They laughed and teased each other as they worked, the earlier tension between them melting away. By the time they were finished, the washroom was sparkling clean, and they were both soaked and covered in suds.

"Well, that was an adventure," Y/n said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

Hanni nodded, a tired but happy smile on her face. "Definitely one for the books."

They gathered their things and headed out of the washroom, the cool evening air a welcome relief after the stuffy heat inside. As they walked home together, Hanni felt a sense of contentment settle over her. She glanced at Y/n, who was walking beside her, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Hey, Y/n?" she said quietly.

He turned to her, his eyes softening. "Yeah, Hanni?"

"Thanks for today. I know it was kind of a mess, but... I'm really glad we got to spend time together."

Y/n smiled, his expression warm and genuine. "Me too, Hanni. Me too."

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the bond ...between them growing a little stronger with each step.

The sun's rays filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room, signalling the start of a brand new day. Hanni stretched, feeling the lingering effects of yesterday's adventure. She smiled to herself, replaying the moments she spent with Y/n in the foam-filled washroom. It felt like a dream — a whimsical, bubbly dream.

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"Time to get up," she told herself, shaking off the remnants of sleep. Today was another day, and she was determined to make it just as memorable.

Hanni quickly got ready and made her way to school. As she walked through the gates, she saw Y/n standing by the entrance, waiting for her. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt a flutter of excitement.

"Morning, Hanni!" Y/n called out, his face lighting up with a smile.

"Morning, Y/n," Hanni replied, feeling a warmth spread through her chest.

They fell into step together, chatting about their classes and plans for the day. The easy camaraderie between them felt natural, as if they had known each other forever.

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The school cafeteria was bustling with students, and Hanni and Y/n managed to find a quiet spot by the window. They sat down with their trays, the sunlight casting a golden hue over the room.

"So, I was thinking," Y/n began, taking a bite of his sandwich, "we should do something fun after school today."

Hanni looked up, intrigued. "Like what?"

Y/n grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. "How about we go to the park and blow bubbles? You know, like those giant ones that float in the air."

Hanni's eyes lit up with excitement. "That sounds amazing! I've always wanted to try that."

"Great! I'll bring the bubble solution and wands. Meet me by the park entrance after school?"

"It's a date," Hanni said, then immediately blushed at her choice of words. "I-I mean, not a date, but you know..."

Y/n chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I know what you mean, Hanni. See you then."

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Hanni rushed home to change into something more comfortable before heading to the park. She felt a mix of excitement and nervousness as she approached the park entrance. Y/n was already there, holding a bag with the bubble supplies.

"Ready?" he asked, his smile infectious.

"Ready," Hanni replied, feeling her nerves melt away.

------------------------------------------------------------

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They walked to a grassy area near the pond, where the sunlight danced on the water's surface. Y/n set down the bag and pulled out a large bottle of bubble solution and a set of wands.

"Let's see who can make the biggest bubble," Y/n challenged, handing Hanni a wand.

"You're on," Hanni said, her competitive spirit kicking in.

They dipped their wands into the solution and began creating bubbles. The bubbles floated up, catching the light and creating iridescent rainbows. Laughter filled the air as they chased after the bubbles, trying to catch them before they popped.

Few hours passed and the pair took a break, sitting on the grass and watching the bubbles drift away. Hanni leaned back, her head resting on her arms as she looked up at the sky.

"It's so peaceful here," she said softly, her eyes following a particularly large bubble.

"Yeah," Y/n agreed, lying down beside her. "It's nice to just relax and enjoy the moment."

Hanni turned her head to look at him, her heart fluttering at the sight of his relaxed expression. "Thanks for this, Y/n. I really needed it."

"Anytime, Hanni," Y/n replied, his gaze meeting hers. "I'm glad we could do this together."

They lay there in comfortable silence, the bubbles floating above them like tiny dreams. Hanni felt a sense of contentment wash over her, the chaos of the washroom incident now a distant memory.

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Over the next few days, Hanni and Y/n continued to spend time together. They found themselves drawn to each other, their bond growing stronger with each shared moment. They laughed, teased, and supported each other, creating a tapestry of memories that would last a lifetime.

One afternoon, as they were walking home from school, Y/n turned to Hanni with a thoughtful expression.

"Hey, Hanni, there's something I've been meaning to ask you," he said, his tone serious.

Hanni's heart skipped a beat. "What is it, Y/n?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to come to the school festival with me this weekend. As my date."

Hanni's eyes widened in surprise, her heart racing. "As your date?"

"Yeah," Y/n said, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. "I really like you, Hanni. And I'd like to spend more time with you."

Hanni felt a rush of emotions, her cheeks flushing with warmth. "I'd love to, Y/n. I'd love to be your date."

Y/n's face broke into a wide smile, and he reached out to take her hand. "Great. It's a date then."

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The day of the school festival arrived, and Hanni felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. She dressed carefully, wanting to look her best for Y/n. When she arrived at the festival, she saw Y/n waiting for her by the entrance, looking equally nervous.

"You look beautiful, Hanni," Y/n said, his eyes shining with admiration.

"Thank you, Y/n. You look great too," Hanni replied, feeling her cheeks heat up.

They spent the day exploring the festival, playing games, and enjoying the various stalls. They laughed and teased each other, the easy camaraderie between them making the day even more special.

As the sun began to set, they found themselves at the bubble booth. Y/n bought a bottle of bubble solution and handed it to Hanni.

"Shall we?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Hanni laughed, taking the bottle. "Let's do it."

They spent the next few minutes blowing bubbles, the colorful orbs floating up into the twilight sky. Hanni felt a sense of joy and contentment, the bubbles symbolizing the magic of the moment.

"Thank you for today, Y/n," Hanni said softly, her eyes meeting his.

"Thank you, Hanni," Y/n replied, taking her hand in his. "For everything."

They stood there, hand in hand, watching the bubbles float away, their hearts full of hope and promise.

------------------------------------------------------------

The days turned into weeks, and Hanni and Y/n's relationship continued to blossom. They spent countless hours together, creating memories filled with laughter and love. The washroom incident became a fond memory, the catalyst for their budding romance.

One evening, as they were sitting on a bench by the park, watching the sunset, Y/n turned to Hanni with a serious expression.

"Hanni, I have something I want to tell you," he said, his voice soft.

Hanni's heart skipped a beat. "What is it, Y/n?"

"I love you," Y/n said, his eyes filled with sincerity. "I've loved you for a while now, and I just needed you to know."

Hanni felt a rush of emotions, her heart swelling with happiness. "I love you too, Y/n," she replied, her voice trembling with emotion.

Y/n's face broke into a wide smile, and he pulled her into a gentle embrace. They held each other, the world around them fading away as they basked in the warmth of their love.

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Years passed, and Hanni and Y/n's love continued to grow. They faced challenges and celebrated triumphs together, their bond only strengthening with time. The memory of the washroom incident remained a cherished story, a reminder of the whimsical beginning of their journey.

On a warm summer day, as they were walking through the park, Y/n stopped and turned to Hanni with a thoughtful expression.

"Do you remember the day we blew bubbles here?" he asked, his eyes filled with nostalgia.

"Of course," Hanni replied, a smile playing on her lips. "How could I forget?"

Y/n reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of bubble solution. "Shall we do it again?"

Hanni laughed, taking the bottle. "Let's do it."

They spent the next few minutes blowing bubbles, the colorful orbs floating up into the sky. Hanni felt a sense of joy and contentment, the bubbles symbolizing the magic of their love.

As they watched the bubbles float away, hand in hand, Hanni knew that no matter what the future held, they would always have each other and the beautiful memories they had created together.

And in that moment, surrounded by bubbles and love, Hanni felt truly at peace.

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[tokutaiseichan]

I’ve pointed this out before but so far, Hotarubi is the only chapter where a Like Dove never made any appearances. Thanks to Taiga, we know that Like Dove is probably some kind of a spying device and everything points to the possibility that its duty is to monitor missions involving ghouls.

Yet it never made an appearance during the course of Hotarubi’s mission. Why is that? At first, I thought it’s perhaps because Taiga had killed and eaten the one that appeared during the Sinostra chapter. In the first place, we never found out if there are more than one Like Dove. It’s an anomaly—and a rare one at that. It might be the only one or maybe not.

But then I started thinking: what if the reason a Like Dove didn’t appear to monitor the ghouls’ mission this time is because they already have an “Insider” involved in the mission?

Zenji is automatically out. My man’s dead and Darkwick doesn't even know his ghost is still wandering around. Subaru? Makes sense since he has already lied to everyone before. What’s another secret? But after all that happened at the Ultio prison and considering his personality, I feel like what he confessed that time was everything he was involved with. Subaru’s awful at lying and hiding things, if he’s the spy he’d be a bit more obvious and feel even more guilty. So hmm… I wonder who we’re left with……

Remember how during that one time MC was trying to escape again, Haku was the one who just conveniently showed up and successfully convinced her to not defy Darkwick anymore?

Sure, we can see it as simply a considerate gesture of a senior looking after his anxious junior. Especially when it's so blatantly implied later that he had experienced the consequences of going against the rules. Still, the timing is just… too perfect…

MC trying to escape → Bumped into Rui who's about to head to a mission → Haku suddenly appeared (Rui: “But Moby said no one usually rides around this time of the day~”) → Haku scolded both MC & Rui一brought up the clause of disciplinary actions if one were to do anything funny during missions and reminded Rui of his standing (Haku: “You know it's even worse if you're the one she's with, right?”) → Haku got MC away from Rui → Haku reassured MC and convinced her to stay at Darkwick to break her curse first instead of running away (like what he did before?)

It's almost as if he was purposely sent there for damage control.

“I'll keep this incident a secret from the Academy,” when the reason MC can't even escape in the first place is because Darkwick already knows what she's trying to do? Yeah, right. If you have tried to run away before, you'd know Darkwick has eyes everywhere.

I also found his responses from chapter 2 of his Personal Story rather interesting.

If MC thanked him → “…You shouldn't put too much stock in what I said, you know.” (He acts like the ever dependable and reassuring senior to MC but when she expressed genuine gratitude, he immediately backed off. Does he feel guilty because of how MC seems to always trust his words now? Because he’s keeping something from her?)

If MC shook her head → “Looking at you trying so hard made me realize how underhanded I am.” (Now he just sounds so bitter here…)

There's also the bait and switch with Hotarubi.

During Sinostra, MC found out the existence of a spy among the ghouls. And immediately at Hotarubi early chapters, Moby told her that the Hotarubi ghouls are hiding something. This planted seeds of doubt in MC一she thought one of them might be related to the spy. But at the end of the book, it was… in a way, disproven.

The secret they kept was Zenji's existence一for Haku & Zenji一and Subaru's mission regarding Lyca and his true stigma. This, ironically, leads up to MC being much more determined to trust the ghouls and be more wary about the Academy and Institute一even more than she originally did.

The reason I brought this up? Because the narrative has now painted Hotarubi as the “innocent” house. They made us (both MC & the readers) think how the ghouls over there are just trying their damn best to protect their friends… so that you'd suspect it the least for housing any spy (whom, in Taiga's words, is supposedly trying to screw other ghouls over). They made it seem like Hotarubi must've shown all their cards by now and gave us a sense of… relief? In a way.

(Obviously, there's still the mystery of Haku's dorm transfer. But that's for another day…)

Last but not the least, I'll bring you Haku's last words he told MC before jumping into the fire:

EN: Sorry, I guess I couldn't be the guy you wanted me to be. Ha ha… Don't look like that. Never lost faith in me, did you?

JP: ……すまんね。おまえさんの期待に、応えられんかったわ。はは……そんな顔しなさんな。最後におれを信じてくれて、ありがとね (Direct, almost word-to-word tl: ……Sorry. Looks like I couldn't meet your expectations. Haha…… Don't make that face. Thanks, for trusting me even at the bitter end.)

“Thanks for trusting me to the end,” are you Implying MC has reasons to lose her faith in you, Mister Haku Kusanagi? 🤔🤨

This is probably just me reaching but, has anyone noticed how “trust” seems to be a recurring theme with MC and Haku in particular? “Trust me. You'll be fine here,” and “If you need any help, I'm always happy to lend you a hand,” but also, “Don’t take what I said too seriously.” Which is it???

Anway, since Obscuary is just around the corner, I just wanna say that: 

1) If a Love Dove doesn't appear then it means I'm just looking too much into things and that the reason it doesn't appear is simply because Taiga has killed the one during Sinostra. And everything I wrote up to this point are hogwash.

2) If a Love Dove does appear again, I'll add +1 sus point to Haku.

“Why are you so suspicious of Haku anyway?” Years of watching anime and reading manga/visual novels/etc has taught me that you should always be wary of the sawayaka oniisan type. =w=)b

If you read until this point then thank you for giving my 2 a.m. rambles a chance! But please keep in mind that they don't call me Detective Reaching #2 for nothing. 🤧 For now, I'm going to log off so 🫡 Ciao!

[toomiieimagiines]

Akito kissing hcs

EEEEK! i actually am a fan of akito!!^_^ i think he’s very handsome! tell me what you think about these banners! i’m loving it unfortunately… makes it so much easier to make ‘em! obligatory sorry for OOCness, i don’t read the story’s half as much as i should!^_^” (omg also i wrote this while drinking a diet baja blast OMGGGG it’s so good)

Akito Shinonome kissing hc’s + more!!

He’s such a bully!

He knows how much you love kissing him, and uses it against you…

He can be seriously unbelievable…

Like he will give you the bestest kiss and than just…. leave you there

Will give a super super mean oblivious laugh when you ask him where he’s going…

“Huhhh? I thought we were finished, I have rehearsal, y’know..”

Messes with you cuz he knows it’ll make you so so frustrated:(

He’s really not trying to be mean!! He just loves you so much, and thinks that your angry face is really cute…

I wish I could say his lips aren’t chapped…

Literally LAYERS on chapstick too. He doesn’t know why it never works, and refuses to use the heavy duty ones because they “taste bad”

Tastes citrusy, he refuses to admit that he puts chapstick on

Will sometimes also taste like coffee (He likes it sweet, please don’t make fun of him. He really did try to be a bad boy and drink it black, he almost threw up.)

Is kinda rough if he’s had a bad day…

Bit your lip a little too hard one day and it started bleeding… He felt really bad…

Can and WILL grab you by the waist though… He’s not heartless! He can be a gentleman!

He is NOT above the occasional cheek cup if he’s feeling nice!

Talks smack and all, but one time he followed your kiss when you tried to break apart…

He was really embarrassed… needed a couple hours to stare at the wall

He knew then that every dynamic he thought you two had was a lie….

another mini fic!! >_< sorry if my posts have been feeling short, none of the asks i’ve answered have sparked me with enough inspiration for something long…^_^|||~ reminder you don’t have to only send pjsk asks! i’m in almost every fandom… =_=

Sometimes you wonder if your boyfriend enjoys watching you suffer, and it may sound weird to say it out loud, but you’re truly starting to believe he’s a sadist! What other explanation could there be for something this cruel?! It’s been about half an hour since you’ve given up, but you can’t stop thinking about it.

“Babe,” he chuckles, relishing in your frustrated expression. “Quit pouting, you’re being quiet.”

“‘M not pouting,” You defend. Spoiler alert, you WERE pouting, but you can’t help it! You’ve tried to go in for a kiss three times already, and he’s ‘coincidentally’ not noticed. He has to notice! There’s no way he’s hasn’t!

“Sure…” He laughs again, and that royally pissed you off. Just that boyish grin was enough to make you faint for a million years! How dare he do this to you?! You let out a noise of annoyance.

“I’m gonna get you, even if it kills me!” You let go of his hand, deciding to stuff yours in your - well technically his, since you’re wearing his jacket- pockets. This makes his eye twitch.

“What are you even talking about?” He snatches your hand back out of your pocket, and you can’t help but laugh - despite the frustration. He obviously can’t stomach the taste of his own medicine, so you pull your hand away again - much to his displeasure. “Quit doin’ that!” He stops walking, deciding to grab both of your hands.

“Doing what??” You play dumb, mocking his original cockiness as you pull your hands away.

“Doing that! Hold my han-“ He stops, realizing what’s happening, “you’re petty. You’re REALLY petty. I did that like 30 minutes ago!”

“If you let me kiss you I’ll hold your hand again.” You offer, shrugging with fake indifference. He sighs, he feels like a dog begging for a bone. He shouldn’t have teased you…

“You make me act like a total chump, I don’t like it.” He grumbles, leaning down slightly to give you better access, you intertwine your hands. HA! You won.

You close the gap, feeling his lips against yours. They’re slightly chapped, tasting of a fruit you can’t quite put your finger on. Your heart immediately settled, enjoying the warm feeling of your boyfriend. It feels like you’re mad for eachother, the shape of his lips molding into yours perfectly. The two of you stayed there for a while, before you realized a full out makeout session in public isn’t the best look for either of you. But as you tried to pull away, you found a stumbling Akito following the kiss, almost falling on top of you. His eyes shoot open once he realized what he just did

“I-“ His face is red when he looks away, you snicker. “I didn’t mean to do that!”

“You love me!~” You say in a sing-song tone, teasing him.

“I-“ He sighs, sounding defeated. “I do!…”

He was spacey for the rest of your walk home, staring down at the pavement. All he could think of is how weak he is to you.

‘God, I’m totally whipped!’